Read Online Time's Up by Janey Mack - Free Book Online Page B

weren’t afraid to get in your face.
    I wonder how long it takes before confrontation starts to be fun.
    Leticia started on the chicken biscuit. “You writin’ a movie or something?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œThat crap you left in my box this morning.”
    My one-and-a-quarter-page incident report?
    â€œAll typed up and shit.” She shook her head. “What you trying to do? Mess everything up for everybody?” She grunted. “Redo it. One paragraph. Handwritten.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œDamn straight, yes, ma’am,” she muttered and took a slurp of Coolatta.
    Â 
    Ticketing a yellow Porsche 911 double-parked in front of the Prada store, I heard the two most embarrassing words in the world.
    â€œHi, honey!”
    I looked up. My mom waved at me from inside her custom-painted “British racing green” Jaguar XJ. She was in a yellow No Loading Zone.
    Please. Not now. “Hi, Mom,” I mouthed and gave her the “move along” wave. She rolled her eyes and turned on her hazard lights.
    Leticia pulled in behind her, got out of the cart, and stepped in between us. “What do we have here? You wanting to run in and pick up something?”
    â€œOh no. I just want to say hi to my daughter.”
    â€œYou can’t park here. Or wait here. It’s a No Loading Zone,” Leticia said.
    â€œI know, but—”
    â€œLook, I’m no hater,” Leticia said. “The last thing I wanna do is write a ticket on a sister in a fine ride, but you can’t wait here for your girl.”
    â€œBut she’s right behind you.”
    Leticia turned. Scanning, I’m sure for someone . . . tanner. I gave a small wave.
    â€œNo shit! That’s your momma, McGrane?”
    â€œI most certainly am,” Mom said.
    Leticia went around to the driver’s-side window and held out her hand. “Leticia Jackson, parking enforcement agent supervisor.”
    They shook hands. “July Pruitt McGrane, nice to meet you.”
    I dragged a hand over my face. Eventually, after several cell phone pictures with Leticia—whom my mother promised she’d e-mail copies—Mom left.
    Well, that was almost as fun as performing my own appendectomy.
    Leticia gave me the once-over. “I know you be wearing a fake tan. So tell me. ’Xactly how white is your daddy?”

Chapter 10
    Thursday. Day three, and I was back in the passenger’s seat. As a supervisor, Leticia spot-drove everyone’s route. Today it was the Fulton River District warehouses at the far edge of Chicago’s downtown, Dennis Miller filling in for Jesus as our copilot.
    â€œHold up,” I said. A silver RX Hybrid Lexus sport sedan was parked in a No Standing, No Loading Zone in front of a hydrant. A triple with the fish still in it. I grabbed the AutoCITE from the center console.
    â€œPut the gun down, McGrane. Ain’t nothing to see here.” Leticia’s red-glossed lips lifted in contempt. “That’s a Dhu West Special. A member of the Lexus League.”
    I replaced the gun in the console. “I don’t get it.”
    â€œOur Mayor Coles slapped on a personal privilege when he sold off the Parking Enforcement Union to the Saudis. Silver and black hybrid Lexuses get unhassled, unrestricted, untick-eted parking. All his staffers drive ’em.”
    Yeah, right. “No way ordinary street cops are giving those cars a free ride.”
    She gave me a head snap of irritation. “I let you enter that plate into the gun, it’ll read ‘do not ticket.’ This is Chi-town. We ain’t had a Republican mayor since ‘Big Bill Thompson’ in 1931. So what’s that tell you?”
    I flashed my palms, at a total loss.
    â€œIt tells you to get your lily-white onion out of the damn cart and make that freeloader move hisself to a legitimate parking spot.”
    I approached the car slowly, the milk shake incident