Page 4 of Dirty Judge

“Olivia, you out there or did you already leave for work?” He tried again. “I’ll give you ten dollars if you give me and Lindsay a ride to work today!”

You still owe me money for all the rides before.

I tiptoed backwards, making sure my feet didn’t hit the floorboards too hard. Then I grabbed my favorite flats and slipped out of the apartment.

Rushing down the hall, I pushed my way into the emergency stairwell and ran down all fifteen flights.

Making my way to the parking lot, I noticed a bright pink “parking violation” sticker stuck under my windshield wipers.

Tearing it off, I folded it in half and tucked it into my glovebox with all the others.

I pulled onto the street and headed out of New Jersey and into Manhattan.

With every mile, my heart beat a little bit heavier and tears pricked my eyes.

I’d mastered the art of not letting them fall, though. It’d taken me three years to learn that crying over things I couldn’t control didn’t earn me anything except red puffy eyes and a migraine.

Still, no matter how many times I neared the bridge, memories of my life before a certain incident crashed into my mind. Back when newspaper editors were clamoring for my words, when “layoffs” were a cruel word I wrote about without having any idea what it meant, and back when I could wear my heart on my sleeve without worrying about someone snatching it away for spiteful slaughter.

“Deep breaths, Liv,” I muttered as I coasted under the steel towers. “Focus on the river, focus on the river…”

I was halfway across when the images from my past began to shift from full, vivid color to monochromatic gray.

“Weeeee—ooooo! Weeee—oooo!”

A loud siren suddenly snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw blue and white lights flashing right behind me.

Ugh. Not today.

Hoping the cop wasn’t following me, I switched lanes, but then he switched, too.

Shit…

Sighing, I pulled into the emergency lane and rolled down my window.

I slid a hand under my seat, reaching for the fake pregnancy bump that Lindsay used to get out of a stop last week, but it wasn’t there.

I hoped for a warning and stared straight ahead until the officer moved right next to my car.

“Good afternoon, Miss.” He waited for me to look at him. “Do you have any idea why I pulled you over this morning?”

“To let me off with a very nice warning?”

“No.” His voice was terse. “You were going twenty miles over the speed limit.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was honestly deep in thought…I had no idea.”

“Your tags are also expired.”

“Not by long, right?” I asked. “I meant to get those handled last month, but I got distracted.”

“They’re expired bysixmonths.” He held out his hand. “I need your license and registration, please.”

I held back a groan and reached in the backseat for my purse, but it wasn’t there. I gasped and felt under the seat, but it wasn’t there either.

Oh my god…I’d been too focused on escaping my apartment that I forgot to grab it.

“Officer,” I said, trying to stay calm, “I forgot my purse at home.”