Pool_1

>> The Riots <<

Washington Benson was tall, broad and sharply muscled. Respected by all, Marcus could envision him as a next generation Frank, though his left pectoral lacked the brand. That curious symbol, Omega, was common to a collection of physically powerful black men who seemed to wield uncanny power in this community. But you could tell that his mark was just a matter of time, for his was the only unbranded chest in their presence when they gathered for their mysterious talks. Marcus witnessed, from afar, several such assemblages of the Omegas as they secreted into the guard house. Imprinted men entered and left with almost military temper from locked meetings which were all business. Laughing was never heard through those closed doors. It wasn't long after one such caucus that that Puerto Rican nut case, Zee Zee, was shot dead. No body was found nor were any police actions of any sort likely on his account. But dead he was. That was according to the word going around. News like that was seldom wrong and nobody was complaining. Oh, com'on. Save your choler for better nature. Zee Zee was a mistake to no end. He was a menace. But official law couldn't touch him. Somebody would have to be sacrificed. Whose somebody would that be? No. Law couldn't do anything until there was a victim, and then only if there was enough evidence. Without evidence and process there was no constraining mechanism. The only time he was arrested was when he stabbed his own mother, probably by best accounts, his sixteenth victim, all from his own community, charged by his step brother. That step brother was found slashed recently. Accusing this guy of anything was a good way to get killed. The clock had been ticking and that clock was a walking bomb.