“You are ... entrusted with the pursuit of that most extraordinary of crimes: the theft of a human life. You speak for the dead. You avenge those lost to the world.” -- David Simon
Red Hook, Brooklyn 3:41 AM
The black sedan raced down the Brooklyn side street. Its brakes squealed as the driver slammed the car to a stop in front of the small garage. Four men in black clothing and balaclavas leaped from the car with shotguns in their hands. The leader ran past the graffiti tagged sheet metal garage door and kicked in the wooden door beside it.
"What the fuck!"
Four men were gathered around a card table with piles of cash --crinkled up tens, twenties, and one hundred dollar bills-- surrounding them as they counted. The garage that operated under the name Pasha's Auto Reair was, in fact, one of the most successful bookmaking and loan shark businesses in the five boroughs. With the big St. John's/Georgetown game that night, there was easily fifty grand on the table.
"Hands up where I can see 'em," the leader of the masked men said. "You move, you fucking die."
"Fucking Leonid," one of the men at the table said in a thick Russian accent. "I knew he was a fucking rat."
The Russians stayed in place while two of the masked men swept the cash from the table and into duffle bags slung over their shoulders. Two of the other robbers kept their shotguns trained on the Russians to make sure they stayed in place. Pasha, a fat and bald man dressed in a rumpled black suit, could barely contain his rage as he watched the money disappear from his table.
"You think you can steal this from me and get away with it?" Pasha fumed. "You are dead. Everyone you loved. Dead. Anyone you ever talked to. Dead. Anyone who sold you a fucking sandwich. Dead. You masked cowards."
The two men with the bags stepped back. Their leader stepped up and looked at the men at the card table for a moment. He reached up and removed his balaclava, showing the Russian gangsters his large head with a perfectly flat top.
"Get a good look at my face, asshole," Flattop said with a wide grin that showed off the gap in his teeth. "And know this is the last thing you'll ever see. Big Boy sends his regards."
The four Russians began to yell, their screams cut short as Flattop and his men opened up with their shotguns and plastered the garage floor and walls in human blood, bone, and brains.
--
Lincoln Square Manhattan 5:18 AM
Calling Dick Tracy! Calling Dick Tracy! Calling Dick Tracy!
Tracy groaned and sat up in bed. The ringtone on his cell phone was a joke recording Pat had made one night at the bar. Somehow Daz had gotten ahold of his phone and set Pat's nasally call as his ringtone. Tracy wasn't tech savvy enough how to take it off, and nobody in the squad would help him. Buncha smartasses.
"This is Tracy," he said as he answered the phone.
"Cap'n, it's Tork.
Tracy tried to climb out of bed as quietly as possible. Tess stirred in the bed beside him. He should have gotten out of bed before answering the phone. She always was a light sleeper.
"What's going on, Tork?" He asked softly as he padded towards the kitchen in his pajamas. "And why can't it wait until I came in the office?"
"Apologies for the hour, but I'm out here in Red Hook. The boys in the Seven-Six's homicide squad caught a quadruple out here tonight. Pasha Popov and three of his guys got turned into paste by person or persons unknown. They ran Pasha's ID through the system and it pinged Major Case and our investigation."
"Dammit."
Tracy leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed. Popov was Major Case's in to the Caprice Crime Family. He was part of the money side of the organization and their quickest way to find out exactly where Big Boy's money was coming from and going to. Now that was as dead as Popov apparently was.
"What are the Seven-Six doing with the investigation, Mike?"
"They can't wait to pawn it off on us, Cap," Tork grumbled. "I think the precinct captain's gonna call you as soon as he can and ask you take it off his plate."
Tracy rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up. Today already had the makings of a long day. He checked the clock on the wall and quickly devised a gameplan.
"Okay, I'm heading up there now. I'll call Pat and let him know what's going on. He and the rest of the squad can stay on surveillance detail while the two of us work the crime scene. You up for running with the old man, Mike?"
"You kidding? I just hope you can keep up."
Tracy laughed and quickly said a goodbye to Tork. He put his phone on the counter, cracked his neck, and prepared to get to work.
