Author's note: Okay folks last week I took a break and wrote something that was intended to be funny. Most of you got that and I appreciate that. I warned you from the beginning that the story was written purely for laughs and was not intended to be taken seriously. I was shocked of course when there were still comments about realistic characters and motivations etc. But as usual was glad that so many people had so much to say about the story anyway. I guess it's only fair to warn you this time as well. Though once again this is only fiction, and none of these people actually exist, be warned this is a completely different type of story. There are very few if any laughs here. This is a very dark story, and though it's more serious, it's still fiction. These people don't exist. I made them all up while I was changing my oil and I plotted it while I was washing my car. See ya next week with another different type of story,
Edited by MikotheBaby
Detroit, the former jewel of the Midwest. It was more than sixty years since the war had summoned the US to help defend against an evil oppressor. But when it happened, Uncle Sam in turn called on Detroit. Plants that were accustomed to producing cars simply turned around overnight and started making tanks and airplanes. The country and indeed the world, was indebted to Detroit. People flocked there by the thousands during and after the war. The city's future seemed assured and bright. But somehow the dream died and it all went wrong. Jump forward into the early twenty-first century and the city is so mired in corruption that it seems to be only a caricature of its former self. Forget about Weiner and his text scandal. Kwame did it first and better. The city's former Mayor now sat in jail. When he was released he'd probably be going right back in on federal charges. His new replacement, a former NBA basketball star, is even less effective; having accomplished nothing during his term. The city is now puntuated mostly by burned out buildings and rampant crime.
Nowhere is the corruption more rampant than in the police force. Bribery, corruption, brutality, theft and laziness were so rampant that the FBI has been investigating the department for nearly a decade. The terrible thing about it is that there are thousands of good cops in Detroit. But a few bad apples had seemingly spoiled the whole fucking orchard.
I used to think that I was one of those good cops. The difference between a good cop and a bad one in a lot of cases, like mine, was coming down on the wrong side of a snap decision and letting emotion overrule judgment. I thought about that especially on days like today. Protect and serve hoorah. Anyway, that was the past; I had far more pressing concerns in the present. It seemed like just another shitty day in a shitty week in a shitty month ... You get the picture. God what I wouldn't give for a second chance.
You know how in the movies, the good guy usually gets the girl? Sometimes the bad guy gets the girl too. But real life is far more complicated than a movie and sometimes the girl ain't what you thought she'd be. I fucked up my life and my career out of lust for a woman who wasn't even mine and never will be. They always say, "you don't know what you've got til it's gone." Well I've got the twenty first century version of that old chestnut. "You don't know what you've got til it's yours." Now I'm stuck with the girl of my dreams, only ... Well you'll see.
The check for the man's meal was for eleven dollars and seventy five cents. He gave me a ten and two ones. Noticing his expensive watch and jewelry, the suit he was wearing and the briefcase he carried, I could tell he wasn't poor. I returned to his table and put a quarter down in front of him and walked away.
"Hey, I meant for you to keep the change," he said, yelling at me as I wiped down the next table. Apparently he wasn't satisfied with me ignoring him. He got up and came over to me. "Don't you want your tip?"
"A quarter isn't a tip," I said. "It's an insult. Keep it."
"God damned uppity waiters," he mumbled. "Why don't you go to school and do something with your fucking life instead of working these minimum wage jobs and then complaining about it."
That was it. It had all been wasted. A year off the job and ten fucking months of therapy were about to go down the fucking drain. I stood up and looked down at him, my six foot four inch, two hundred forty pound frame dwarfing him. "I have a degree asshole," I said. "It's in criminal justice. Until a year ago I was a detective on the police force. I made a mistake, I..."
I turned away from him. I think we were both relieved. He, that I hadn't beat the shit out of him, and me because I had managed to regain control over my temper. In the old days, I'd have cleaned his clock and then made him swallow that quarter. Perhaps the therapy hadn't been a waste of time after all.
I walked away from him. Adrenalin flooded my system and my hands still clutched trying to form fists. It was a proud moment for me. I had walked away from him. I went into the back room and grabbed my jacket. "I'm out of here Manny," I yelled in the general direction of the office.
"Where are you going?" he asked. Manny besides being my boss and the owner of the restaurant was a friend. "Your ride isn't even here to pick you up." I pointed at the calendar and he noticed the date for the first time.
"My God, I'm sorry," he said. "It seems like it only happened yesterday. It's hard to believe that it's been a year already."
I left the restaurant and walked halfway down the block to the bus station. The bus was of course full of the teeming refuge of society. Everyone in the city who couldn't afford a car or a taxi crammed into one vehicle. My sheer size prevented most of the predators on the bus from even considering me as a target. Out of common sense and a finely tuned sense of survival they'd wait for easier prey.
Lass than ten minutes after I got on the bus, I got off. I walked through the Cemetery's gates and made my way to a plot near the rear. I knelt in front of the new headstone and picked a few weeds. Suddenly near the cemetery's entrance I heard a menacing low pitched growl. The sound caused me to turn towards its source. I was amazed. Except for pictures on the internet I'd never seen one of those. I didn't even realize that they had made any except for the prototypes.
It was a very special car and probably nearly priceless. The Italian designer, Giugiaro, had designed a concept of the next generation Mustang for Ford in 06. Ford seemingly abandoned the concept as being too futuristic, especially coming on the heels of their very successful retro redesign on the previous year's model. People in the know had noticed recently though that the concept drawing for the 2014 Mustang looked surprisingly similar to the Giugiaro Design.
Who the hell could have bought one? Since the car wasn't being produced, that one had to be one of the prototypes. It was probably a one of a kind vehicle. The car stopped in the section I was standing in. The door opened and I heard a snippet of one of those popular kid's songs playing. Some girl was singing about wanting to "Freak the freak out."
Then things got weird as "He," got out of the car. He walked around to the other side and opened the passenger door. God damn it, she'd become even more beautiful over the past year. Her auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders in soft waves. He had to help her out of the car, which was weird because she'd always seemed to be so fit and full of vitality.
Then he crossed back to the car's trunk and retrieved a huge bouquet of flowers. Naturally he'd think of everything. It became very obvious to me then that they were coming here for the same reason that I had. This was probably going to be awkward. But I should have expected it. I thought back to the first time I'd seen him. It had been about a year and a half ago. Back when I was still a cop.
My partner and I had been in one of the yuppie neighborhoods on the Upper East Side. We got there to discover that there was an argument going on over a fucking parking spot. We told the two guys to act like adults and drove off. Who needed to park at one a.m. anyway? Don't these people have jobs to wake up for?
When we got back in our car we heard a call for a domestic violence case that was only a couple of blocks away from us. Some woman was pounding on an apartment door or something. We told the dispatcher that we were in the neighborhood and would handle it.
My name is John Fogerty. I'd been a detective for six years at the time and I thought a good one. I was about to be proven wrong. My partner Les Stevenson was older. He was only a year away from retirement and had seen it all. I actually sometimes thought that he was bored with the job. Nothing fired him up any more.
Anyway we walked up six flights of fucking stairs because the elevator in the building wasn't working. Just before my heart gave out we got to the floor.
"I have to do more cardio," I said wheezing heavily.
"For what?" laughed Les. Before he could hit me with the punch line of his quip, we heard her. She was kicking at the door and screaming like an angry cat.
"Come out here God damn it," she screamed. I took one look at her and my heart just melted. My training and education left my brain, exiting through my ass and out the window. She was short, maybe 5'1" with short brown hair. She was also built on a very petite frame. Her curves were there but they weren't overstated. She had tiny breasts and delicate features. She was also very pregnant.
.... There is more of this story ...