Dilyea's Dork (Bonus fiction)

Paul Seraph actually got to meet Doug Dilyea at a cop charity golf event. At that time Doug was a minor celebrity in Southeastern Michigan law enforcement circles.

Dilyea was in Paul’s foursome. Like Paul and Dilyea, the other two in the foursome were also cops.

Since Dilyea was retired and more than seven years had passed since the dork was invented, it was not hard to convince Dilyea to tell the un-edited story. The fact that Doug had a few beers before teeing off didn't hurt.

The course was selling beer for $10 a can which is how they made money for the charity. Some cops are big drinkers. Dilyea was in a class of his own.

“This is the absolute, no-shit truth.” Dilyea started his story in time-honored fashion.

“I got a call about a domestic disturbance and it was a full scale riot when I got there. The address was an unregistered “Little-bit club”. Little bit of moonshine, little bit of weed, little bit of numbers, little bit of pussy...you got the picture?”

“Anyway, I was young and stupid and thought I could dance with anybody. So I didn’t wait for back-up, I got out of the cruiser and started dancing.”

“Except I found myself dancing with a four-hundred pound man, no shit. And he was kicking my ass. He was slippery as a seal with sweat and he was slammin’ my ass.”

“Well, the one thing a cop can’t do is lose control of the situation. Problem being I had lost my service piece somewhere along the way. That was before we had decent secondary retention holsters.” Dilyea said.

Dilyea’s beer was empty and one of the guys handed him a full one.

“Anyway, this guy is batting me around like drunk Mexican hitting a pinata on Cinco de Mayo when I finally get twisted around enough to pull my back-up piece out of my ankle holster. He hits me two, three more times before I can untwist enough to stick it in his gut.”

“Did I mention he was a big guy? I jammed the gat into his gut at least six inches and pulled the trigger.”

“Nuthin happened. I pulled two, three more times and the piece won’t go off.”

“Well, finally back-up shows up and they have mace and batons and all kinds of other good stuff. They break up the fight. I find my issued service piece. And I am madder than hell. I had the guy and the gun didn’t go off.”

Dilyea need another beer and he got one.

“I talked to the department armorer. He asked me what I carried and I told him, an H&K P2000. Then he told me, ‘Your slide was out of battery.’ “

“I asks him, what can I do about that. He said ‘Carry a wheel gun’.

“That wasn’t going to do because I loved that gun. Shit, it was a .40 and it shot duty ammo. I haven't bought ammo in twenty years and I wasn't about to start.”

“So I talks to my brother who worked at the tech center. He said he would help me out but I had to make sure he got credit for the invention. I say ‘Sure. No problem.’”

Another beer.

“He shows up the next day and clamps this...THING on the rail of my piece. It is one of the pins they use in auto factories to locate parts. Said he had a couple of hundred of them at home.”

“The guys at work, they ask me what it is and I tell them it is so my piece won’t go out of battery. And they asks me, 'Whats is it called?'”

Dilyeu's Dork, aka NAAMS APS122M, half inch diameter, 1 1/4" long. Stiffer than Bruce Lee's index finger and twice as painful when it is stuck in your ribs.

“Then one of the bastards points at my crotch and says, ‘It looks like Dilyea’s dork.”

“Me and my brother were selling ten, maybe twenty of them a week. Charging $100 each, too. And my brother got them for free because the heat treat was wrong. So then he asks me, ‘Did ya make sure I got credit for inventing it?’”

“An I told him, ‘Sure, we named it after you.’”

“An he asks, ‘Hows that?’ So I tells him, ‘They named it after you, Dilyea the dork...and you are the only Dilyea who is a dork so its gotta be you.’”

Paul bought one on-the-spot.

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