RCC01 - Under a Raging Moon

by Frank Zafiro

  Stone raised his hands. “All right. There you were—”

  “Right,” Ridgeway said, “on routine patrol.”

  Gio smiled. Though not yet five o’clock, both Ridgeway and Stone had downed two beers and two shots. Gio consciously slowed down after the first triumphant beer and shot.

  “Anyway,” Ridgeway continues, “so I see this guy sneaking around the parking lot—”

  “Sneaking? In broad daylight?”

  “Yes, like the idiot that he is.” Ridgeway paused to take a slug from his beer. “Anyway, I know it’s him. He’s got a paper bag hanging out of his jacket pocket and long black hair. It’s obviously a wig. I mean, you can see that from clear across the parking lot.”

  “What’s he wearing a jacket for, anyway?” Stone added. “It’s almost eighty degrees out today.”

  Ridgeway stared at Stone in mock-anger. “You want to tell this story?”

  “No, go ahead.” Stone grinned.

  “All right.” Ridgeway paused and peered at his beer. “Where was I?”

  “On routine patrol,” Stone quipped.

  Ridgeway shot him a look of warning. “I’m in the parking lot. And I see this guy. So I go buzzing up there as he gets into the pickup. I see Gio coming the other way. We jump out and run up to the truck. I’ve got my piece out—”

  “So do I,” Gio chimed in.

  “—and I’m telling this maggot to show me his hands. Gio’s got a bead on him through the passenger window, and I’m about a step behind the door.” He took another drink.

  Gio noticed the door open and a woman enter the bar. Immediately, he felt a stab of butterflies in his stomach. It was her, the blonde from the other night, the one with the pale blue eyes. She glided in and took a seat in the far corner. He noted with some satisfaction that she was alone.

  Gio’s mouth went suddenly dry. He took a sip of his beer. His palms were suddenly sweating and rubbed them on his jeans.

  Ridgeway set his glass down and continued his story. “Moron has his hands on the wheel, but now he’s getting confused. I don’t see a gun, but the paper bag has fallen out of his jacket. Money is all over the front seat. He doesn’t know what to do, and he’s not listening to me. I’ve got his door swung open. I’m telling him to get out of the truck. Then he starts reaching inside his jacket.”

  Stone shook his head, disbelieving. “Stupid bastard. Why didn’t you shoot him?”

  Ridgeway shrugged. “Coulda.”

  “But…”

  “I cracked him upside the head instead.”

  Stone chuckled. “With what? Your gun?”

  Ridgeway nodded.

  Stone laughed out loud.

  “Tore that fake scar right off his face. It was hanging from his cheek.” Ridgeway allowed himself a rare grin. “Hanging right below the new real scar I gave him.”

  “That is great,” Stone chuckled. “Mr. Master Shooter turns goddamn Wyatt Earp. Priceless.” He clapped Ridgeway on the shoulder. “You saved that guy’s life, Mark. You’re a bona fide hero. He should be dead.”

  “Should be,” Ridgeway repeated.

  “Of course,” Stone observed, “now that you saved his life, he’ll probably file a complaint and sue the city.”

  Ridgeway’s grin melted. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “Probably.”

  Ridgeway considered for a moment, then shrugged. “Screw him. Who cares?”

  Stone shrugged. “Speaking of complaints, that goddamn Lieutenant Hart called me in today. I got another IA complaint.”

  Ridgeway snorted. “Big surprise.”

  Stone shot Ridgeway a dark look. “It’s completely unfounded.”

  “I’m sure.” The two men paused to take a long draft of beer, then Ridgeway asked, “You smack a guy with your gun or something?”

  Both men had a long chuckle.

  Gio waved Johnny over. The bartender leaned forward toward Gio. “Yeah?” Gio motioned to the blonde. He didn’t even have to tell the bartender what he wanted to know. Good thing, too, because his throat and mouth were dry again.

  Johnny studied her for a moment. Gio could see the computer hard drive behind the bartender’s eyes as it ground through information. Accessing, accessing. Then he turned back to Gio.

