Chapter 456: You No Mess With Lo Wang

Is it wrong to re-fill the energy she used in the gym, hitting my hands when trying to land a punch on me?

When the girl jumped into my arms, crying, she had beaten the living shit out of every boy and girl who came into the suite that had ever sexually abused her. I did find that Crimilda wouldn’t stop until all of them were bloody, bruised, and had long gotten hit enough times for them to start begging her not to hit them anymore.

When they were all crying and cringing, Crimilda turned in their direction and said, “You are all fucking assholes. Not one of you ever asked me if you could fuck my pussy, ass, or mouth instead of using me how you wanted. What has always sucked the most about what you did to me is that I love things in my pussy and ass. Mom said I stuck my fingers in both holes whenever I could get out of my diaper and never stopped. I loved to suck dick, lick pussy, and the taste of cum. I was doing all three before any of you started to play with your cocks and cunts when you hit puberty and started raping me. You could have had me fucking, licking, and sucking you until you had to beg me to stop because you couldn’t take getting off anymore. Now all you will get is your ass kicked. If you manage to jump me and hold me down, just remember that I will get loose at some point. I hate all of you.”

“Go get anything you have that is precious to you and get dressed. It isn’t going to be healthy for anyone if you stay here. I’m going to take you to a different one of my complexes where you won’t have to worry about them jumping you or jumping them in return,” I told Crimilda.

While she did that, I texted Becky to tell her about what had happened here. Becky texted that Crimilda was only a few months older than Ellen and that Crimilda was loved dearly by her grandmother. From what she found out on her computer about the girl, Becky said that Crimilda wasn’t allowed to attend school and had to care for the babies and toddlers from her parents, aunts, and uncles, when not being raped, so she was on about the same level for reading and math as Ellen. Best of all, Crimilda was one of the few in the family she trusted without question. Crimilda was why Becky was so pissed at her grandmother. Crimilda kept Becky’s grandmother up to speed on all the shit going on with the US part of the larger family, but all that stayed hidden away from Becky.

Only two of the kids living in the family’s large suite weren’t beaten to shit by Crimilda because they were uncharacteristically kind to her all of Crimilda’s life. They were narcissists. Before being diagnosed with a narcissistic personality disorder, her family initially thought that the two were psychopaths, then sociopaths. Whatever their mental conditions, both had been nothing but loving towards Crimilda, often taking revenge on their cousins and siblings for what they did to Crimilda. Becky said they would do their best here since the family outside the US would get them after both had their runs through the gauntlet of medical, dental, and mental health people. Her family needed their personality disorders to help drive parts of the family business.

Crimilda hugged them both and thanked them for all they did for her.

We got a ride to the nearest airport. I started to get shit and looks from people as if I was a child molester when I got Crimilda her ticket. I let them play their games. Crimilda gave me a wink to say she knew how to play along.

“Sir, if you come with us, please,” four airport cops, and two city cops, said as they led Crimilda and me off toward their in-airport police substation.

A woman took Crimilda off to one room, and I was taken to an interrogation room.

You didn’t even pat me down or ask for ID.

We had missed the first flight out while I sat “on ice” in the interrogation room, with no phone call or anyone coming in to ask questions. They still didn’t know more than my name was David Jones.

My implant pinged me with the results of their examination of Crimilda. She got raped multiple times today before I called all the kids at the facility to the auditorium. She told them the truth about her siblings and cousins raping her when they asked her for details. I then took her to the airport, and here we were.

A detective and three angry-looking cops came into the interrogation room. They said I was “restrained for my safety” as they zip-cuffed me to the chair.

I did use my implant to notify Paula not to get involved. I had it all going according to plan.

“You are one sick fuck, Mr. Jones,” the detective said, falsely assuming I couldn’t get loose. “Letting her family gang-rape a little girl is unfathomable. Kidnapping and trying to fly off with her to wherever you thought you were heading was stupid. I really should let the officers have some time to show you what they think of people like you, but there is a small problem with your rights. I will tell the judge how you cooperated with us if you just cut through the bullshit and give us the truth.”

You wanted the truth but didn’t say which one you wanted.

“Let me see. I could make you give me my phone call, but you didn’t take my phone away, so I already took care of that,” I explained. “Where to start. Crimilda is part of an international ultra-elite family who makes hundreds of millions of dollars a month selling what they make appear to be rare collectibles, like Hokum shit. When people don’t pay the crazy-ass prices anymore, they flood the market with the shit. Idiots freak out about one coming to wherever they buy this crap and snap it up for whatever the place thinks they can get for it. What her family did to her is a well-known practice. They use it to overthrow the current head of their family. When you are in their ultra-elite world, you are above the law. That doesn’t put them above the wrath of the person who is the head of their international family business. That is how she ended up where I found her.”

The detective looked at me like I was crazy.

I smiled at him and said, “You asked for the truth, and that is what you got.”

Two cops had to drag him from the room to keep him from getting at me.

