THE DAMASCUS CHRONICLES
Written By
DOMINIC R. DANIELS
COPYRIGHT©2014.ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Dedicated to
Phil Daniels
Mary Daniels
Sandra Dee Murg
Mary Anne Delehanty
Table of Contents
Part One: The Deadly Dame
Chapter 1: Hit gone wrong
Chapter 2: Damascus’ Pad
Chapter 3: The Nightmare begins again
Chapter 4: A Punk and a Junky
Chapter 5: A Thrill to the Kill
Chapter 6: Code of Silence
Chapter 7: Rebirth
Part 2: The Dark Gift
Chapter 8: “Let the Hunt Begin”
Chapter 9: Alley Assault
Chapter 10: “Humanity Resides Within”
Chapter 11: “The Psychic Gift”
Chapter 12: “Rescue”
Chapter 13: “The Stakeout”
Chapter 14: “Partners”
Part 3: The Past Comes Back
Chapter 15: “Recovering the Goods”
Chapter 16: “Making Collection”
Chapter 17: The Chase
Chapter 18: ”Erasing the evidence”
Chapter 19: “The Don’s Dilemma”
Chapter 20: “An Unlikely Surprise”
Part Four: “COP’S INTUITION”
Chapter 21: Just a hunch
Chapter 22: “Clue Connecting”
Chapter 23: “You got the Wrong Guy”
Chapter 24: “Chase and Shoot”
Chapter 25: “Deception and Robbery”
Chapter 26: “An Unfortunate Mistake”
Chapter 27: “Kill the Pig”
Chapter 28: “An Old Friend”
Chapter 29: “Stop the Terrorists”
Chapter 30: “Sabotage and Destruction”
Chapter 31: “Conflict and Resolution”
Chapter 32: “The Plot”
Chapter 33: “New Allies and Friends”
Part Five: The Black Spider
Chapter 34: “Little Sally Comes Home”
Chapter 35: “Drive by for Mike”
Chapter 36: “Hunting down the Prey”
Chapter 37: “A New Family”
Chapter 38: ”The Informer”
Part Six: The Hit
Chapter 39: The Dark One
Chapter 40: Traitor
Chapter 41: The Plan
Chapter 42: Find the Girl
Chapter 43: Kat
Chapter 44: The Abbey
Chapter 45: “Good News”
Chapter 46: Go for the Kill
Part Seven: Turf and War
Chapter 47: The Rescue
Chapter 48: “The Dark Alliance”
Chapter 49: The Truce
Chapter 50: Bio Collection
Part Eight: The Jade Dragon
Chapter 51: The Man called Lao
Chapter 52: Stewards of Swords
Chapter 53: Heist at Mohachi’s
Chapter 54: Discovery in Tokyo
Chapter 55: Back Home
Part Nine: The Meeting
Chapter 56: Getting the Info
Chapter 57: Boom Time
Chapter 58: Doomsday
Chapter 59: Save the Hostages
Part Ten: The Final Confrontation
Chapter 60: An Old Score
Chapter 61: Running Fever
Chapter 62: The A Bomb
Epilogue: “A New Reason to Live”
Part One: The Deadly Dame
Chapter 1: Hit gone wrong
The city streetlights began to light up the desert night sky with colors of reds, pinks, purples and blues, putting on a show of grand splendor. Past the bright yellow-colored light bulbs, signs that glittered and flashed erratically, past the sounds of rattling coins falling from the multitude of slot machines in the casinos that the crowds passed through day and night, the laughter of happy drunks that filled the air of the ever vibrant, ever vice-filled, good ole Las Vegas. A new time in a new age, the city had become a massive metropolis in a new era, the year 2020. Up on the rooftops in the west district of Sin City, a shadowy figure came out of the corners, leaping from one rooftop to the next with ease. Landing on the roof of an old yet refurbished penthouse, he looked down through the thin sheets of glass of the skylight. Below in the eclectic dimly-lit study, he could see a group of men. One was dressed in a rich Italian suit, surrounded by an array of bodyguards dressed in black suits. The other two were wearing regular clothes. The two men faced by their boss. Standing, as if before a judge waiting for their final sentence. Franco Scarfo sat angry at his desk while taking in his thoughts about his two employee’s most recent screw up.
