‘An action hero with a liking for justice rather than law – Mike Dalmas
is my kind of guy.’ Zoë Sharp, author of the Charlie Fox novels
Mike Dalmas returns doing the cop's dirty work. This ex-Special Forces vigilante is a father and a
husband who is blackmailed by the Bay City cops to do the stuff their badge
prevents them from doing. This Mike Dalmas story appeared in Kindle some time ago with Trestle Press. It's out of print right now, but Mike Dalmas will return with a short story collection soon. To remind you about the character here's...
THE COLOR OF BLOOD - A MIKE DALMAS SHORT STORY
ONE
Mike Dalmas was alarmed by the presence of a Crown Vic parked in
front of his home. He was driving into his street with his SUV, his daughter,
Margie sitting beside him. They’d just went to soccer practice. Dalmas was very
pleased with his daughter, she’d scored two times.
Dalmas felt the Crown Vic didn’t belong on his driveway and neither
did the man leaning against it. Dressed in his trademark cheap suit, smoking a
cigarette, was Homicide Detective Carver. Dalmas had a special deal with
Carver. The cop would keep the fact Dalmas, former Special Forces, killed the
man that molested Margie under wraps and in return Dalmas would take care of
the dirty work the badge didn’t allow Carver to take care of. Dalmas didn’t
appreciate Carver’s visit to his home. He liked to keep that secret life as
separate from his family life as possible.
Dalmas parked and left his car. He opened the door for Margie. She
walked over to Carver.
“Hello sir, are you waiting for daddy?”
Carver smiled. “As a matter of fact, I am, kiddo.”
Dalmas, carrying Margie’s duffelbag filled with her soccer outfit,
joined his daughter. The bag seemed to way nothing to him.
Dalmas, lowered his massive body until he was at her height and gave
her a little peck on the cheek. “Sweetheart, go inside, okay? I will be along
shortly.”
“Okay, dad!” she said and sped off inside.
When she was out of eyesight Dalmas got very close to Carver’s face
and hissed, “Never visit me at my home again.”
Carver held up his hands in surrender,
“Take it easy, Dalmas. I didn’t know that would piss you off this much.”
“Now you know. Remember it.”
“I will, I will. I just need to talk to you
for a sec.”
“Speak.”
“I need your skills again for a very
special mission. Word on the street is that a few of the Bay City gangs are banding together. Imagine
how tough they will be when they unite. We’ll have an even harder time keeping
them in check.”
“So, what do you need me to do?”
“I want you to break up that cooperation.
And I’ve got a great idea to do that. You kill one of the gangleaders dressed
in the colors of another gang. That will break up their little supergroup
nicely.”
“Won’t there be retaliations? A gang war?”
“Can’t be as terrible as these guys working
together.”
Dalmas thought about the possible innocent
bystanders that could get killed in a full-fledged gang war. He also thought
about one united gang and how quickly they would become a power the police
might not be prepared for. He’d done missions like this before, in the
Middle-East. He had little moral problems assassinating a note gang leader. He
came to a conclusion. “E-mail me the details.”
Carver shook his hand. “Great, I’ll get
them to you asap. By the way, great to see your kid looking happy like that
after everything that’s happened to her. You’re a great dad.”
Compliments from people other than his wife
meant little to Dalmas. He was just too self-confident for them to do a lot.
“Thanks. Now leave.”
“Sure,” Carver said and got in his Crown
Vic. Dalmas watched him leave the street before he went inside to join his
family for lunch.
TWO
Carver’s intel was
pretty extensive. Pictures of the gang leaders, the places they visited, the
colors they wore. Dalmas knew colors were important with gangs, they served to
identify which gang you were with. That’s why he visited some clothing stores.
He also made a pretty unique purchase at one of the stores.
An old Chevy that was traded in for a brand
new Lexus at the car dealer where Dalams worked was left off the books by him.
He dirtied up the license plate with some mud and put his stuff inside.
He drove the car to the place where Iron
Dave, the leader of the Street Lords, the biggest gang in Bay City, used to frequent at this time of
day. Iron Dave fancied himself a big rap-superstar and was trying to tape a
record. That was why he went to the Phono City Studio daily, together with a
few of his men.
Dalmas sat in his parked Chevy and waited.
He was wearing a black ball cap with a red bandana wrapped around it and a
black oversized Adidas sweater. It identified him as one of the Bay Kings gang.
He had a baklava covered around his face and was wearing shades to keep his
identity concealed.
Iron Dave left the building. He was dressed
in a white wifebeater, his neck was filled with gold chains and on his head he
wore a black bandana. Two gangbangers, dressed in similar clothing but less
jewelry, flanked him. Dalmas noticed the handguns stuck in their waistbands.
Dalmas opened the window of his Chevy and
yelled, “Bay Kings rule, assholes!”
Making sure the gangbangers got a good look
at his cap he waited a few seconds before firing a silenced 9mm Beretta. Iron
Dave was hit in the chest three times, killing him before his body hit the
pavement.
His bodyguards drew their guns, Dalmas
gunned the engine. The Chevy almost flew around the corner, gunshots shattering
the back window.
The Street Lords ran around the corner,
guns ready. The Chevy was standing still just around the corner. Without
hesitation the gangbangers opened fire on it, perforating the figure behind the
wheel with their bullets.
When they were confident their target
couldn’t be breathing anymore the came closer, pointing their guns through the
Chevy’s window. What they saw made them curse.
Sitting behind the wheel of the Chevy was
store mannequin doll, clad in Bay Kings colors.
The gangbangers slammed the car with their
guns’ butts, swearing they’d get the man who killed their leader.
