Read Online Under a Raging Moon by Frank Zafiro - Free Book Online Page A

am going to do. First, I’ll call for another unit to go to the station and get a pri n tout photo of you and your brother. He’ll bring those pictures up here while I detain you. See, Pete has a warrant for his arrest. So when my friends get here and show me the pictures and you mysteriously look like Pete and not anything like Dennis, that’s when I place you under arrest for the warrant.”
    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 enchil a da. 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 whi r ring 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 carefu l ly 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 parti c ular 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 imm e diately flowed orange.
    Positive.
    Kopriva showed the tube to Travis.
    “What’s going on?” Rousse asked.
    “You’re under arrest for possession of methamphet a mine,” 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 Lie u tenant, 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 ho l ster 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