Frank Zafiro - Under a Raging Moon

Kopriva smiled and a thrill went through him.

It was him.

Kopriva stepped onto the porch and prepared to force the door back open if Belzer tried to close it once he saw who was on his doorstep. The door swung open and Belzer stared at them for a moment, obviously surprised. The faint odor of marijuana smoke wafted through the door.

“Martin? Can I come in and talk to you for a minute?” Kopriva played it low-key.

Belzer blinked at them, shocked. “Okay,” he said and stepped aside to let them in.

As soon as they were in the door, Kopriva put him into a mild wrist-lock. Katie took the other arm. When he encountered no resistance, Kopriva made no attempt to use further force. He told Belzer he was under arrest.

“For what?” he complained. “I’m just watching TV here.”

“You have several warrants.” Kopriva handcuffed him and began to search. Katie pulled a plastic bag from her pocket and held it for Belzer’s possessions.

“What warrants? I thought I took care of those,” Belzer said, not convincing anyone in the room.

“Evidently not.” Kopriva continued to search. He came across an orange-brown chunk wrapped in a baggy. “Uh-oh, Martin. What’s this?”

“Crank,” Belzer said dejectedly.

Kopriva hadn’t expected an answer, but he didn’t quibble. “Before I go any further, let me ask you something. Are there any needles on you? Because if I stick myself on a needle, I am going to be one ticked off hombre.”

“They’re in my sunglasses case. In my flannel pocket.” Belzer stared straight ahead.

Kopriva pulled the case from Belzer’s breast pocket. Inside, he saw two needles, a spoon, some cotton, and some water in a small plastic bottle. “How long have you been shooting this stuff?”

Belzer sighed and hung his head. “Too long, man.”

Kopriva completed his search, then walked to the seat where Belzer had been sitting. An empty marijuana pipe lay on the small end table. Kopriva didn’t see any marijuana nearby. He picked up the pipe, which was still warm. He put it to his nose and sniffed. The strong aroma of marijuana flooded his nostrils.

“Should I leave this for your Mom?” he asked Belzer.

“No, man. It’s mine. She doesn’t need to know.”

“I suppose not. Do you have keys for this place so we can lock up?”

“They’re in my jacket there by the door. Left pocket.”

Kopriva walked to the coat rack by the door and picked up the heavy, black leather jacket.

“Left pocket,” Belzer repeated, enunciating each word clearly. He watched Kopriva intently.

Kopriva checked the left pocket and found a small key ring.

“That’s them,” Belzer said quickly.

“You want this jacket?” Kopriva asked.

“No.”

“No?”

Belzer shook his head. “No.”

Kopriva began to search the jacket. Belzer sighed and shifted his feet, nervously. Kopriva found needles in the inside pocket and a small vial of clear liquid.

“What’s this?” he asked Belzer.

“Water.”

“Water? Yeah, right. You’re so nervous about me finding your needles and water.”

“I’m not nervous about nothing, man. It’s water.”

Kopriva shrugged. “All right. Play it that way.”

“I’m not playing at all.”

“Let’s go,” Kopriva said, motioning toward the door. “Do you want me to bring this jacket now?”

“What jacket? I never saw that jacket before in my life.”

Kopriva shook his head with a rueful laugh. “Martin, you need to find another profession. You suck as a liar.”

Belzer said nothing.

Kopriva locked the door as they left and walked Belzer to his car. Once he was secured in the back seat, Kopriva broke out his drug field test kits. Katie stood nearby, watching with mild curiosity.

A sliver from the methamphetamine chunk immediately flowed orange.

“Bingo,” Kopriva muttered.

He tested a few drops of the “water” for methamphetamine with no reaction. “What do you think?” he asked Katie.

“It’s not going to be heroin,” she said with a shrug. “The only other drug I know that people shoot with needles is coke.”

Kopriva retrieved a cocaine field test kit and dropped three drops into the vial. He broke the ampoule inside. The vial flowed an instant, bright blue.

“Good call,” he told Katie.

“Nice job,” she said. “Especially on the bullshitting. You need any help with property or anything?”

Kopriva shook his head. “No. Thanks for coming along.”

Katie nodded curtly, then turned and left. Kopriva watched her go. Something was seriously wrong with her tonight.

He started the car and headed for jail. Belzer leaned forward. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

“Martin, you’ve got a ton of warrants. And it’s your mother’s house. You think we wouldn’t check there?”

Belzer didn’t answer right away. After Kopriva pulled onto an arterial, Belzer asked, “Did you call me and pretend to be from the Post Office?”

“What?”

“Not five minutes before you came by, some guy from the Post Office called. Was that you?”

“No.” Kopriva slowed for a red light. “What’d he want?”

“Just to get a forwarding address.” Belzer watched him in the rear-view mirror. “I think it was you.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Martin, using the Postal Service in any way to commit fraud against anyone is a federal offense. Great as your idea sounds, it would be illegal.” He met Belzer’s eyes in the mirror. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that we came to your Mom’s house to see if you were there? Where would you check for someone with a warrant?”

“I suppose so. It just seems like one hell of a coincidence.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah. But not to me.”

The traffic light turned green. Kopriva nudged the accelerator, then shrugged at Belzer. “Life is full of surprises.”

2314 hours

The Qwik-Stop didn’t get much business after 9:00 P.M. That suited Curly Pierson just fine. The lull in customer traffic allowed him to raid the magazine rack and read comics for free. He especially liked the war comics. They reminded him of his eleven months in the Marine Corps. The camaraderie and the bravery of the soldiers made his chest swell.

Of course, real life was sometimes different than the comics, as he’d discovered. He often wished he hadn’t had those problems that got him booted out, but he did okay now. He worked three days a week at the Qwik-Stop and during the summer, he did some yard work for his mother. On the weekends, he played paint-ball.

If the Corps had known how good he was at paint-ball, they would have begged him to stay. The thought occurred to him without any bitterness. Maybe he could invite a recruiter next weekend to watch or something. He was the best on his team, even if he did play a little bit too emotionally intense. The doctor guy his mom took him to see said that he would probably be able to control it someday, especially if he kept up with the medication. He didn’t like the pills, though. They made him tired.

Work bored him. Especially nights like this one. He’d read all the good comics, which of course were the DC ones, and the new ones wouldn’t be in until the next day. He considered reading some of the Marvel comics if it got too slow, but what was the point of that? All those guys like Spiderman spent too much time worrying and wondering about stuff, even when they were fighting bad guys. Guys like Superman knew what was what. Don’t think, just take care of business. They were real heroes. Spiderman was a geek.

Curly stood behind the counter and fingered the.25 auto under the counter. It sat on the small shelf directly beneath the register. His boss had told him never to use it, but why did he keep it there, then? It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to handle a gun. He won two paintball matches just last weekend and both times he’d been the last man alive on his team.