“I don’t give a fuck that we lost 500 grand on the transfer coming from the downtown bank, I don’t care about the pressure coming down on us from the fucking cops, what I give a damn about, boys, is how you two fucking screw-ups let 20 million dollars of my money in merchandise get boosted on the truck last night,” yelled Franco. Franco, about 42 years old, was a natural bad ass. Built strong like an ox, he was very good looking and had a strong sex appeal with the ladies. A powerful underboss to the Scarfo crime family. Ruthless and deadly. The kind of guy that no one would dare mess with. He was god. What he said was law. If he wanted to you dead. You’re dead!
“Boss it wasn’t our fault!!!,” said Pete squirming. A young punk and creep. One of Franco’s hired muscle.
“Bullshit!” exploded Franco with fiery rage, getting up pushing over his desk on the floor with smashing his crystal lamp on the floor. Franco pushed the barrel of his gun to one of the thug’s heads as he knelt, groveling on the ground. “Boss! I swear to Christ it wasn’t our fault,” screamed Pete.
“Don’t lie to me, you little piece of shit!” interrupted Franco, clenching his finger slightly, almost pulling the trigger.
”Honest! Oh God!!! Please don’t kill me!!!!,” Pete begged[LN1]. “Morey and I were driving the truck down to the warehouse when of all of a sudden some fucking mysterious black car pulls up to us, shoots out our tires. I get hit by broken glass in the face, then I lose control, the truck turns over, down we go and the next thing you know we’re both out cold and I find myself in a gutter in the alley,” wailed Pete.
“You really expect me to believe that,” Franco retorted.
“It’s true Boss, Pete’s[LN2] not lying,” whined Morey. Morey was a spineless, sack of shit coward. A lower level thug and runner with Pete Rangoon. Both of them, losers with no balls to match. A race horse with its nuts cut off could stampede resiliently better than them on any given day.
“Where were you when this happened?” yelled Franco.
Morey moaned, “I fell out of the truck into a ditch…”
Kaboom! The skylight exploded as glass shards flew to the floor. “AHH!” screamed the men, dropping to the floor. Smoke bombs fell from above. “What the fuck is going on!” Morey cried. A shadowy figure dropped through the skylight on a rope, and the men began to shoot at him. Guns blazing, they shot into the settling smoke, hitting nothing. The shadowy figure darted to a corner and pulled out a pistol and Uzi, killing most of Franco’s men, swiping his gunfire from side to side swiftly like a bat flying out of hell. Dressed in a black leather trench coat and black leather pants, his hair was dark as the night and long like a god of rock and roll. He face was hard and chiseled. Yet beautiful and hypnotic like a fallen angel with gleaming eyes, whispering into the night. With a tough as nails expression and smirking smile across his face. Masked by dark sun glasses. Blasting away, enjoying the thrill of the slaughter. The men fired back taking cover behind the couches and liquor cabinets. Vases and expen
sive suede couches and liquor table stocked with expensive cognac and spirits in the meeting lounge were shot to pieces with glass bottles exploding from the machine gun fire as the figure ducked and shot back. He rushed from the corner to behind the circular bar near the side of a staircase that lead into a small upper side room where the vault was located. The dark figure pulled a grenade from his inner coat, pulling the pin out with his teeth and hurled the grenade into the mix, distracting his targets to escape. A large glass window was at the end of the upper stair case, to crash through.
“Shit!!!!” Pete yelled. The grenade exploded, blowing a hole in the floor killing many of the henchmen with bodies and gore flung all over. The carpets soaked in scarlet blood and death. The figure made his way out from behind the bar, rushing up through the stairs when all of a sudden a gorgeous woman in a black biker leather suit jacket and pants ran into him. Her was black as darkness. Her eyes intoxicating. Her skin soft and pure with lips red as a rose. She was carrying stolen jewels and cash from the opened safe. The two of them fell to ground as they collided, causing the shadowy figure’s sun glasses to fall off and revealing his face. [LN3]Franco and his men confronted the two intruders in the hall and went in straight for the kill.
