The tales of sir robert in the land of Chicongo

July 4th, 2017.
Robert scratched at his scars. They were itching, which he figured must mean it was about to rain. He raised the remote, clicked a button, and the shades raised to reveal that it was, indeed raining. He lumbered towards the window, with the neon signs shining through the blinds, only showing his glaring eyes. Chicago, or Chiraq as the junkies called it. A city full of fear and misery. "Home sweet home." He clutched his whiskey with his other hand, raising it to take a sip before returning it to its place on the table. As he glanced around his apartment he was struck with how normal it looked, still. The lamp posts from outside the housing projects dripped their sepia paint into the dark canvas of the night. Architecture hadn't gone far in the past ten years, whereas technology had gone farther than anybody could have ever imagined. Without looking he took his glass of whiskey back into his hand, swirling it about and listening to the sound of ice on glass. Yes, technology had gone far. He downed the remaining alcohol and stood, marveling at how he wasn't woozy yet. After all, that had been his sixth.
As he strolled towards the door, he had to remind himself of the days when six glasses would have put him on the floor. It had been a while. Not everybody remembered the days when alcohol affected people. Now, even kids could drink it.
Before leaving, Robert grabbed his black trench coat, and USP45 he called "Betsy". He felt the metal chassis slide across his hand before inserting a magazine. He blew a kiss to his Asuka body pillow. "Best girl" he said, as he gave a wink to her smiling face, before the light from the hallway closed on her as he left.
Robert opened the door into the hallway, glancing at every door number he walked past. He made his way downstairs. Outside, the cold air caressed his face. He checked his keys, radio static..."5 black males drug dealing at Hyde Park." Robert lit his last cig in the box. He pulled out Betsy and cocked the hammer. Showtime.
Robert crossed over to Hoyne Avenue, moving swiftly through the shadows of the alleys to get to Hyde Park. It was 4th of July, and Chiraq takes the opportunity to celebrate the night with gunshots instead of fireworks. As usual the police had their hands busy, more than ever before on a night like this. Which is why Robert felt an obligation to do something. He had been kicked off the force a few years back since the Homan Incident, but that was the past. He didn't need a badge to save lives. To serve and protect. The public has a fundamental misunderstanding about the role and capability of law enforcement. It's mainly the "protect" part the public puts too much faith in. The police do not protect. They cannot prevent. They can't be there before the gun is fired, they can only chase the thug who fired it. Only a fool puts his safety in someone else's hands. Especially one to trust the demons that run this city. And if Robert ever needed more proof, here it is...the Cobra gang, drug dealing a smuggled foreign substance straight from the drug refineries of Tajikistan known as "Dank Meme", right in Chicago's backyard. And the authorities have no idea. In the middle of a park that is six blocks from an elementary school. The worst feeling on the battlefield of this city is this one: the feeling you have underestimated your enemy. It is a cold wash across your skin. Like blood loss. It's pure instinct, and it is absolutely to be trusted. "Praise thee His name, Lord Kek, to bless me on this mission." Robert whispered as he clutched his Pepe amulet. He opened his eyes again, to notice a woman buying drugs from the Cobras on the basketball court. It was Sienna, Sienna Ricchio. The temptress that belonged to Big B, leader of rival gang, the Disciples. He couldn't believe it. What is she doing out here? She always stayed with her own group. Was this a peace talk? Territory negotiation? Espionage? Whatever it was...time was running out.

Robert had to find the lead to where this drug trail would take him, and cut the source at the top. Like a lion diving for his prey, he leaped from the rooftop overlooking Hyde Park, with the moon behind him, lighting his path to redemption.
"Listen shawdy, I'm finna make a trade wichu. Dis shit is fo someone else. Ya hear?"
"Hol up baby daddy, just let me have a piece of dat, I hear you be makin' all kiiinds of stacks on dat magic."
"Don't fuckin touch me you ight skin thot."
"Yeah, you betta get cho ass outta heyah befo we bust a cap in yo mouth. Annit wonbe lead if you know whatta mean."
"Eyy ya'll keep her busy, Ima check if he coming to pick up da stuff."
He struts across the court. Around the park. Gunshots mixed with fireworks can be heard from afar. Too much noise. Too much darkness. He doesn't hear it fall to the ground. He approaches his Cadillac parked in the alley. He looks for his keys to open the trunk. He doesn't notice they were picked up when he dropped it. He doesn't even see someone sneaking from behind. He doesn't even see Betsy pointed at the back of his head. He doesn't move when Robert says "Freeze, or I give your car a paint job."
The Cobra thug stays still, smacking his lips.
"if I woulda known it was you comin ovah, we was brought da whole squad to fuck yo snitchin' honkey ass up you fuc-"
And down he goes, with one quiet hit. Falling backwards, he grabs the thug and gently lowers him down, picking the dropped glock in his hand. Robert pulls out the car keys to open the trunk. He tries each one of the five keys, until the last one gets it. He opens it, only to find...5 police badges and one radio scanner, broadcasting the same line he has been listening to. No, it can't be. He felt the presence of a gang behind him. A gang of impostors. He walked right into this.
"You've always been careless, Robert. We knew you would show up to this call. After all, we know you come out at this time to play hero. Drop the gun."
He knew he got played, and played well. Robert carefully lowered and placed the gun on the ground as he heard the collective cocking of pistol hammers behind him. He raised his hands and put them behind the back of his head. How could he be so careless? Judging by the familiar sounds, these were standard issue Chicago PD firearms. The familiar voice came back to him. This wasn't the Cobra gang. It was the undercover Chicago police force. "Good boy." And leading this corrupt pack of degenerates was none other than Detective Gibsme Datt. A native of Chiraq, a product of city corruption, a former member of the Black Panthers, and Robert's former boss. Robert slowly turned around. Datt had Sierra in a chokehold, with a gun pointed at her neck. She was unconscious. "You see Robert, I am a man of business, and it just so happens I get to take down 3 stones with one bird, tonight. And you're the 3rd stone."
"Don't you mean the 3rd bird?"
"Fuck you, I ain't got time for this shit."
He points the gun away from Sierra and aims it at Robert. Good, going along as expected.

