A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit

Gate override slips.

Blank date lines, signed at the bottom.

“Run me a copy of the top three,” I said.

“Then put them back exactly where he left them.”

“Sergeant, those are command forms.”

“I know what they are.”

He fed them through the machine by the window, and the copies came out warm.

Then he tapped the line at the bottom of the sheet.