Fuzzy memories and things that never happened

Nine

W was tired, it'd been a long day. The thing nearly hit his Toyota as he struggled to stay focused. It would have crushed him in there like a sardine in a can. "Shit!" Without looking he swerved to avoid a collision. Luckily for him there was nothing there but a trash can and a curb.

The tire popped like a gun shot as he went up and over the curb, stopping inches away from a store front. It was his favorite bakery, the one where he stopped each morning on his way to the precinct for coffee and a creme puff. "Nellys" was the name on the sign but the owners name was Carlos. Not that it mattered.

Detective W opened his door slowly and stepped out. He was shaken but this wasn't his first near death experience. If he was counting he'd say this was number eight. He was counting.

The thing that nearly canned him, as it turned out, was a tuna. A six foot long tuna.

"What the hell?" He asked the tuna, not getting an answer. He radioed in and taped off the scene of the crime. He was now convinced that someone was out to end him.

"What have we got here Dubya?"

"Looks, like tuna from heaven, Joe."

"You know Between this and the milk truck, that almost took you out, last week, looks like someone's trying to send you a message." "Yeah, it's a pretty strong message, Joe, someone is telling me they want me dead."

Joe doesn't even know about the dogs. W had been called on his personal line and offered a tip on solving a crime. He was to meet the informant in a warehouse at 15th and Fletcher. All he met there were two Rottweilers with bad attitudes, and blood lust. So if he is counting that is three within three weeks, and he is counting.

"Somebody doesn't like me, Joe"

"A lot of people don't like cops, Dubya."

"This one doesn't like me personally. Someone doesn't like me for who I am, and these three attempts on my life show it."

Joe stood there counting to two in his head. "three?"

"Yeah Joe, I haven't told you about the dogs yet"

Joe couldn't imagine why anyone would not take a personal liking to W. Sure he wasn't like everybody else, but what does that matter? W is a good cop and a good friend.

W knew why people didn't like him, because they're bigots. Even if they liked him personally they still didn't want him as a cop in their neighborhood. W doesn't give up easily, he's not a quitter. He grew up on the streets, fighting just to survive.

W and his brother Jasper were orphans, they had both been adopted into a wealthy house hold by an over attentive woman and her overbearing husband. That's where he was given the name Winston, which he hated. Winston didn't love it there in that estate where he was both smothered in affection and toys and told to get off the couch. He escaped as soon as he realized he could and his brother Jasper stayed behind. The old man died and the old woman left the entire estate to Jasper and followed the old man to wherever dead people go, Florida maybe or Arizona. Jasper continued to live like a fat cat while Winston learned about life the hard way. He learned that people can be good or they can be evil, but mostly they're somewhere in between and there are well over fifty shades of ambiguity. He was glad he had a friend like Joe. Joe was real.