Lucky Night

Months of planning, investigation, and surveillance — much of it skirting on the thin edges of the law — were about to pay off. Miranda had him in her sights, and she was going to put him down for good.

That’s not to say she was planning to kill him but putting him behind bars was just as good. She’d followed the progress of the last shipment through customs and knew that it would be her best chance to catch him with the goods.

She knew the pattern by now. The shipment would clear customs, get loaded on a rental truck, be driven to a warehouse on the east side where it was unloaded, and the truck would be returned.

Later in the evening, a delivery van would leave the warehouse with the goods and be driven here, an abandoned factory in the crumbling industrial district north of the city. Once it made it to the factory, he would be alone in guarding it while the van drove away.

In the small hours of the morning, a crew would arrive and process and package the goods. By first light, the crew, the goods, and the man she was following would be gone. She hadn’t figured out how they got it out of the factory, since no other vehicles would arrive or leave, yet the entire vanload would be gone once they left.

Miranda checked her phone; the van had entered thirty minutes earlier, it should be leaving soon. As if on cue, the overhead door opened, and the van drove out. Only her target was left in there now.

She waited for the overhead door to close before moving in closer. The last time she’d been in the factory, she’d left one of the side windows unlatched. She may have played a little loose with the rules up to this point, but she was going to do this next part by the book.

She called dispatch on her phone. “Detective Leffler, badge KN379. Send backup to 11475 Umbra, building 9. Movement in abandoned factory, lights on main floor. I’m going in to make sure no one gets themselves injured.”

“One moment, Sergeant, putting the call on the radio now.”

“Holding.”

Miranda moved to the window and crouched below it, waiting for the permission she needed to go in.

“Detective Leffler, units on their way. Desk Sergeant wants you to wait at the gate for the units.”

“Is that a request or an order?” she asked.

“The exact words were, ‘Tell her to wait outside the gate and meet the units there.’”

“Sounds like an ask, not an order. Advise the units I’m going in.”

With that, she ended the call and checked the window. It was still unlatched. She opened the window and shimmied through to the dusty office. A shiver of adrenaline shot through her, and she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. With a slow and intentional hand, she unholstered her weapon.

She opened the office door, doing her best to keep the hinges from squeaking. Opened wide enough for her to pass through, she listened for any sounds of movement. The main floor of the factory, where the overhead door was, seemed to be the only source of sounds.

It sounded like he might be on a call. Either that, or he wasn’t alone. Either way, she was going to see this through. Backup should be arriving in less than ten minutes, enough time for her to make the collar or determine whether to hang back.

The cargo sat in a neat stack of boxes in the middle of the main floor. She’d been right, he was on the phone. He was still too far away for her to make out what he was saying, but his back was turned.

Miranda crept to the stack of boxes and climbed onto the lowest tier to get a better vantage. She pointed her pistol at him. “Police! Don’t mo—”

She was interrupted by a sharp blow on her shoulder, making her drop the weapon. She’d only turned partway around toward her attacker when she was struck in the chin, snapping her head to the side and knocking her out cold.

Miranda woke, feeling refreshed for the briefest moment…at least until the pain of the blow and the resulting headache rushed in. She reached for her head on instinct and found herself in the process of being locked up with her own cuffs. The partially crushed boxes beneath her were uncomfortable, as was the large man that sat on top of her binding her hands.

He stood and pulled her off the boxes. He was well over six feet tall, and, she guessed, around two-sixty if not more. Close-cropped blonde hair above brown eyes and sun-darkened skin the color of a burnt peach. He had the crooked nose and small, short scars of a long-time bare-knuckle brawler.

She’d thought initially that she’d been hit with a club or baton, but realized it was his calloused knuckles that had done the deed. She looked for her pistol but didn’t see it anywhere.

His large, work-hardened hands began pawing at her. It was almost an effective pat-down, but he only found her empty holster, badge clip, and wallet. He pulled her pistol out of the back of his waistband.

“Stay here and stay quiet, or you get dead,” he said. “Nod your head if you understand.”

Miranda nodded, her head thudding with movement.

“She’s a cop,” he said to the man she’d been after. He walked over to the other man and handed him the badge and wallet.

Since he hadn’t found her phone, she reached for the pocket where it should be. It was empty. The boxes she’d been laid out on…her phone was in there somewhere.

The other man motioned her over. “Come over here,” he said, “I don’t want to yell.”

She walked over, staying just out of reach. He was shorter than Miranda’s five-foot-seven. The man was thin, with olive-tinged skin, thick, salt-and-pepper hair, groomed eyebrows, and light brown eyes that divulged nothing of what was going on behind them.

“Detective Miranda Leffler…212 West Highland, apartment 19…or is it a condo?”

She looked at him without answering.

“Well, no matter. I know who you are, and I suppose you know who I am?”

When no response was forthcoming, he looked at the larger man. “How hard did you hit her? Did you scramble her brains?”

The larger man brandished her pistol again. “When Mr. Stevens asks, you answer. Got it?”

The smaller man let out an exasperated sigh. “Danny, how many times do I have to tell you…no names!”

“Sorry, boss.”

“Not that it matters.” He stepped into Miranda’s personal space. Her initial thought was that she could take him, even cuffed as she was. That thought was just as soon replaced with the knowledge that Danny would shoot her before she got started.

“Ask away,” she said. “You’re holding all the cards.”

“Better. I know you called for backup. They’re at the gate now, waiting for my orders.”

She tried and failed to hide her surprise. Of course, he would have police in his pocket. If she made it out of this, she’d see who was on duty the nights that the product moved through the factory.