Richard Tracy was born in Brooklyn in August of '68. His father Robert was a New York City firefighter and his mother Mary was a schoolteacher. An only child, Dickie grew up in a rough and tumble section of Brooklyn where he learned to scrap rather well. He flirted with boxing as a teen, winning a local golden gloves tournament. never one for schoolwork, Tracy would often cut class and skip school. He managed to graduate high school by the skin of his teeth. With poor grades and from a poor family, he couldn't go to college and knocked around in various jobs before he applied for the NYPD. After making high marks on the exam, he was accepted into the NYPD police academy.
The Two-Two: 1989-1995
Fresh out of the academy, Officer Tracy worked a patrol beat out of NYPD's Twenty-Second Precinct. He proved to be a very reliable patrolman and a calm and level-headed in times of action. He famously chased a murder suspect across six city blocks before catching them just before they hit the subway. The good work in patrol led to an assignment as a plain clothes officer in the Two-Two's Flex Squad, a roving unit that made dragnet sweeps in high-concentrated drug dealing areas. After five years on the force Tracy took the detective's exam and passed with flying colors. He was assigned to Auto Theft as his first assignment.
Gumshoe: 1995-2009
A quiet and workmanlike tenure in Auto Theft led to a stint in robbery and finally homicide. Partnered with Sergeant Pat Patton, Detective Tracy posted a record high 90% clearance rate during his six years in Homicide. After finishing first in the sergeant's exam, Tracy became a squad supervisor in Narcotics, then a promotion to lieutenant and a return back to Homicide as shift commander. Tracy proved to be as good a commander as he was a detective and ran his shift.
Major Cases: 2009-2010
With Tracy's glowing record as a skilled investigator and supervisor, he was promoted to captain and given the reins of a new squad altogether. Named the Major Case Squad, they would serve as a special unit that reported directly to the police commissioner. Ther mission was twofold: Investigate the ongoing influence of criminal organizations in the city and assist with any cases that may involve the presence of metahumans. Given his mandate, Tracy assembled a hand-picked squad and set their sights on Big Boy Caprice, the longtime head of the Caprice Crime Family.
| Attributes |
Tracy is an ace detective, a skilled brawler, and a crack shot when the occasion calls for it. Just as important is his force of will and dedication to the job.
| Character Notes |
Supporting Characters
Lt. Pat Patton
Tracy's second in command in the Major Case Squad. Pat is a longtime associate of Tracy's, his former partner that came up through the ranks with him.
Sgt. Jean DeWolff
Third in command of the Major Case Squad. A hard-drinking and smoking cop, DeWolff is a former member of the Asset Forfeiture who was picked to join the MCS due to her experience in the field. She is an expert on following the money trail of criminal organizations.
Sgt. Michael Tork
Member of the MCS, Tork runs a Major Case Squad Quick Response Tactical Squad, a three-man unit that handles raids and stakeouts for the MCS. Tork is a former narcotics detective with a reputation as being and rough and tumble kind of guy.
Detective Denzel "Daz" Pierce
A member of Tork's QRT squad, a former St. John's basketball player who uses his size to intimidate belligerent criminals.
Officer Vincent Gonzalez
Just off the beat, Vin is the third member of the QRT unit. He is young, ambitious, and hungry to rise.
Robert Young/Mumbles Malloy
Mumbles Malloy is a member of the Caprice Crime Family, but is in reality NYPD officer Robert Young, an undercover officer Tracy has placed inside the organization to observe and report any intelligence he can gather.
Deputy District Attorney Tess Trueheart
Chief prosecutor in the NYDA's Crimes Against Persons unit, Tess is a skilled criminal prosecutor and Tracy's on and off girlfriend for several years..
The Kid
A homeless street urchin Tracy keeps track of. The Kid serves as a confidential informant operating on the streets of New York and looks up to Tracy as a father figure..
Enemies
Alphonse "Big Boy" Caprice
Head of the Caprice Crime Family, Big Boy is a veteran mafioso and former member of the Gambino Crime Family. Big Boy oversees several criminal enterprises that include drug dealing, human and weapons trafficking, loan sharking, and illegal gambling. Despite being a well-known criminal, he has yet to ever been charged with a crime.
Billy "The Beaut" Russo
Underboss of the Caprice Crime Family. Billy is vain and self-obsessed. He is the bastard son of Big Boy and holds his father in contempt while he schemes to take over the family.