Because she knew the detective had turned the interrogation room camera and microphone off, the one remaining cop said, “Well played, Mr. Jones. He thinks he is the top detective in the states. My coworkers here got assigned to the airport as muscle, not brains. The TSA security staff can’t do more than follow policy. I can’t believe they didn’t ask for any identification or frisk you before bringing you into an interrogation room. Dumb ass detective thinks he has a child sex trafficking international-news making conviction waiting in here. Just keep stringing him along. His showboating will get his ass back to detecting expired parking meters in the bad parts of town, at night, on streets with few street lights.”

Having gotten loose from the two officers, the detective came in here, cursing, slamming his hands on the table, and doing all he could to get within inches of me threateningly. I let this go on until I got a message that Crimilda had social services on the way to take her into protective custody, which happened to mean returning to my foster-care complex.

Before any of the cops in this room could respond, I had the zip cuffs broken, and the detective backed into a corner. One cop used a stun gun on me, only to find it didn’t do a thing.

“One question for you, dick. How many years are you going to get in maximum security for sending a child back to the place where her siblings and cousins raped her, repeatedly, earlier today?” I asked.

Three cops did come in with guns drawn. I turned my wallet out with the federal badge that tied me to the federal agency that allowed me to take kids into my care anywhere in the US. The other was my US Treasury badge.

“Put your guns down, or I will take them from you,” I told them in a way that made them do that when combined with the badge.

“Let me tell you how fucked you and your clown party are, Detective,” I told him. “You know that my name is David Jones. I am a US Treasury agent and a federal officer with the power to take any child I wish into my protective custody. There is no fucking thing that any state, county, city, or local agency can do about it. Oh, one other small item of interest, since you are too fucking stupid even to bother to run my information, where the social services people were going to take Crimilda is to my foster-care complex. You see, I’m that David Jones, and I am the one who is paying all four of the complexes out of my pocket. I found out the details of what had been happening to Crimilda, so I took her out of there for her and their protection. I was in the process of transporting her to another location when this airport’s police got notified of a suspicious person buying one-way tickets and traveling with a minor child who was not related to him. I don’t fault them for doing their job. We could have cleared up this matter quickly, and I would be on a plane with Crimilda right now. You fucked that up.”

To the cop that used the stun gun on me, “I think it is broken or needs a new battery. All I felt was it pushing against me. Or maybe it is that I’m a grandmaster in all martial arts. Look me up because I’m pretty sure the latter has more to do with it than the former.”

I used the place in my head to show me where to pull on the interrogation room door to destroy all the locking mechanisms so I could open it. I walked from the room to where the social services people were waiting to have Crimilda released to them, and I decided to have some fun. I waited for the detective to snap out of his shock and rush after me.

“Mr. Jones,” a senior FBI agent said when he saw me heading toward the social services people. “What are you doing here? Did they ask you to get involved in this child’s welfare?”

Both the social services people showed that they immediately knew who I was, and they soon figured out what was going on. It explained why they got told that someone else would take custody of Crimilda but that they needed to wait for that person to arrive.

“This is the child predator. He is extremely dangerous. Stop him,” the detective barked as he ran toward me.

On the way to the counter, the detective grabbed a shotgun and was now pointing it at me.

The FBI agent told the detective, “He is very dangerous to imbeciles pointing guns at him. Put it down before you are handcuffed naked with shotgun shells up your ass.”

The detective didn’t, so I took the shotgun away, cleared all the shells from it, stripped him, and then shoved three of the shotgun shells in his ass before handcuffing him to the nearest chair.

I got a few inches from his face and said, “I was clearly stating that this child is in my protective custody. Failing to stand down put her at risk of being injured by your attempt to shoot me. I did what I felt was required to ensure her safety. I’m glad the FBI is here because they can take you into custody for aiming a weapon at a federal agent in an airport. They can flip a coin with the Treasury Department to see who gets the first piece of your ass. Since you made me miss my flight and there isn’t another until tomorrow, I now have to find out if I can borrow a jet.”

I made the “call” for a ride, and alarms started going off a few minutes later.

“What is the name of God is that alarm?” one of the cops asked.

An airport cop said, “It’s an emergency alert that we should never get here. It indicates that unknown, unidentified, heavily armed aircraft are on a direct path to this airport. All air traffic is getting cleared.”

“The military just told the ATC that they were ordered not to scramble any aircraft to intercept,” a scared person said, coming out from a room in the back.

We all heard the jets land and then taxied up near this part of the terminal building.

“Agent? Anything else I need to do here before I leave?” I asked the FBI agent.

He had to call his boss to find out.

The FBI agent began saying that his supervisor had contacted the governor, mayor, and police chief. Before he could go into any more detail, two pilots, still with their helmets on, came in carrying my flight suit and one in all lilac for Crimilda.

The pilots left the way they came in. Since our clothes were thin enough to wear with the flight suits, we pulled them on in the airport police substation’s central area.

“It sounds like you have things under control, and I have a ten billion-dollar jet waiting for me to fly it home,” I said as I got Crimilda’s helmet locked in place and turned on the scrubber system.

People followed us out to the tarmac. The jet was using some active camouflage that disengaged when I got near. I helped Crimilda climb up to stand on the wing outside the cockpit and climbed up myself. I got her strapped in and connected to the pressure system before I got into the pilot seat.

The other jets left as I was getting everything fired up.

“Aircraft David Jones, seeking clearance for immediate takeoff,” I said into the radio.