Under a Raging Moon by Frank Zafiro

painstaking pat down for weapons but found none. After that, they secured him in a patrol car. The officers used the same procedure for the backseat passenger, again without incident.
    Kopriva thanked the officers and asked them to stand by while he searched the car. Chisolm went forward with him. “What the hell happened?”
    Kopriva opened the driver’s door and laughed. “I recognized Morris in a car going the other way on Foothills. I knew he had a warrant, so I flipped around on him. As soon as I made the stop, Morris jumped out of the car and came running back at me.”
    Chisolm raised his eyebrows. “No kidding?”
    “Nope.” Kopriva leaned on the open door and spoke easily. “I could see his hands were empty, so I moved forward a few steps and waited for him. He was chattering about a mile a minute, threatening me and so forth. When I told him to get back in the car, he tried to push me.”
    “Tried?”
    Kopriva grinned. “Morris is a sissy without a gun in his hand. I just parried his push, grabbed his wrist, and foot-swept him. He went down hard. I think it knocked the wind out of him. After that, I just got control of him, drew down on his crew in the car and waited for the cavalry to arrive. Thanks for getting here so fast, Tom.”
    “Always,” Chisolm said. “You want some help with the search?”
    “Sure…” Kopriva said, distracted. He leaned into the car and removed something from beneath the dri v er’s seat. It was a magazine, fully loaded.
    Probably a .380, Chisolm figured.
    “See if you can find the gun that goes with this,” Kopriva said.
    Chisolm and Kopriva tore the car apart, but found no gun. At Kopriva’s direction, the other two officers pulled the suspects out of the patrol cars and searched them again. Still no gun.
    Kopriva removed Morris from the back seat and searched him completely. In the process, he removed every item from the gangster’s pockets and set them on the trunk of the patrol car.
    “Man, you better get up off me,” Morris told him.
    “Shut up. Where’s the gun?”
    Morris smiled. “What gun, cracker?”
    Kopriva ignored him and completed his search. Not finding any weapons on him, he sat Morris in the back of his patrol car again.
    Connor O’Sullivan approached. He tore out a page from his notebook and handed it to Kopriva. “Both these guys are clear, but neither one has a driver’s license. Here’s their info in case you need it for your report.”
    “Thanks,” Kopriva said. He turned to Chisolm. “Damn,” he whispered. “No gun, no crime.”
    “Is Morris a convicted felon?”
    “Definitely.”
    “Well, then it’s illegal for him to even have the ammo.”
    Kopriva frowned. “Not sure I can pin it on him. The mag was behind the seat. He was the driver.”
    “It’s weak,” Chisolm agreed. “Could they have thrown the gun out the window?”
    Kopriva shook his head. “I never lost sight of them.”
    Chisolm shrugged. “Then all you have is the warrant and assault on an officer.”
    “Assault on an officer. That’s still a traffic infraction, right?”
    Chisolm chuckled. “It will be once the prosecutor is through with it.”
    “Oh, well.” Kopriva sighed. “The Kitty Kat here is still going to jail. Let’s cut his bonehead buddies loose.”
    Kopriva told the two black males they were not under arrest but were not driving away in that car, as ne i ther had a valid driver’s license. Chisolm watched as they transformed from meek to smug, rubbing their wrists were they’d been cuffed.
    “What about him?” one asked.
    “He’s under arrest,” Kopriva answered evenly.
    “What for?”
    “None of your business.”
    The gangbanger snorted. “Shit, gee. He’s under arrest for being black. That’s all. That’s all it ever is.”
    “I hear that,” the second banger answered.
    “Thank you,” Kopriva said.
    Both men eyed him strangely.
    “What’s that?” one asked.
    “Thank you,” Kopriva repeated. “I haven’t been