Pruneface
Capo in the Caprice Crime Family. Pruneface, called so because of the wrinkly skin of his face. Based out of the Juicy Fruit, a Bronx strip club, Prunceface runs the trafficking arm of the organization.
Flattop
Big Boy's chief enforcer, Flattop is a sadistic psychopath who gets too much pleasure out of his job. If Big Boy needs someone hurt or killed and he wants it done right, Flattop is the one he dispatches.
Lew Moxon
Capo in the Caprice Crime Family. Moxon runs the drug dealing arm of the organization. A Gotham transplant, he came to work for Big Boy after he killed a made man in the Falcone Crime Family and fled to New York for refuge.
Breathless Mahoney
A former nightclub showgirl, Breathless has been Big Boy's concubine for over ten years. As ruthless as she is beautiful, she both loves and loathes Big Boy while at the same time has a strange attraction to the police officer who doggedly pursues him.
| Character Goals |
Anyone who is familiar with my character selection in games like this know I tend to play a type. I've always liked the idea of the ordinary man, a true ordinary man and not like Batman, making a stand against the powers that be. Jim Gordon, Frank Castle, Slam Bradley, they are all regular men that are driven by various motives be it justice, revenge, or redemption, and they have their code and what they believe in and they will fight for that. Tracy is very much in that mold. I want to play Dick Tracy as a guy who, while still the tireless crusader, realizes he has to play a little dirty to get justice.
Tracy was one of the big characters I loved when I was a kid. I was little when the movie came out and watching it when I did, like Batman '89 and the James Bond movies, created a lifelong interest in the character that I still have to this day. I want to bring Tracy into the 21st century and keep his crime-busting spirit. It may not be the 20's and 30's, but I think there's a place for a striding champion of justice like Tracy in today's society.
| Sample Post |
Major Case Squad Offices One Police Plaza Manhattan
"Are you alive or dead?" Officer Vin Gonzales asked, sitting behind his desk and leaning back in his chair.
"Dead," Officer Denzel "Daz" Pierce said, leaning against the filing cabinet beside the desk and sipping coffee. "Twenty left."
"Were you a president?"
"No. Nineteen."
"Did you do anything significant?"
"Yes. Eighteen."
While Gonzales and Daz continued their game, Sergeant Jean DeWolff entered the room with files in her hands. She gave the two officers a slight glance before continuing to her desk and laying the files down. DeWolff sat down and began to look over the contents inside the folder.
"Were you a pro athlete?"
"Nope. Seventeen."
"An actor?"
"Nope. Sixteen."
"Listen up," Captain Tracy said as he came up to the group with Sergeant Tork and a skinny black man in a suit and tie following in his wake.
Daz's eyes lit up from behind his sunglasses. Daz stood up and shook the man's hand.
"Narco in the house! Shit, you must be desperate!"
"You know me, Daz," the man said with a smirk. "I gotta be at the end of my rope to come see your ass."
"I bet," said Tork. "This is my new squad. The sulky young man over there is Officer Vin Gonzalez and the one person in the room that's not dogshit ugly is Sergeant Jean DeWolff. Vin, Jean, this is Sergeant Kasper Cole. He used to run with Daz and I back in Narco."
"That was back before his head got too big to be seen with us," Daz said with a pat on Cole's back. "You get a set of stripes and a cushy job with CID Narco and it changes you. Where's the love, Kasper?"
"Yeah, I'm crying you a river, Daz," Cole said with an elbow into his ribs. "You all seem like you're doing well. Heard y'all are kicking ass and taking names with Captain Tracy."
"We do okay," Tracy said with a shrug. "The bad guys are getting locked up.
"The question is," said Daz. "What brings you here? I know you, Kasper, you don't play catch up until after you punch out."
"You always knew how to read me. Yeah, Narco needs a little help from you boys."
"What is it?" DeWolff asked, pushing away the files on her desk.
"Anybody ever heard of the Crusaders Motorcycle Club?"
"Yeah," said Gonzalez. "They're a bunch of redneck assholes that operate out of Brooklyn, right?"