  “Marilyn. That’s her name.” He kept wiping the bar in front of Gio. “She comes in once in a while, sometimes alone, sometimes she meets a few girlfriends. I think she works near here. Not a groupie, though, Gio.”

  Gio nodded his thanks. Without another word, Johnny left to serve another customer.

  Stone recounted his meeting with Hart. “I mean, the guy will take something, anything, and blow it up so he can spend twenty minutes lecturing you. What a prick.”

  Ridgeway nodded. “What was the complaint for?”

  “Some old buzzard I told to move along at that fatal accident we had at Illinois and Perry last week.”

  “That one where the high school girl died?”

  “Yeah. Her little Toyota Corolla was t-boned by a 4x4. Anyway, people were acting like it was an interactive version of COPS or something, and I was getting tired of being polite about moving them along. This guy musta slowed down and tried to look or something. I don’t even remember him.”

  “Hart.” Ridgeway grunted the word like it was a curse and then threw back another slug of his Budweiser. “You hear he pulled Chisolm from the FTO program?”

  Stone nodded. “Yeah. I heard Chisolm got so torqued he pulled a gun on him in the office.”

  Ridgeway frowned. “C’mon, Jack. You really think Chisolm would pull a gun on the lieutenant?”

  Stone stared back at him, blinked and said nothing.

  “Okay,” Ridgeway conceded, “but do you think he would still be working here if he did?”

  “No. And I think Hart would be six feet under. The prick.”

  Johnny put another round of shots in front of them. Ridgeway raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that. “

  “Me, too.”

  “To hope,” Ridgeway said sarcastically. Both sipped.

  “Hey, guys!” came a familiar voice. Janice Koslowski, a forty-one year old radio dispatcher, walked up to the bar and put her arm around Ridgeway’s shoulder. “My hero!” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. Then, looking at Gio, she reached out and put her other arm around him. “You too, tall, dark and slutty.”

  Gio grinned, but glanced toward the blonde. She hadn’t noticed him.

  “What are you doing here?” Ridgeway asked her. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

  “Night off,” Janice told him, pushing back her long brown hair and smiling. “I stopped in to pick up my paycheck and heard the news. Nice job, fellas.”

  Ridgeway took a sip from his shot glass. “Yeah, did they tell you we almost got killed?”

  Janice looked upset. “What?!”

  Ridgeway nodded. “Yeah. Rookie dispatcher completely screwed up on the call. Almost got us killed.”

  “How?” Janice demanded. “Who was it? What happened.

  “It was terrible,” Ridgeway said. He took another sip from his glass. “Now, if only we’d had a veteran dispatcher . . .”

  “Oh, nice!” Janice slapped his shoulder hard. “You had me going for a second.”

  Ridgeway chuckled. Gio raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t seen him do that in a while.

  Janice shook her head, smiling. “Well, I see one thing hasn’t changed since I went to graveyard. Mark Ridgeway is still a mean S.O.B.”

  Ridgeway raised his near-empty shot glass. “At your service, ma’am. Have a drink with me?”

  Janice grinned. “Mark, I don’t know. With you, it is never just one.”

  “Can’t have just one. It gets lonely in my stomach. Wants company. Gotta send it some of its brothers.”

  Janice’s smile didn’t fade. “Okay, mister. I’ll have one.” She motioned to Johnny and pointed at Ridgeway’s glass and gave Johnny one finger.

  “It’ll get loh-oh
nllyyy...” Ridgeway crooned.

  Jack Stone began to sing “One is the loneliest number...”

  “Shut up and tell me what really happened,” Janice chuckled.

  Gio slipped from the stool and walked toward Marilyn. He heard Janice and Ridgeway pause briefly—probably to watch him go—then Janice asked Ridgeway for all the ‘dirty details.’

  Marilyn sat alone, sipping from a small glass. She noticed his approach about two steps away, her eyes inviting but cautious.

  What do I say?

  “Hello,” she said, her voice friendly.

  “Hello,” Gio answered. “Can I, uh, sit with you for a few minutes?”

  She paused, considering. Then, “Sure. I’m only planning to stay until I finish this drink, though.”

