B-Movie Attack Read Online Free PDF Page A

move it for me. We’ve got a professional bond. I help you, and you help me. Thanks a bunch, Billy. Say hello to your dad. How’s his heart doing?”
    “He’s taking care of himself.”
    Dr. Adamson placed the key in Billy’s pocket and waltzed up the sidewalk to Heart of Chicago Medical Center. “Have a good afternoon, Billy.”
    You son-of-a-bitch.
     
    The meter was expired on a Corolla-XT. Billy wrote up the ticket and tucked it under the windshield wiper. A woman in a gray Hanover business suit rushed to the vehicle, shaking her head. She was Lola McCannon. Her hair was done up in a bun, knee-highs without any runs, her body toned, her face locked and ready for an argument. “Oh no, no, no—it’s not expired.”
    Billy pointed to the red flag within the meter displaying the word “Expired”. “I’m sorry.”
    “I’m five seconds late. Hey, I’ll buy you lunch. Fifteen bucks enough?”
    Billy smiled. “You’re very nice for offering, but I can’t.”
    “I’m a lawyer,” she insisted. “I won’t tell anybody. Look, here’s twenty—buy a side of fries or chips or whatever the hell you like.”
    Billy relished the only time in his life he’d have power over a lawyer. “The ticket stays. I can't reverse it. Have a good day.”
    “Listen, you smug, pudgy moron. I could have your assets frozen. I could sue your unborn children, assuming you could get it up or someone would want to sleep with you to conceive the damn kid. I’m just a hardworking American trying to get by, and it’s weasels like you who take menial jobs like a meter maid—”
    “I’m a meter man, ma’am.”
    “A meter man,” she corrected, “who fulfills their lackluster lives by tearing out tickets for law-abiding citizens like myself. You have little man syndrome? You didn’t score enough trophies in sports as a kid? Did Daddy not hug you enough? Forget it. Fine, I’ll fight this ticket.”
    “Very good. Have a nice day.”
    “Oh come on,” she insisted. “Twenty-five bucks—no, fifty—hey, eat at the Four Seasons. Have a hundred, take your lady friend if you have one.”
    “I have a lady friend,” Billy said, “but she’s not interested. Have a nice day.”
     
    Ten minutes later, Billy cruised uphill to 124 th Avenue and faced Lakeshore Park. Skaters, bikers and joggers came and went on both ends of the park. Dogs and morning commuters enjoyed the lake view. He caught a man in a pair of biker shorts and a Cubs ball cap cutting a Huffy ten speed’s chain with a pair of bolt cutters. Mornings for Billy normally weren’t this exciting. Billy called the crime in to the police, and a cruiser was already upon the man, who took off running. Billy drove up to block the man’s escape. The thief was cuffed, eyeing Billy with nothing short of animosity. “Hey, have a nice day,” Billy said to the criminal.
     
    Billy’s thrill-a-minute morning hit two climaxes. Carlos Menendez radioed him from headquarters. He sounded sympathetic—a contrast against his normal bored and tepid tone—and said, “Billy, I’ve clocked you out. Get a move on to Heart of Chicago Medical Center. Your dad’s in the emergency room. Jessica called and told me what's going on.”
    “What happened?”
    “She didn’t say. Something happened at work. It sounds pretty serious, whatever it is. I’m sorry I didn’t ask. I hung up and called you ASAP.”
    “Okay, thank you. I’ll return the vehicle. I’m on my way.”
    A surge of concern caused Billy’s hands to tremble at the wheel. Did his father suffer another heart attack? This would be his third. One he kept secret when he was still married to Angela, his natural mother, and the other time, the doctors had to revive him from a temporary state of death; his heart had actually stopped beating—and Dr. Newsome made it clear how serious his condition was. The Cartons had a long family history of hypertension and heart disease, and father and son were each about a hundred pounds