FORTY-FIVE
Shane Adams stood on the sidewalk, hands on his hips. His right front tire was flat. Not low, flat. Even from a few feet away he could see the neat slice in the side.
On the way to examine the tire situation a little more closely he looked at the windshield. Underneath one of the wipers was what appeared to be a business card. Shane picked it up, looked at it. The front of the card read:
DETECTIVE JESSICA BALZANO
PHILADELPHIA POLICE DEPARTMENT, HOMICIDE DIVISION
He flipped the card over. There was a message written on the back in blue ink:
Shane: Your meter’s expired. I called PPA. Don’t worry, the ticket shouldn’t be more than $40. Enjoy the scone! P.S.: She might like a subscription to Muse.
Shane Adams looked both ways, up and down Walnut Street. Jessica Balzano was, of course, gone. He was just about to walk around his car to the trunk, and his spare, when he sensed a presence to his left. He spun around. There, standing at the back of his car, was a Philadelphia Parking Authority officer.
Jessica Balzano wasn’t kidding. In addition to the flat tire, he was getting a ticket.
F*cking bitch.