  Gio sat across from her. God, she’s beautiful. He’d only gotten a brief look that first night and his experience taught that imagination generally fills in what you don’t see. Unfortunately, imagination tends to be optimistic and reality often disappointing. Not in her case, though. She looked even lovelier than he remembered.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Anthony. Giovanni. My friends call me Gio.”

  “I’m Marilyn.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Now what I am supposed to say?

  Gio wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans. He was afraid to use a line on her, afraid to bullshit with her like he did with all the bunnies that usually came in here. It hit him like a slap up the side of the head when he realized he had little to say without those lines.

  There was an uncomfortable pause. They looked at each other and Gio thought he saw something in her eyes. Does she feel this, too? Already? This . . . pull?

  The pause went on long enough to outlive its own discomfort and became an easy silence. Both sipped their drinks. Marilyn finally broke the silence.

  “This is a good song.”

  Gio listened to the song drifting from the jukebox. He recognized Stevie Nicks’ sultry voice.

  “Very good song.” He felt like an idiot. What was the name of the song? He’d heard it a million times, but he couldn’t think of the title. White Winged Dove or something?

  She smiled at his obvious nervousness, took another sip and finished her drink. Gio panicked. She had said she was leaving after that drink—

  Marilyn dug in her purse, removed her wallet, and dropped some money on the table. Then she looked up at Gio and smiled again.

  “Listen,” she said. “I have to go. I’m meeting a girlfriend.”

  Gio nodded glumly. He wanted to ask her out but knew he hadn’t laid the groundwork, knew he would only stumble over his own tongue. You blew it, he told himself angrily.

  Marilyn took a pen from her purse. She met Gio’s gaze.

  Those eyes!

  “Maybe we could go out to lunch sometime?” She smiled.

  He sat there, shocked. He took so long to answer that a shadow of disappointment crossed her face. She dropped her gaze and started to put her pen away.

  “Yes!” Gio answered too forcefully. She looked up. Gio softened his voice. “I mean, yes. Thank you. You just took me by surprise.”

  She seemed to accept that. “What’s your phone number?” she asked. “I’ll call you in a few days?”

  “Okay.” He gave her the number.

  “See you.” She slid out of the booth.

  “Bye.”

  Marilyn gave him a smile and left. He followed her to the door with his eyes, watching her leave. It was only then that he realized how fast his heart was beating.

  SIX

  Sunday, August 21st

  Graveyard Shift

  2113 hours

  Kopriva left the roll call room and walked downstairs to the records desk on the main floor. With Scarface out of commission, it figured to be a slower night. Maybe he’d chase some warrants. Newly issued warrants were stacked by the counter for officers to look at until the records personnel found time to input them into the computer system. Kopriva thumbed through the pile.

  “Hi, Stef,” came a female voice from behind the counter.

  Kopriva looked up to see Maria Soledad smiling at him. The thirty-year-old Puerto Rican woman had the longest and darkest hair Kopriva had ever seen. He smiled back.

  “Hi, Maria. Cómo Estás?”

  “Bien. Y tú?”

  “Good,” he replied, having just about reached the limit of his Spanish-speaking skills.

  “Did you hear they caught that robber?”

  Kopriva nodded, perusing the warrants. “Yeah. Can you believe it was a bunch of day-shifters that did it?”

  “Well, they have more experience, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, I suppose, when they want to work. I think coffee is the highest priority for some of them.”

  “Oh, Stef, you’re being mean. Tú eres malo.”

  “Call ’em as I see ’em,” Kopriva said. He pulled a felony drug warrant for a man named Martin Belzer from the stack and handed it to Maria. “Could you run him up for me?”

  “Sure.” Maria sat at her desk and quickly entered the name into the computer. It amazed Kopriva how fast she could type. She waited several minutes for the system to come back with a response.

  “You type too fast for the computer, Señora.”

  “Ten words per minute would be too fast for this system,” Maria replied.

  “Government spending at its best,” Kopriva joked.

  “Es la verdad,” she said absently. “Looks like you hit the jackpot on this one. In addition to this felony hit here, he has another felony warrant for drugs, plus three misdemeanor warrants.”

  “So five total?”

