Midnight Alley by Miles Corwin

Author:Miles Corwin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2012-07-25T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

The next afternoon, I parked down the street from the Miracle Mile apartment building and balanced a pair of binoculars on my thigh. I craved coffee, but I learned long ago never to drink coffee on a stakeout.

Thirty-five minutes after I arrived, a black Infiniti SUV pulled out of the underground garage, with three young women in the back and one in the front. I focused my binoculars and spotted Anika in the back driver’s-side seat. I then focused on the driver and realized he was the Russian thug in the red silk shirt who had been snoozing in a chair when I first cased the apartment. He was still wearing the same shirt. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen me at the door yesterday.

He made two left turns and stopped at a light. I sped behind him, reached under my police radio, and snapped on my lights and siren. I was relieved when he immediately pulled over.

I badged him and said, “License and insurance.”

“Isn’t it customary in L.A. for an officer of law to be uniformed and to be driving police car that is black-and-white?” he asked in heavy accent.

“Isn’t it customary to operate a motor vehicle with functioning brake lights?”

I was surprised when he produced what appeared to be a valid California driver’s license and a Xeroxed copy of his insurance policy. Maksimov was no dummy. He knew it was good business to make sure the front men were legal.

As I returned his driver’s license and insurance, he said, “Can I ask, officer, what it is I did wrong?”

“Your passenger-side brake light appears to have an intermittent short. It’s going off and on. Have your mechanic check the wiring.”

I whirled around, jabbed a finger at Anika, and said, “You! Out of the car.”

“What do you want with her?” the driver asked.

“Keep your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them!” I shouted in my best street-cop voice.

I tugged open the back door. Anika reluctantly crawled out, and I pointed to my Impala. “Get in the backseat.”

I pivoted to the driver and said, “In roll call this morning, I was told there’s a warrant out for a young Eastern European woman who is suspected of being involved in a series of burglaries. She fits the description. After I question her, she will be free to go.”

“I am certain this is not her.”

You’re certain, I thought, because you’ve kept her prisoner in the apartment. “We’ll soon find out.”

“This makes no sense.”

“If you want to come to the station with me, let’s go right now,” I said, knowing the suggestion would scare him off. He couldn’t complain to the desk sergeant, “I demand my rights. An LAPD officer just stole my prostitute.” The driver sighed heavily, started his engine, and drove off.

I joined Anika in the backseat. She’d curled up in the corner, arms tightly locked around her knees. Her hair was a brittle bleached blonde. Garish blue shadow circled her eyes. She gave me a frightened look and said, “Who are you?”

“My name is Ash Levine.

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