“My money! Kill them!” yelled Franco.
“Don’t just stand there, help me!” yelled the girl at her fellow attacker. He just smiled. [LN4]The mysterious figure and the girl fired at Franco and his men, wounding Franco in the shoulder, and in the exchange of crossfire the girl was hit.
”OOOHAAh!” she screamed in pain.
“Hold on!” the mysterious figure commanded, picking her up and jumping out of a nearby window. Franco climbed over the corpse of one of his men as he ran to the window.
“You cocksuckers! You’re dead! I’ll find you!!!” Franco screamed, firing his pistols at the rooftops as he watched the assailants flee.
Chapter 2: Damascus’ Pad
The mysterious figure jumped from rooftop to rooftop still carrying the trembling girl.
“Nice shooting back there wise ass, you could have gotten us both killed,” said the girl through gritted teeth.
“It didn’t help that you got in the way! What were you thinking, being there?” retorted the man. “I was trying to rob the safe, no thanks to you. Still … you saved my life,” the girl whispered softly, looking into his eyes, and then she kissed him quickly.
“What was that for?”
“Just to repay the favor. I like a man that has balls,” said the girl.
“You’re something, lady! You’re also hurt,” replied the man.
“It’s just a scratch, I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding, come on,” said the man.
“No hospitals please. The police have been looking for me.” The girl winced in pain.
“I know a place where you will be safe.”
“Wait, how do I know I can trust you?” asked the girl.
“I just saved your life, didn’t I?” replied the man in a low voice. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Here, put this handkerchief on the bleeding for now and grab on tight. It’s a long way down to the ground,” said the man confidently. He lowered himself and the girl on a grappling hook to the street in the alley.
“Come on, let’s get out of here, the bacon boys will be here any minute,” said the girl.
“No problem,” replied the man coolly, knocking over a stacked bunch of cardboard boxes that had been concealing a strange motorcycle. “Hop on.”
The two sped away quickly, threading their way through the alleys.
“Nice bike.”
“Thanks,” replied the man. “So tell me what’s your name?”
“Serena Bellmont,” said the girl.
“Sounds sexy,” replied the man.
“You’re sweet!” replied Serena.
“The name is Damascus,” replied the man.
“What kind of name is that?” Serena replied. “You can call me Michael,” replied Damascus. “Where are we going?” asked Serena.
“My place. You’ll be safe there; the neighborhood is so dangerous not even the cops would think of going there,” replied Michael. “Thanks, I feel safe already!” said Serena. Michael chuckled softly as they headed down through the dimly-lit alleys to his pad. Michael drove the bike to an underground garage deep below an old abandoned three level theater/apartment building at Otis Way, a neighborhood that had long seen better days. The wind blew a warm breeze into the dusty summer night; Michael opened the front door with his key and the two headed up the old wooden stairs, creaking as they went. The lock of door released as Michael turned another key.
They entered a richly furnished apartment, red silk curtains shot through with golden brocade, mahogany wood tables and fine oak chairs, a black suede couch, and a stylized glass coffee table. On the end tables were Italian murano glass lamps with fine brass trim. A silver chandelier illuminated the room with light and a charming fireplace was faced with rich red brick. The walls of the apartment were draped in antique Lebanese tapestries alongside beautiful paintings with the flare of Tunisia. A red stained glass hookah stood in the center of the room next to a fine mahogany wood humidor. A small, elegant bar stocked with expensive liquor and fine European wine stood against one of the walls.
“Interesting vintage. You have fine taste I see,” said an astonished Serena. “I have to admit I’m quite impressed, I expected it to be…different.”
“I get by well. It helps to compensate for living in a bad neighborhood filled with crackheads and drug dealers,” replied Michael. “Here, come into the bathroom, I’ll patch that up quick.”