"Right you are," Cole said with a nod. "But they're more than that. They're a biker gang with chapters all across America and the world, the Brooklyn chapter is their home base. Aside from claiming that they are law-abiding citizens, they also happen to be a big time distributor of drugs and illegal guns. They ATF, DEA, and NYPD have been running a joint task force over the past year, monitoring them with wiretaps, camera surveillance, and undercover informants. We're getting ready to raid their Brooklyn clubhouse, as well as the homes of a half dozen members."
"Where do we come in?" Tork asked.
"Because a week ago we stumbled upon something that could be a real problem. The chapter president, Arthur Blackwood, is a metahuman. It appears that he is super strong and durable and all kinds of headaches. Since he's a meta, that falls neatly into Major Case Squad jurisdiction. I talked to the guys at the ATF and DEA, they want you to come in and help out with taking Blackwood out at the clubhouse. It'll be a search and seizure as well as an arrest warrant. We'll find what we need in the clubhouse to send Blackwood to prison for a long time. We just need you to make sure he stays down."
"I know we got the Caprice case going on," Tracy said with a look to all of them. "But with the wiretaps in place all we're doing is casting and waiting to get a bite. I figure this will give us a chance to stretch out legs. Plus it gives us a chit with Captain Major in CID Narco, something we might have to cash in if we want to get a bead on Big Boy's dealers."
"So that's a yes?" Kole asked with a look towards Tracy.
"Damn right," Tracy said with a grin. "I'll be the first to jump out."
"Oh, damn," said Daz. "Cap'n gonna show us something?"
"I been doing this since before some of you were born. I know how to take scalps."
"What are we waiting for?" Tork asked. "Let's get our motor running and head on down the highway."
"Man, I heard them Miami girls give the best head. Like a gator they snatch it up like--"
Bobby mimed an alligator chomp with his mouth and hands, causing the barracks to break out into laughter. Bobby's face broke out into a wide grin as he packed his gear. Florida! Shit, it wasn't much better than being around here but it meant leaving Kentucky. It was alright living on base, even the redneck assholes had gotten used to negroes being in the army. But that was on base. Outside the walls, it was fucking Kentucky and Bobby was good enough to fight and die for them peckerwood sons of bitches, but he wasn't good enough to eat at the same lunch counter.
He imagined Florida would be little better. Shit, it was probably even worse with the Cubans. He'd heard stories about them from Mathis who was from outside of Miami. They'd been run out of their country by the Beard and acted liked they owned every goddamn thing. The Cubans came in and shouldered their way onto the second rung of the racial hierarchy. They White people hated them and cussed them, they turned around and they hated the negroes and cussed them. God Bless America.
"I hope we end up around Daytona," Mathis said with a grin. "They do some fucking car racing out on that beach, boy. Y'all would fucking love it."
"That would require the army to let us have fun," said Jacobs, one of the sergeants. "Since when is that going to happen."
"Shit," said Bobby. "We'd sooner see that bald motherfucking Russian be elected president before we see that shit."
Bobby D. is nineteen but looks fourteen with his baby smooth face and pimply complexion. His skin is a rich, coffee-colored with a smattering of freckles around his eyes. Bobby's very skinny, just barely above the Army's minimum weight requirement. He has put on weight since carrying the Pig around has improved his upper body strength, which is very muscular compared to his skinny legs. He has gap teeth that he shows whenever he smiles or grins.
Skillset:
Bobby has a sharp intellect but that is often hidden by his constant joking As a trained gunner Bobby is a expert at maintaining high rates of fire at the cost of accuracy
History:
Born in St. Louis, MO in 1943, Bobby is the youngest of four children, conceived just before his dad joined the service. Richard Derricks was killed in action in Italy when Bobby was just ten months old. He never knew Rick Derricks, but the man cast a long shadow on Bobby's life. He idolized his father and wanted to join the Army just like he did. He was fourteen when he saw the 101st Airborne help desegregate Little Rock Central High. Inspired by their example, he wanted to be a Screaming Eagle. At eighteen he joined the Army and trained like hell to become a paratrooper.
His training paid off as he was inducted into the 101st and became the Pig Man, using the M60 to keep his squad safe. Just a few months into the job, Bobby finds himself heading south to kick some Commie ass.
Bobby D. has a reputation as a class clown among the men and often speaks in the third person.
Equipment:
Standard Army uniform and kit An M60 Machine gun he calls Jack Johnson because it's big, black, and knocks people out. Two days worth of C-rations
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