Detective Feldicek

  Mike watched the sedan with tinted windows roll slowly by. A bad feeling rumbled in his guts as the car pulled to the curb and stopped. Something about the car screamed cop, the last thing a drug dealer wanted to see. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Mike started walking the opposite direction. 

  “Hey, you Mike?” the person stepping out of the car yelled. “Hold up a second.” 

  Mike didn’t glance back. He hustled around the corner, then broke into a run. Ducking into an alley, Mike picked up speed. He hated being stuck in the drug dealing life, but it was the hand he’d been dealt. One thing he knew for sure was that he wouldn’t do well in prison. 

  “Stop right there!” the voice behind shouted. 

  Glancing back, Mike saw a gun and a badge. He wasn’t certain that the cop would shoot, but he wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t, either. Mike came to a stop, then turned around and raised his hands. 

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Mike said. 

  The cop approached, and Mike realized just how odd the man looked. He had a handlebar mustache with the ends twisted up in a rising twirl and a scarf that was adorned with what appeared to be a QR code to the man’s social media pages. He was also carrying a briefcase.

  “You the one they call Deli Mike?” the cop asked. 

  Putting on his best tough guy face, Mike raised his chin and squinted his eyes as he responded. 

  “Who’s asking?” 

  The cop stopped right in front of him, then slowly put his gun back in its holster. 

  “You can kill the tough guy routine,” the cop said. “My name’s Detective Feldicek, and I could care less about what you got in that backpack.” 

  The detective’s words made Mike more tense, not less. In his experience, cops were always playing some angle. 

  “All over town, I hear that Deli Mike’s got the freshest cuts,” Detective Feldicek said. “They call you a tastemaker, say you know great product on sight. So I’ll ask you again. Are you Deli Mike?” 

  After mean mugging the Detective for another moment, Mike finally nodded. 

  “I’m Deli Mike.” 

  Relief washed over the Detective’s face. 

  “Thank goodness. I need your help, Deli Mike.” 

  Mike instinctively took a step back as he watched the Detective place his briefcase on the ground and kneel to open it. But nothing could’ve prepared him for what was inside. 

  “Okay, stick with me here,” Feldicek said. “You start with your basic hot dog bun. Then you place an uncooked hot dog wiener in there. Uncooked, that’s important.” 

  As he spoke, the detective was pulling out the ingredients and putting them together. 

  “Then comes the brilliant part,” Feldicek said, eyes sparkling as he looked up at Mike. “I think this is what’s gonna set my food truck apart.” 

  Detective Feldicek pulled out a can of dog food, then peeled the metal lid back and poured it across the wiener. Once it was liberally covered in the slimy, brown dog food, he held up the finished dish and smiled. 

  “I call it the Wet Dog.” 

  Before responding, Mike glanced out at the street. If anyone saw him talking wieners in an alley with a cop, he’d drop to negative street cred. Satisfied no one was around, he looked back to the detective. 

  “So it’s like a treat for people’s dogs?” Mike asked. “Gotta admit, pretty clever. My pup would love it.” 

  Getting to his feet, Detective Feldicek shook his head, his face scrunched up. 

  “Pups? What are you even saying? This is a man’s meal.” 

  To drive home his point, Feldicek took a big bite of the Wet Dog. The wet dog food oozed off the end of the hot dog bun, running down his chin. He smiled as he chewed, giving Mike a front row seat to the show. He had to stifle a gag. 

  “It’s delicious!” Feldicek said. 

  Mike raised his hands and started to back away. 

  “Naw, man. I ain’t about this.” 

  Feldicek’s eyes widened, a crazed shudder running through his body. 

  “That’s because you haven’t tasted it yet,” he said. 

  He surged forward, trying to shove the remains of the Wet Dog into Mike’s mouth. Drawing upon his days playing football in the park, Mike spun to the left, barely dodging the dastardly dish. But Feldicek clutched at him, keeping him from running away. 

  “Just give it a shot,” Feldicek whined. “If this thing is Deli Mike approved, then I know I’ve got a winning product on my hands.” 

  Heavy thoughts crashed down upon Mike. What choices had led him to this moment? Why hadn’t he demanded better for his life? 

  Feldicek pulled him to the ground and tried to pin him there. He started to bring the Wet Dog toward Mike’s lips. 

  “You’re gonna love it, I promise,” Feldicek said. 

  “JUST STOP!” Mike screamed. 

  The detective sat back, a shocked look on his face. Mike scrambled to his feet. 

  “I’ve never seen someone more opposed to a good idea in my life,” Feldicek said. “Just give it a chance, Deli Mike.” 

  Mike shook his head. 

  “Nah. This is over. All of this is over.” 

  He pulled his backpack off and flung it onto the ground. It contained everything that kept his drug empire running. 

  “I’m out. It ain’t worth all this. Anybody asks you, you tell ‘em that Deli Mike is dead.” 

  Mike turned and walked toward the alley’s exit. 

  “Come on, Deli Mike. Don’t be this way!” Feldicek called after him. “What do you want? You want a cut? I’ll do it, I’ll cut you in! Ten cents for every Wet Dog sold, so long as I can say they’re Deli Mike approved.” 

  Mike just kept on walking, feeling free for the first time in a long time.