“Don’t be surprised, dear. I’m a businessman, and as such, I pay for security, just like any other.” He opened one of the damaged boxes and pulled out a plush toy. “Amazing that something so simple can make so much money. Thirteen cents each, plus another three for the ear tags, and I can wholesale them at six bucks a pop. Of course, the markup from there to the toy store, to the consumer is highway robbery.”

“You know you can’t get away with it forever,” she said. “This spot and your warehouse where you keep the van are burned.”

“You might think so,” he said, “but I’m going to tell you what’s about to happen. You’re going to march out there and start shooting at your fellow officers. While they’re busy trying to talk you down, you’re going to shoot yourself in the head. Tragic, really.”

“I see,” she said. Her mind raced, trying to find a way out of it. “You’re going to kill a cop over some counterfeit toys? I guess life in prison sounds better to you than ten years.”

“It’s not just some counterfeit toys. These are the same toys and tags as the originals, from the same factory. There’s over a million dollars in these boxes…wholesale. Danny, make it happen. And when the crew gets here, get the orders handled and on the train; the car number’s on the dry-erase board by the door. I’ll be busy.”

Danny nodded and prodded Miranda with the pistol. “This way.” He led her to the back of the factory and out a formerly locked corridor which led outside. To her left she saw another overhead door that led to a broken loading platform by the train tracks where a freight train rested.

He closed the door behind them and put the pistol in his pocket. “Sorry I hit you so hard, but I needed to sell it. Don’t worry, nobody’s dying tonight. Special Agent Daniel Abrams, FBI.” He uncuffed her and gave her back her cuffs, holster, pistol and badge. Then he removed her phone from a pocket inside his light jacket and turned it to speaker. “Did you get all that?” he asked.

“We did,” the voice on the other end answered. “Takedown team is moving in now to arrest the officers on the scene.”

“Good deal. The crew shows up in forty minutes with the shipping labels. I’ll be going back in after I make the expected noise. Don’t know where Stevens is going, but I sent you the number to his new burner phone so you can track him that way.”

“What’s the go signal?”

“When I start cursing in Spanish. How long until the gate is clear?”

“Waiting for confirm—never mind, there it is. Gate is clear, the officers are in custody, and ours are ready to drive the vehicles out.”

“Let ’em know we’re going to make some noise, then I’ll carry Detective Leffler out for them to get her out of the line of fire. Have to make it look good for the camera.”

“Affirmative. State Patrol SWAT is there and waiting for you.”

Danny looked at Miranda. “Would you mind firing off three or four shots in quick succession, then a pause, then one more.”

Miranda unholstered her weapon and pointed it at a pile of gravel nearby. “This will be the first time I’ve fired a weapon in the line of duty.”

“At least it’s not a real life and death situation.”

She fired off the shots, surprised at how long the sound echoed through the rundown buildings around them. After she holstered her weapon, Danny told her to take her jacket off. “This is the hard part,” he said, “you need to play dead.”

He draped the jacket over her head and shoulders. “I’m going to haul you out there in a fireman’s carry, then drop you into a trunk for the camera out front. Whatever you do, don’t move.”

After what seemed like an interminable trip bouncing over his shoulder, she felt herself being set into a trunk and heard the lid closing over her. Without seeing who was there, she worried that it might be a setup between Danny and the cops. After all, she hadn’t seen a badge; then again, if was undercover he wouldn’t be carrying one.

She had removed the jacket and was still considering the options when the car came to a stop. The fact that he left her weapon in her holster made her feel a little better about her chances.

Before she could decide whether to draw it in the cramped space of the trunk, the lid popped up and an officer in a State Patrol SWAT uniform offered a hand to her. “Come on out, Leffler. Jace Mitchell. Pleased to meet you.”

Miranda accepted his help and climbed out of the trunk. Aside from two ambulances and their attendant EMTs, she and the SWAT officer were alone. “Jace, Miranda. Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Heading back to assist in the big arrest. FBI took the officers to Federal booking in the county lockup, along with the desk sergeant.”

“What about Stevens?”

Jace shrugged. “He’s being tracked, and his burner phone is being monitored. The longer he thinks everything is okay, the better. He’s only a small part of this.”

“A small part? He’s bringing in half a million counterfeit Adopt-a-Plush toys every month, and he’s a small part?!” Miranda’s head throbbed and her chin felt like it was swollen. “Tell that to my niece who was heartbroken when the Adopt-a-Plush her mother bought at the mall was a fake and she couldn’t get an adoption certificate online.”

“He’s a small part, in that he’s just one supplier of counterfeit goods to American Joy Distributors, LLC. Tonight, all their operations in eleven ports and fourteen cities are being closed down. The big fish, though, is whoever is handling the bulk sales to legitimate vendors and trafficking the shipping crew. Thirty-one people whose passports are being withheld while they get shipped around from job to job.

“Tonight, it’s toys; last night it was shoes and purses.” Jace caught her gaze. “I’ve been working with these FBI guys on this for two years. State Patrol thought we might have enough to go after one of your guys and try to flip him, but your sergeant just handed them all to us on a platter.”

Miranda deflated. “I just wanted to stop a counterfeiter.”

“In a way, you did…or you helped, anyway. If you hadn’t called it in, we wouldn’t have known for sure who in your department is in their pocket. It’s your lucky night. Stevens promoted Dan to be his righthand man last week after his previous lieutenant was picked up on unrelated charges. If we hadn’t already been in place to move in, or if anyone else in Stevens’ organization had been there, you’d probably be dead.”

“Yeah, lucky,” she said. She touched her chin, eliciting a wince.

“Have the EMTs check you out,” Jace said. “You got your noggin rocked, and Abrams looks like he packs a mean punch.”

“That he does, Jace…that he does.”