The digital reading clearly showed the time on the meter had expired.
'Sorry,' Rhoad told her.
'You're not sorry, you son of a bitch!' Passman jabbed her finger at him as she fought to catch her breath.
Rhoad was unflappable as he filled in the meter number, the vehicle make and license plate number, and the mode, which in this case was an A for automobile. Rhoad slipped the ticket inside its envelope. He tucked it under the wiper blade. Passman moved closer to him, glaring, panting, sweating, her blood roaring. She drilled small dark homicidal eyes into him.
'I would have gotten here sooner and moved my car if you could shut the fuck up on the air!' she bellowed. 'It's your goddamn fault! It's always your goddamn fault, you stupid, cow-brained loser, cross-eyed, dickless, son-of-a-mother-fucking-bitch-dumb-fuck!'
She marched to her Cadillac and snatched the summons off the windshield. She violently wadded it in his face and stuffed it down the front of his neatly pressed uniform shirt, knocking loose his clip-on tie.
'Now you've done it,' Rhoad told her indignantly.
She flipped him a double bird.
'You're under arrest!' he exclaimed.
Traffic slowed, people ready for a good fight on an otherwise meaningless Wednesday morning.
'Stuff it up your ass!' Passman screamed.
'Go, girlfriend!' a woman called out from her Acura.
Rhoad fumbled with the handcuffs on the back of his Sam Browne belt as Passman yelled more obscenities, her blood sugar dipping lower into its dark crevice of irrationality and violence as an audience gathered and encouraged her.
Rhoad grabbed Passman's wrists. She kicked him in both shins and spat. He sputtered, wrenching her left arm behind her back as her right fist knuckle-punched him in the neck. Rhoad had not handcuffed anyone in many years, and steel cracked against Passman's wrist bone as he snapped and missed. Passman howled in pain as he jerked and smacked and steel jaws finally locked around her wrist and bit hard.
'Do it! Do it!' someone yelled from a black Corvette.
Passman's free hand grabbed Rhoad between his legs and twisted.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ruby Sink's one-year-old grandniece, Loraine, was running a fever and had kept her mother awake all night.
'Poor baby,' Miss Sink said over the phone. 'Are you rocking her? Did you give her a baby aspirin?'
'Yes, yes,' Miss Sink's niece, Frances, said. 'I don't know what else to do. If I miss another day of work, well, there're plenty of people out there wanting my job.'
Miss Sink could hear Loraine squalling and imagined the child's bright red face. Day care was out of the question. Miss Sink simply would not allow the sick child to stay with strangers, nor did she want Loraine to pass on whatever she had to others.
'I'll be pleased as punch to keep her while you're at work,' Miss Sink said. 'And I bet you're frantically trying to get ready even as we speak.'
'Yes,' Frances said in despair. 'I haven't even showered yet.'
'I'm on my way right now,' Miss Sink said. 'I'll pick up Loraine and we'll have a grand day.'
'And if her fever doesn't break you'll call Dr. Samson? Just to make sure she's all right?'
'Of course, dear.'
'Oh, thank you, Aunt Ruby.'
'I was going to get out anyway at some point,' Miss Sink said. 'I've got only two dollars in my billfold and I owe the yard man and probably half of everybody else in this town.'
'You always say that, Aunt Ruby. The most broken record I ever heard. Mother said you were the richest poor person she ever knew.'
Miss Sink was saddened by the thought of her dead sister. Miss Sink had no one left except Frances and Loraine. Her spirit settled in that low place she could not tolerate.
'Why don't you have supper with me after work,' Miss Sink said. 'When you pick up our little angel child.'
'Depends on what you're cooking,' Frances said.
'I might just invite this lovely police officer I know,' Miss Sink said. 'The handsomest young man you ever saw, and so sweet. The one who writes editorial pieces for the paper. He rents my little place on Plum Street.'
'Him? Lord have mercy, I've seen his picture. He's too young for me, Aunt Ruby.'
'Why, that's nonsense,' Miss Sink said. 'Things aren't like they used to be.'
'He wouldn't be interested in me. He's so good-looking and all.'
'And you're pretty as a rosebud.'
'I'm older than him and have a child, Aunt Ruby.
Reality, you know?'
'I'm going to make my sesame-honey fried chicken. Cheese grits and fresh tomatoes with balsamic vinegar,' Miss Sink said.
'And just where are you going to get fresh tomatoes this time of year?'
'You forget I can them,' Miss Sink said. 'Now quit talking so I can be on my way.'
Smoke's girlfriend, Divinity, was the first to notice the red Jeep Cherokee abandoned in the Kmart parking lot, no more than a hundred feet from the First Union Bank.
'Well, look at that,' Divinity said to Smoke. 'That Jeep, just sitting there, nobody in it and engine running, waiting for us, baby.'
'No it's not 'cause we don't want it,' Smoke told her.
Smoke's mind was going through its routine, his concentration focused. He had turned off Puff Daddy when he'd picked up Divinity at the McDonald's on West Broad Street, where she'd let him know by pager that she was waiting for him. She had her hand on his thigh, but at the moment, he was aroused by other things as he watched an ancient Chevy Celebrity driven by an old woman park in front of the twenty-four-hour money stop.
'Oh, now don't be telling me you're into that one,' Divinity complained. 'Some old bitch driving that piece of shit?'
'It's the people with new cars that don't have money,'
Smoke said as he watched the old woman rummage in her purse.
He drove past her and tucked his Escort out of sight behind the bank.
'Get in line behind her,' Smoke ordered Divinity.
'For what? She probably only gonna get twenty, thirty dollars. I'd rather do the Jeep.'
She looked longingly back at it, wondering why someone would be so stupid to leave it like that in times like these days. Smoke rubbed his hand between her legs. Divinity laughed and grabbed him back.
'All right, all right,' she said. 'Whatever you say, baby.'
Miss Sink felt perfectly safe as she continued digging in her purse. She had no reason to worry about withdrawing cash from this particular location because it was just across from the Kmart parking lot, and Kmart opened at eight. Already there were quite a number of cars pulling in for bargains.
Loraine was awfully quiet in the back. She was strapped in and warmly dressed, and at the moment, not crying. Miss Sink got out of the car, still digging for her wallet. Her heart got tight as she tried to remember where she had shopped last, and if she might have left her billfold there. Her memory wasn't as good as it used to be and she was always making up all kinds of excuses to deny it.
At first, she didn't pay much attention to the young woman who stepped up behind her and started grabbing things out of a faded denim bag.
'I can't find nothing inside this thing, either,' the young woman said, rummaging loudly. 'Drives me crazy!'
Miss Sink turned around and was rather taken aback. The young woman was hard-looking in a very short skirt, tight black tank top and red Chicago Bulls windbreaker. She had rings in her ears, nose and one eyebrow, the style of the day, which in Miss Sink's opinion was no different from the mutilation she used to see in National Geographic.
'I don't know where I put it,' Miss Sink muttered in irritation.
She glanced back at her car, hoping the baby aspirin had helped and Loraine was asleep. The young woman stepped a little closer and something inside Miss Sink suddenly woke up. She got uneasy. She was relieved when a nice-looking young man came around from the back of the bank.
'Save any for me?' he said in a friendly voice.
He was well groomed and neatly dressed in the baggy, sand-blasted, Chicago Bulls fashion of the day. Miss Sink gave him an uncertain smile.