  “No, actually seven,” she answered, staring at the screen. “Here’s two more misdemeanor hits out of Seattle. And they’re extraditable, too.”

  “Great. Can you print that off for me and confirm the local ones?”

  Maria hit several keys and a printer began to buzz next to her computer. “You want a picture of Mr. Ten Most Wanted?”

  “Maria, you are a dream.”

  “More like a nightmare,” she chuckled, calling up a booking photo of Martin Belzer and printing it. She handed the printout and the black-and-white photo to Kopriva. “I’ll check the file and be back in a few.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Kopriva looked at the printout. Belzer’s listed address was 1814 N. Quincey, in Adam Sector. He should probably have an Adam Sector officer go with him. Maybe Chisolm or—

  “Hey, Stef, what’s up?” Katie MacLeod appeared at his side and reached for the warrant stack. “You finished with these?”

  “Yeah. I already found my gold mine.” He waved the picture of Belzer.

  “Really? How’s that?”

  “Mr. Belzer here has a butt-load of warrants.”

  “A butt-load? I see. Is that more or less than an ass-full?”

  Kopriva considered. “I think it’s the metric conversion.”

  Katie laughed. “Very funny. How many does he have?”

  “Seven. Two of ’em are felony drug. His last known address is in Adam Sector. You want to come along?”

  “Sure. I have to give Kevin a call first, though.”

  “Oh, I see.” Kopriva made a whip-cracking sound.

  Katie smacked him on the arm. “Shut-up. He said it was important.”

  “Okay, okay.” Kopriva raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll meet you at the elementary school there at Monroe and Maxwell.”

  “Okay. See you.” Katie walked away.

  Kopriva made the whip-crack noise again. Katie stuck her hand in the middle of her back and gave him the finger.

  “Such an angry finger,” Maria tut-tutted as she returned from the warrant confirmation. “What on earth did you say to her?”

  Kopriva shrugged. “I dunno. Who knows with women? Right, Maria?”

  “You better watch it, or I will give these warrants to someone else.”

  Kopriva b
owed. “Perdóneme. I am an insensitive male.”

  Maria gave him a smile. “In that case, your warrants are confirmed. Buena suerte.”

  Kopriva thanked her and left.

  2130 hours

  “Come on, Janice! One more!”

  Janice shook her head. “No more, Mark. I gotta get going.”

  “Come on!” Ridgeway argued. “It’s early yet.”

  “Early if you started at seven,” Janice told him, slipping on her coat. Gio and Stone had left an hour ago. They probably thought they were doing her a favor by leaving her alone with Ridgeway. They weren’t. She’d heard about Ridgeway’s wife and the fireman. There was no way she was getting involved with a cop. Not again, and not with one on the rebound. “You’ve been here since four o’clock. It’s nine-thirty now. It’s time to go.”

  “Fine. Go.”

  “You should leave, too,” she said. “I’ll call you a cab.”

  “I’m fine,” Ridgeway said. “I’ll drink coffee for awhile and drive home.”

  Janice shook her head. “There isn’t enough coffee in Colombia to sober you up, Mark.”

  “I’m not taking a cab,” he said, getting his back up. “It’s degrading.”

  Janice resisted the urge to argue. It would just cause him to get more stubborn, anyway. “Okay. How about I drive you home?”

  Ridgeway glanced up. His drunken gaze penetrated her, and she felt a pang in her stomach. Another time, another place.

  “People will talk,” Ridgeway told her, his tone playful.

  Janice snorted. “A grizzled veteran police officer once told me how to respond to people talking like that.”

  “How?”

  “I think he said, ‘Screw ’em.’ Or something equally eloquent.”

  Ridgeway grinned. “Yeah. Screw ’em. I like that. Who told you that?”

  Janice chuckled. “Some idiot.”

  “Who?”

  “You.”

  Ridgeway let out a hearty laugh. He finished his drink in a gulp. “All right, Jan. You win. Let’s go.”

  Janice reached into her purse, but Ridgeway waved her action away. He tossed a twenty on the bar and raised his hand to Johnny. The bartender waved back, a hint of relief showing on his face. Despite not seeming overly concerned, Janice knew the bartender had been monitoring the situation.