Letters to Maxine

CHAPTER 47

1

Saturday, May 7 17:05 HRS

"Six-three David to Central," I said.

"Central copy, Six-three David. Go ahead."

"Central, call us ten-seven at two-zero-two First Avenue."

"Central copy. Two-man unit out of service, 17:05 hours."

Gang Detectives had intel that LREC cholo Mad Hatter was throwing a Quinceañera for his oldest daughter.

Since their war with Shadow Posse began, LREC dropped five SP thugs killed or wounded. Although there hasn't been a Posse reply, this would be the perfect opportunity for a bloody payback.

To be safe, Major Case Gangs wanted our best to babysit the party as a deterrent against drive-by hits and a mass casualty event.

Detective Nieves deployed several MC Gangs unmarked RMPs to roam the surrounding area at a five-block radius. They moved mounted patrols from the beach areas and boardwalk to loop from Second to Fifth Avenue between the Boulevard and Central.

At 20:00 hours, our first-ever batch of twelve Class II Specials would pair with veterans and patrol Ocean Avenue and the boardwalk on foot.

I pulled into a parking stall across the street from the address given. I opened my tobacco and put it into my mouth. Maxine responded out of disgust for the first time.

"Blech," she said. With a smile and wrinkled cheeks, she shook her head. "Kelly, that really is a nasty habit. You're lucky I let you kiss me."

I smiled back and searched for my spit cup and cell phone.

"Oh, and yeah," she said. "No more Gatorade or Iced Tea bottles. I can't look at them anymore." She got out of the RMP and walked to the trunk. "Pop it," she said.

Following her command, I watched the black trunk open and screen the rearview mirror from what she was doing.

I heard her rustling through the posse bag and waited in anticipation of what was coming next.

Today was a good day. Maxine and I went to Ray's Diner last night for dinner, and I picked her up at ten this morning and went to Ocean Avenue South in the Park. We had brunch and hung out on my uncle's boat before heading in for our watch.

Truth be told, the days with her got better and better. Even though she had gotten a ton of resistance from her father and the but-brothers Jeremy Hwang and Gary Fessenden, she still pressed into our budding romance.

When she returned to the RMP, she gave me a black gift bag with blue tissue paper.

She held a smug look and raised her eyebrows at me.

"Here," she said. "Because I love you and can't stand to look at your brown spit and discards anymore."

I pushed through the paper and took out an olive-drab-colored plastic container, which looked like a flask. I laughed as I read the label.

"The with a threaded funnel," I said.

"Yes. Now you have your own personal spit jar. And you can't share it with Keegan. It's yours."

"I'd kiss you, but, you know, we're on duty and. Yeah."

I took off the label and spat in my new spittoon as she patted my thigh.

2

The partygoers and invitees gathered outside in the front yard. Pinatas and the banners hung from the home, and poles were at the corners of the gate and chain-link fence. The DJ and several LREC thugs occupied the porch, no doubt armed and soon to be drunk.