Resurrection

Chapter 23 : The Son of Sam

Now it came about after the near death experience of Izzy that further violence was to ensue. The Disciples of Chaos were born again hard- if they were once flabby blobs of carbon- they were now chiselled, sculpted and full bore mahogany masterpieces of death. Their hand-to-hand combat skills were making them efficient soldiers. But like the granite pawns in any good chess game, I needed to use them to test the opponent. This wasn't particularly difficult to organise: their most obvious weakness was a deep-seeded racism which would put any bible thumping southern bigot American to shame.

Note to self- I needed to travel more.

This was a great weakness to exploit and would only further my cause. The nature of gang violence prompted continual escalation in weaponry but also resolve. Izzy's family grew up in poor tenement housing, much like many of the other young men standing around in our sanctuary. The global financial crisis, combined with a mass immigration saw young Britons disenfranchised and looking for someone to blame. They were quick to seize upon Muslims, but eventually extended this growing sentiment towards many Indian families living in their local neighbourhood. It was only a matter of time before further bloodshed washed upon our shores, only this time we would be the ones to storm the beach.

****

The majority of the Bollywood Knights – my pet affectation for labels continued – were focused on pushing themselves beyond the forty hour working week. They would deem such hours as laughable by comparison. They were the dung beetles of social Darwinism – willing to carry out jobs no one else would dream of taking, through hours no one would make and for money which was bordering on slave wages. The advantage of this situation was that I could stalk them quite easily from a near distance, always with a foaming cup of caffeine love infused through my system during this reconnaissance. These young men formed an offshoot of the Tooti Nungs- a gang which had tentacles forming over Britain from Birmingham to Southall and finally reaching Reading. They sprayed the initials 'NT' where they could, marking their territory and letting the public know that the New Thugee had arrived.

Before NT would grow suspicious, we had to up the ante. My connection to the dark side was growing stronger as I continued to manouever inside Adam – now Mr Davenport- as the host was almost completely overrun by my virus. The odd involuntary spasm was the only sign of any other life within this rented meat suit. This meant that I could continue to hone my powers, allowing a greater depth of vision and the chance to spread my influence further. I scoped out a potential ringleader for NT, the part owner of a tacky phone and simcard operation. Despite some false façade of racist bigotry, I actually admired these young men and felt my own disciples could learn quite a lot from them.

Amusing moments of malapropisms flickered on and off like a pilot inside my host's memories. Most of the time- they were amusing but sometimes these flashes of memory bordered on tedium.

I kept digressing from the job at hand.

The gaze was narrowed to include a worn name tag with 'AJEET' inscribed. Ajeet would often go out back for random short time frames, allowing me to deduce that his real base of operations and the source of revenue was covered in this front. I could not help but admire his resourcefulness. He would keep a disciplined routine timed almost to a metronome. This was of course the façade of his operations. The cash supply, pornography and Burner phones were a constant stream of income for his shop but also allowed steady revenue for his gang. As with most gangs, they needed a semi-legitimate system of operations otherwise they would perish very quickly. Not the wrath of Scotland Yard or MI6 or the various acronyms of the US of A- it was economics which crushed most organised crime. Ajeet managed to keep the system pumping. All of NTs vital organs were relatively intact, despite the threat of Mr Davenport's scalpel swishing through the air. Ajeet rotated between front of house operations, cursing out staff for being impolite to customers and back of house operations for being far too polite to NT's distributors. There were ways I could know all this and these were oh so abundant.

A younger member of the NT sauntered in and I kept a postulate watch, only providing a basic reconnaissance as each member politely acknowledged the other, with the dark apprentice providing the middle manager Ajeet with a delicate nod before each making a rendezvous out the back. It was at this point that I harnessed another special gift.

To the untrained eye I was merely reading over a paper but to the more observant pedestrian, I was pushing beyond the metaphysical, allowing myself to concentrate beyond a point of exhaustion, breathing in all of my surroundings and allowing a myriad of senses to punctuate my subconscious dialogue of thought. I kept a hard breath. I closed my eyes and allowed the mind's eye to become my spotter. Blurs of bricks, asphalt and mortar were sharpened by a steady focus on the convenience store before panning out back and translucently dissolving behind the walls to focus on the two team members of the NT. Each image sharpened and revealed the new scene like a Kirosawa long shot: Their tone was anxious.

Ajeet opened up the communication: "What do you have to report? Spit it out, man."

Javed was quick to respond. "He had help this time. Some professor jumped us when we were laying into the skinhead."

Ajeet could not help but offer his perspective:

"I doubt professors hang out in alleys like that. I feel like you are leaving something out. This all sounds very thin."

I was amused to think they thought of Mr Davenport as a professor. I could really make the puppets dance when the stage was set.

"He was ridiculously strong. It was unbelievable." Javed said.

"You were given the perfect chance to turn the tables on these fucks. Instead you sent a completely different message." Ajeet chided.

"I'm sorry." Javed pleaded.

"It's one thing to say it. Another entirely to show it. I want you to handle your shit and prove to me you can handle this type of cluster fuck."

Ajeet continued to assert his authority on the desperate minion.

"I can."

"I'm docking you for this too. Get the word out and put the hurt on these silly twats before I start removing other digits." He added.

During this exchange my beautiful mental steadycam continued to hover, almost zooming on their reactions and I felt my presence continuing to extend outwards, like an invisible hand trying to probe into the skull of Ajeet. Before I could do a mind melt I shuddered back into the host. I gazed back at the paper while trying to ignore my breaths which bordered on hyperventilation as the cold sweats trickled down my scalp. Being a Jedi of Chi was beyond exhausting. Each bout with astral projection blunted my psyche and there was no steroid to inject, but for now I was content.

I had enough data. Another piece shifted and clicked into its rightful place.

A red solstice would signal another lovely skirmish, but this time we had prepared.