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In small, remote towns in Russia, justice was often meted out by the police on the street. When Mikhail Fedorov was a small boy, he saw police pretty well taking what they wanted. If a merchant protested when a policeman helped himself to merchandise, he would be rewarded with a beating by a length of rubber hose. If a pedestrian somehow offended an officer, he might be beaten. Young Mikhail Fedorov saw it happening sometimes on the streets of the town. Other times, his father, a police patrolman himself, regaled him with tales of proud brutality. One time, when Mikhail’s mother was out of the house, his father had told him of taking a woman off the street and having sex with her. He was clearly proud and happy about that, and Mikhail thought of his father as quite a he-man hero.
When Mikhail was twelve, his father was shot and killed in the street. The story was that Mikhail Senior was killed by a pimp who was fed up with him beating up his girls. Other stories said that the husband of a woman he had raped had killed him. In any case, nobody felt badly about his violent demise except his devoted son.
Less than a year after his father’s funeral, his mother took him with her to Canada. She was to share life with her sister and her fifteen year old daughter, and Mikhail would attend school as usual and learn the language and characteristics of life in a small town in Canada.
As the years passed, Mikhail Fedorov followed in his father’s footsteps and went into law enforcement at nineteen. While he was growing up, so was the town, and when Mikhail was patrolling, the town was a small, busy city. He became a familiar sight around the streets, although he was not very friendly. He did his job to the very limits of the law, even stepped over the line occasionally. He was a good, hardworking cop, basically.
Mikhail rose through the ranks based on his good arrest record. He finally made Detective Inspector. By that time, he was known as ‘Big Mike Fedora’. He always wore a trench coat and a fedora hat, usually pulled down over his forehead when he was interrogating or perched on the back of his head when he was thinking.
Soon after his promotion to a senior position, Mike’s activities on the streets changed. He had never been very friendly, but he had been fair. People were puzzled when he began to take things. He began to help himself to things like a bottle of Russian Vodka from the liquor store, or a bag of groceries from the little market uptown.
The real trouble began when he started taking girls for himself. He cruised along in his unmarked car and when he saw a girl he wanted, he forced her to get into the car and give him oral sex or face charges of prostitution. The girls felt they had no choice.
Late one night when he was feeling horny, Big Mike saw a new girl on ‘the stroll’. He was stricken by the milky white of her smooth complexion, the long black hair and radiant blue eyes. He powered the passenger window down and called her over to the car.
“Looking for a party, Inspector?” she said. The other girls had told her about Big Mike Fedora, and she knew what to expect.
“Get into the car,” Mike said.
“Why?” the young woman said.
“It’s your turn to give me a blow job,” he said. “You’re new here, and you have to pay your way in.”
“Go fuck yourself,” the girl said, and walked away. Several other girls were watching from up and down and across the street. Big Mike Fedora knew he had to show the whole hooker stroll that they can’t fuck with him. He stepped out of the car and strode quickly up to the woman, spun her around and punched her hard in the face with his big ham sized fist. She fell back against a brick wall and hit the back of her head, hard. She crumpled to the ground and Mike started kicking her in the stomach, legs and arms. Finally, he stomped on her rib cage and stood back, straightened his clothes and looked around at the girls and some passersby.
“Don’t fuck wit’ Big Mike Fedora!” he said before he entered his car and drove home.