"You're coming with me alive, boy. The commissioner will give me a big fat paycheck and a promotion for catching Robert, the traitorous fugitive who was caught selling Dank Memes to schoolkids in Hyde Park, while assaulting an undercover cop on duty. You, a former cop and a white man, who killed and raped this Disciple slut, for fun." The other goons laugh and smirk in unison at each other. "A crime that will incite yet another race riot in the city that will force the jury to throw you in jail where you will be raped by Disciple gang members until you rot and die of old age. Speaking of which, this will start yet another gang war where my men and I become even more armed and valued than before. All while the papers call me a hero, as they name you a demon."
Robert took it all in, quite bored of the lecture that he had just heard.
“Gibsme, I still haven’t introduced you to an old friend of ours.”
“Are you fucking trying me, whiteboy?”
“I said, I didn’t introduce you to my old friend. You forgot about her.”
Robert gestures to the glock he dropped on the pavement. “I’m returning what doesn’t belong to me.” And kicks the pistol over to their side. They all look confused.
And they all look dead when they see Betsy. Within a series of flashes, all 3 goons are dead, and Datt is disarmed as he chokes on Betsy. Sierra is still unconscious on the ground next to him. Robert is bleeding from the shoulder through his coat. Surface wound, where the bullet grazed him. Datt was lucky, lucky to not have shot better, otherwise the interrogation would be even worse for him. Robert grabs his undercover prop outfit by the collar. “Listen here, nigger. I don’t have time for this shit either. Tell me where the drugs are coming from. Who is the source? Where is the distribution of Dank Memes coming from?”
Robert pulls Betsy out of his mouth. “…f-fuck you whi-“ Robert smacks Betsy across his face. Hard.
Datt is bleeding profusely from his mouth and nose. Barely seeing through his bruised eyes. This questioning has already gone on for twenty minutes. “TELL ME. I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND.” Another smack across the head. From the first thug who had recovered. Robert falls to the ground beside Datt, knocked out cold. “Neither am I.” The first thug picks up his keys and glock from the ground. He helps Datt up from the floor. “You okay, boss?” “Get off of me”. Datt pushes him as he stumbles to his radio, switching the signal from Chicago PD to a private line. He raised the radio to his mouth, and pushes the key. “…Carl…it’s Gibsme…we got him.”
Robert woke up a time later, hanging upside-down from a meat hook next to what he could only assume was a cow, although this wasn't really his element. A voice came from behind him.
"So. I hear you don't like how I do business."
The voice was the smooth sound of a man assured of his power. As Robert struggled, he caught a glimpse of Sierra hanging two hooks over. His eye was swollen shut, and something was throwing off sparks near his chin. Blood dripped from a wound on the side of his head onto the concrete floor. Robert twisted as much as he could to get a look at their captor.
Unassuming was the man that stood before him, in a tailored three-piece suit that seemed immune from the bloody environment. He held a cane out in front of him, clearly not necessary for walking but absolutely vital to his image. A slight cocky grin dominated the man's face, and his eyes told Robert only one thing. I am in control here. Robert spat at the man's face, but it fell a bit short and landed at his feet. As he gathered another shot, a real one rang through the air. Robert could barely see the man who fired it, standing behind the boss. He mentally traced the trajectory to see where it had landed, square between Sierra’s eyes. From the sound of the shot, it was Betsy being used by someone else.
"Now that I have your attention, how would you like to make a deal?" The smooth voiced man was unperturbed by the death, whereas Robert was doing everything he could to swing himself closer to Sierra, whose unswollen eye had opened at the gunshot and now stared dead into space. A swift strike of the cane hit Robert in the cheek, and he did his best to face the monster before him. Now was not the time to fight.
"What do you propose?” Scumbag… Robert thought, spitting blood out onto the ground.
"You stop following me, and start going after the people behind this." The man punctuated each word with a slight swing of the cane. Robert’s eyes narrowed as he felt he rage building up again. "You're behind this! Bringing this drug into Chicago. Selling the Dank Memes over TO CHILDREN.”
"Oh Robert, you don't really think I'm the only one behind this? You've got to understand that there are bigger things at play here." The man suddenly looked put upon. In his public image, he was said to be in his mid-thirties but in this state it was clear he was much older. It didn't do much to subdue Robert’s rage, however. The man was concealing his face completely in pitch black darkness. A rotating motion of light and shadows projected against the far side of the wall, as what little light seeped in through the industrial fan to the corner of the room was hiding from the man with the cane. Robert bit his lip for a minute and finally came up with a reasonable response, one that had a chance of getting him out of here.
"What's in it for me?"
TO BE CONTINUED.
July 4th, 2017.