Frank Zafiro - Under a Raging Moon

Dennis squirmed, then opened his mouth to speak.

Kopriva raised his finger to cut off his denial, “Not only that, I will charge you for lying to me about your name in order to avoid arrest. Plus, I will arrest your friend for the same charge, since he is backing up your lie.”

He gave Dennis a long stare. The suspect looked away and back again, shifting his stance from side to side.

“Now, if you save me from all that messing around and just admit who you really are and take care of your warrant like a man, I will only arrest you for the warrant. Nothing else.” Kopriva shrugged. “Otherwise, you get it all, the whole enchilada. I’ll even write you for no seatbelt.”

A long minute of silence followed. The only sounds Kopriva could hear was the engine idling and the clicking and whirring of his overhead lights. Having played out his hand, he held the man’s stare, showing him that it wasn’t a bluff.

Finally, the dark-haired suspect looked away and sighed heavily. “I’m Pete Maxwell. I’ve got I.D. in my back pocket.”

“Pete, you’re under arrest.” Kopriva quickly cuffed and searched him. He found a marijuana pipe in Maxwell’s right front pocket and placed it on the hood. He put the rest of his property into a plastic bag. Travis guided Pete into the back of the police car.

Kopriva called Rousse out of the car.

“Stand here,” he said, pointing next to Travis at the front of the patrol car. Then he searched the car. In the center console, he found a small Tupperware container roughly the size of a fifty-cent piece. He opened it carefully and saw a brown chunky substance inside.

Methamphetamine.

The rest of his search turned up nothing. Kopriva retrieved a field test kit from the trunk of his car. The small plastic vials had ampoules with chemicals in them that reacted with specific drugs by turning a particular color. He used his knife to slice off a sliver of the substance in the Tupperware container and dropped it in. When he broke the ampules, the test tube immediately flowed orange.

Positive.

Kopriva showed the tube to Travis.

“What’s going on?” Rousse asked.

“You’re under arrest for possession of methamphetamine,” Kopriva told him, applying a mild wristlock. He motioned with his head for Travis to handcuff Rousse.

“What’s that?” the man asked unconvincingly.

“Meth,” Kopriva told him. “Crank. Like you don’t know.”

“It’s not mine,” Rousse protested.

Kopriva searched him, finding nothing of importance. He requested another unit for transport. He sat Rousse down on the curb with his legs straight out in front of him. Travis stood guard behind him.

“Baker-123, is there a sergeant available?”

“L-123, go ahead.”

Sgt. Shen, Adam sector sergeant. Good.

“L-123, can you contact me at Regal and Olympic?”

“Affirm, from Division and Wabash.”

“Copy.” Kopriva allowed himself a tiny smile. So the Sarge was having coffee at Denny’s with the Lieutenant, huh? Well, that wasn’t far off, at least. He shouldn’t be too long.

A dark brown Chevy cruised past the traffic stop slowly. Too slowly. Kopriva broke the snap on his holster and rocked his pistol forward. The car looked familiar, and the passenger…

Isaiah Morris!

Morris was a gangbanger from Compton. He’d arrested the Crip about two months ago on a warrant and found crack cocaine stuffed into his sock. Not enough to prove Morris was dealing, but still a solid possession arrest.

Kopriva followed the car with his eyes. It rolled slowly by. Morris glared at him through the passenger window. Then the tires chirped and the car sped away. Kopriva switched to the data channel and ran Morris’ name. He doubted that Morris had appeared in court on the drug charge. Maybe there was a warrant out for him.

While he waited, Kopriva decided to see if he could plant a seed of trust. He picked up the marijuana pipe and opened the back door of the patrol car. “See this?” he asked Pete.

Pete nodded.

“Since you told me the truth about your name, I’m going to dump it and not charge you. Next time I talk to you, don’t lie to me.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I found Meth in your console.”

Pete winced. “Can’t you just dump the crank, too?”

Kopriva shook his head. “A pipe is one thing. Nobody cares too much. Drugs are something else. People care about drugs. Especially meth. It’s a problem.”

“Yeah,” Pete said mournfully. “I know. My niece just went through D.A.R.E. at school.”

“Then you get what I mean. Besides, my sergeant is coming here. I think he wants to charge both of you.”

“What? Hey, that shit’s not mine, man. It’s his.”

Kopriva held up his hand. “I’m sure it is, Pete. I’ll try to talk him out of it, but this isn’t my normal sergeant. This guy is kind of a hard ass about drugs. So we’ll see.”

“All right,” Pete said, resigned. “Thanks for chucking the pipe, man. Straight up.”

“No problem.”

Kopriva closed the door and walked to the sidewalk where a dutiful citizen had put out his garbage can. With a casual look around to satisfy no one was watching, he slipped the pipe into the garbage.

Rousse sat on the sidewalk curb, looking dejected and angry. Travis stood behind him.

Kopriva got his attention and asked, “Whose crank is that, anyways? You guys share?”

Rousse sniffed. “Nice try.”

“Nice try what?”

“Whatever it is you found, it ain’t mine. Just like I said. So you can save your little cop interrogation games, all right?”

Kopriva glanced at Travis. “He gets a little testy when things don’t go his way, huh?”

Before Travis could answer, Rousse said, “Fuck you, man. I want to talk to my lawyer. His name is Joel Harrity.”

Kopriva smiled. Harrity was a local defense attorney who crusaded against the police department. Most of the maggots who claimed to be a client couldn’t afford him.

“What’re you smiling about, punk?” Rousse demanded. “I want to see your sergeant.”

Kopriva shrugged. “People in hell want ice water. That don’t mean they get it.”

Rousse glared at him, then shook his head. “Whatever.”

Baker-122 arrived. Officer Anthony Battaglia climbed out of the passenger side. His partner, Connor O’Sullivan, remained in the vehicle.

“What’s up, Stef?” Battaglia asked.

“Got a warrant, found some meth in the car. That’s the driver,” he pointed to Rousse. “Can you transport him to jail for me? I’ll be right behind you after I talk to Sgt. Shen.”

“Sure.” Battaglia waved O’Sullivan out of the car and they walked to where Travis guarded Rousse. Each officer took an arm and pulled Rousse to his feet. At their patrol car, O’Sullivan searched Rousse again. Kopriva didn’t take offense, though he knew some officers did. Which was too bad, in his opinion. If he put someone in his car, it was only after he searched them himself. He expected the same from other officers.

Once Rousse was safely stowed in the back of the patrol car, Battaglia waved to him and the pair headed south on Regal, slowing to talk momentarily with someone in another police car. Kopriva recognized it as the Sergeant’s car. After a moment, O’Sullivan accelerated away and continued south.

Sergeant Miyamoto Shen pulled his car in behind Kopriva’s and waited. Kopriva walked over and leaned into the window.

“What do you have, Stef?” the trim sergeant asked him.

“I stopped the car,” Kopriva explained, “and the passenger played the name game. Once we got that straightened out, it turns out he has a warrant. He’s the one in my car. Anyway, I found some meth in the console. Battaglia and Sully have my driver and they’re running him in for me on the meth.”