Serena followed her host to the bathroom to dress her wound. “You know, I’m actually surprised that you didn’t freak out back there, when you saw me kill those guys at the penthouse,” Michael mused.
“Spilled blood doesn’t bother me. I grew up seeing soldiers killed every day as a child. That’s what you get when you’re put to work as a child solider in a socialist country.”
“You’re kidding!” Michael was astounded.
“No that was home; bloodshed, vodka, and week-old cabbage and potatoes for dinner. Looking up into the sky after sunset seeing the stars above, it’s just another day in the killing fields.” Serena lit up a cigarette and exhaled a thick puff of smoke.
“A hell of a life,” said Michael.
“It’s life,” agreed Serena.
”Here you go, better now?” asked Michael, as he finished cleaning and bandaging her wound.
“Yes, thank you.”
“You can lay low here for a while until the heat blows over. I think you’ll find yourself to be comfortable here. The bedroom is across the hall,” said Michael as the two walked back into the living room.
“That’s very kind of you,” said Serena, “and surprising for someone who just killed twelve mobsters back there.”
“Just cleaning up the streets, I call it. Besides, scumbags like that deserved what they got,” said Michael.
“Trigger happy, huh?” giggled Serena.
“You could call it that.”
“So let me guess – you’re a cleaner,” said Serena.
“On occasion,” Michael replied, as he removed a bottle of wine from the bar cabinet.
“Red wine, my dear, or white?”
“Red, please.”
Michael poured her a glass and his guest reclined on his posh couch, sipping her wine. “Speaking of which, you didn’t do too bad yourself back at Scarfo’s penthouse. Where did you learn to shoot like that? questioned Michael.
“My father was a skilled sniper in the KGB. He taught me everything. Also, my mother was a radio operator who taught me how to decode messages. Sometimes I would sit next to her when she tapped out on the telegraph. She was killed when I was eleven in a fire fight in Moscow,” replied Serena sadly.
“I’m sorry,” said Michael.
“When I came to America I chose to do something less noticeable …” continued Serena
.
“Thus choosing the way of the professional thief,” interrupted Michael.
“I take what I want, when I want, where I want, and it pays better too,” responded Serena with a smile. “What about you, what’s your story?”
“Just an average citizen providing the citizens of this scum-filled town with an unnecessary public service. Why do you care?” snapped Michael.
“Just wondering that’s all.”
“Why?” Michael persisted.
“Because I’m curious, and you are more than you seem to be,” replied Serena, eyeing a picture frame sitting next to the lamp. She picked it up and asked, “Who is this?”
“That’s my sister, Katrina. She’s dead,”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay, I guess I’m still trying to move on,” Michael replied.
“What happened to her?” asked Serena.
“Forget about it!” said Michael. “It’s getting late, why don’t you get some sleep, you could use it to rest that arm of yours. I’m catching some shuteye.” He crashed on the suede couch.
“All right, goodnight,” replied Serena, to Michael as she went into the bedroom for the night.
A couple of hours went by and the old antique clock on the fireplace mantle struck two am. Michael began to toss and turn in his sleep. He woke up and was surprised to find Serena lying next to him, looking at him with her beautiful green eyes.
“AHHH!” “What don’t do that!” said Michael, half asleep.
Serena just giggled. “Sorry. I couldn’t sleep and I felt lonely, so I hope you didn’t mind me being next to you. You sleep so beautifully,” said Serena.
“Just don’t do that again. You scared the hell out of me, damn,” Michael replied.
Serena climbed on top of him, and slowly lowered her lovely head to his, kissing him passionately with her scarlet lips. She unbuttoned his shirt and pants, and feeling her hot breath steaming on his neck and the sweet perfumed scent of her jet-black long hair, he unzipped her bra. They made love, kissing passionately, each moment passing in mutual ecstasy and lust.
The golden rays of the early morning sun began to shine through the curtains and onto the two lovers asleep in each other’s arms. Serena woke and dressed quickly, for she knew that she must escape the rays of the sun from touching her vampiric skin. She vanished from the room, but not before leaving her new lover a note that she would return to him.
The Damascus Chronicles Page 1