Dalmas heard it all from under the manhole
cover that the Chevy covered. He almost smiled.
THREE
Dalmas had just put the kids in bed and sat down on the living room
couch with his wife, Donna. She snuggled up to him, glad to have him at home in
the evening. So often these days he went on these covert missions he didn’t
want to talk about.
They were watching the local news and what Dalmas saw disturbed him.
His body tensed, his teeth gritted.
Donna gave him a worried look. “Terrible, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Terrible. Let’s watch Family Guy or something.”
The news that had disturbed him was about how two innocent
bystanders got wounded when a couple of Street Lords had killed a Bay King
member in a drive-by shooting. The bystanders were still alive but badly
wounded, that relieved Dalmas somewhat, but not enough. The assassination of
Iron Dave might have set off something he wouldn’t be able to live with.
He’d call Carver and find a way to deal with this.
FOUR
Dalmas was driving over to work when he gave Carver a call.
“So you heard about it, huh?” Carver said.
“I did. I was afraid this would happen.”
“I know, I know. I was aware of the risks as well. You have to look
at the bigger picture here, though. Like I told you, these gangs banding
together is even worse.”
“I want this war to stop. How can we achieve that?”
Carver laughed. “You could kill them all?”
“Not an option. I haven’t got the time or firepower. And, contrary
to what you seem to believe I am not a mass murderer.”
“I was just kidding, Mike. Word on the street is the Street Lords
will keep killing off random Bay Kings until they hand over the man who killed
their leader. That might be a problem of course. Unless you want to turn
yourself in to them?”
Dalmas was silent.
“Mike?” Carver said.
Dalmas was still silent.
“Are you still there?” Carver asked.
Dalmas spoke, “I’m going to give them what they want.”
FIVE
Tyrone Banks left
his girlfriend’s house at 2300 hours. He was still buttoning his fly when he
got into his car. He sat down behind the wheel and chuckle. “That Diana, what a
fine, fine piece of ass.”
An arm, strong a steel, wrapped around his neck. There was someone
behind him in the backseat.
“Sleep tight,” Dalmas said and started to apply enough pressure to
Tyrone’s windpipe to make him pass out.
Dalmas got out of the car, slid Tyrone over to the passenger seat
and took the wheel.
SIX
A buddy of Carver working at the Gang Unit had
served up the intel on Tyrone. Dalmas had asked for the name of the most
heinous member of the Bay Kings. Tyrone’s name had come up immediately. He was
suspected of robbing and killing two elderly women, dealing drugs and raping a
sixteen year old girl. The Gang Unit had been keeping an eye on him for some
time, knowing exactly when Tyrone went on a booty call, visiting Diana, his
girlfriend. Being married she could only receive Tyrone when her husband was
working late. That made it easy for Dalmas to know where to find him when.
Tyrone was lying tied up in the trunk of
his own car while Dalmas drove over to the place he’d agreed to meet the
current leader of the Street Lords, Cold Francis. Carver’s Gang Unit friend had
managed to set up a meeting, using an undercover cop.
Dalmas arrived at the abandoned warehouse
where the meeting would take place. An El Camino was already parked there.
Wearing the same Bay King outfit he did when he assassinated Iron
Dave he got out of the car. He went over to the trunk and opened it. He hauled
Tyrone out of it. Tyrone’s arms were bound behind him and he was gagged. He
struggled a bit at first, but the 9mm Beretta Dalmas put against his ribs
forced his calm.
The warehouse’s dock door opened. Standing in the door opening were
Cold Francis, a big guy wearing army pants and a .45 handgun and two
bodyguards, armed with Uzi’s.
“That the guy you holding there?” Francis asked.
Dalmas nodded. He knew Francis had gotten his nickname because he was
known to kill someone in cold blood, not even blinking.
“Hand him over,” Francis said.
Dalmas gave Tyrone a push. He lost his balance and fell to his knees
in front of Francis.
“This is payback, bitch!” Francis said and let his .45 do the rest
of the talking. He shot Tyrone right between the eyes.
Tyrone fell down. Francis kicked him in the ribs, calling him a few
bad names.
“Now what do we do with you?” Francis asked and pointed his gun at
Dalmas.
Dalmas had his 9mm up in a split-second. Both gunmen stared at each
other for a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity.
Francis started to laugh. “Don’t worry, man. I appreciate you
bringing this asshole in. I appreciate the show of good faith, you know. Maybe
we can end this little war.”
Dalmas nodded and lowered the gun. Francis lowered his.
Slowly Dalmas backed up to his car. He went in and drove off.
SEVEN
Dalmas ditched
Tyrone’s car and drove home in his SUV. When he got out of the SUV he could see
there was a light on in their bedroom. Good, Donna was still awake.
He entered his home and
walked up the stairs. Donna was in bed, reading a Tess Gerritsen thriller. She
lowered her book and gave him a funny look.
He was still wearing the Bay Kings outfit. He smiled apologetically.
“Mid-life crisis already?” Donna asked. He admired her good sense of
humor.
“Work outfit,” Dalmas said.
“Take it off quickly and get to work over here,” Donna said and
patted the bed.
Dalmas did. He knew afterwards he’d have no trouble sleeping. Yes,
he got a man shot over a crime he didn’t commit, but that man deserved it. Not
only that, that death would save many other lives. The only thing Dalmas
regretted was that his life had been in danger for a few seconds when the .45
was pointing at him. He knew Donna and the kids would be devastated if he ever
got killed.
In the bedroom that night he would make sure he made the most of his
time among the living.
THE END
