Free Sex, Murder and a Double Latte by Kyra Davis Page A

I peered through the broken glass to get a second look at the mess inside. My CD player was still there. Last I had checked, the main reason people broke into cars was to steal their stereos. My stereo wasn’t state-of-the-art but I was pretty sure it was theft-worthy.
    “I thought I was supposed to meet you at your place.”
    I jumped at the sound of Anatoly’s voice. He was standing in the doorway of an apartment complex parallel to my car. His eyes traveled behind me to the Acura. “Looks like somebody made an enemy. You know the owner?”
    “What are you doing here, Anatoly?”
    “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ I live here.”
    “In that building right there?”
    “The one I just walked out of. Your powers of deduction are staggering.”
    “And you didn’t hear anything when some lunatic was ripping apart my car?”
    “ Your car?” Anatoly’s eyebrows shot up. He walked closer for a better look. “I don’t understand, are you a drug dealer or something?”
    “Excuse me? Someone messes with my car and you want to know if I’m a drug dealer?”
    “Look at the car, Sophie. Whoever did this was looking for something, and when they didn’t find it in the glove compartment or the trunk they assumed it was valuable enough for you to hide it inside the seats.”
    “Well, if they were looking for drugs they got the wrong car.”
    Anatoly was examining the trunk now. “Well, they were looking for something.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake! I wouldn’t even know how to hide something in the upholstery of my car without ruining it. Let alone in my spare tire. What the hell could I possibly possess that I would even want to hide that well?”
    “Could be a number of things. Do you have some compromising photos of the mayor and the latest Playboy bunny that you were planning on blackmailing him with? Although I think Willie Brown proved that San Franciscans aren’t concerned with such things.”
    “Give me a break. I’m not blackmailing anyone. This is real life, not one of my books….” I looked at the car again. In what seemed like slow motion, I opened the passenger side door and touched one of the fresh cuts in the seat.
    “What’s wrong?” He stepped behind me and put a supportive hand on my arm.
    “Nothing. Look, I don’t mean to blow you off, but I think I should go report this.”
    “I’ll go with you.”
    “It’s really not necessary. I’ve had my car broken into before. You just go to the police station, file a report, and when the SFPD has a slow day they’ll look into it. That will be right around the time the sun collides with the earth.”
    Anatoly just stared at me.
    “I’m trying to be funny.”
    “I can see that.”
    “Well then, laugh and go away.”
    Anatoly didn’t move. “Are you going to drive the car to the police station?”
    “Now you’re the one trying to be funny. I can’t possibly drive this thing.”
    “Why not? The engine seems to be intact,” he pointed out while checking under the hood. “And the only tire they slashed was the spare.”
    “The police station is only a few blocks away, I’ll walk. It’s not like they have to look at the car. All I have to do—”
    “This isn’t a normal break-in Sophie. The police should see the damage in order to know what they’re dealing with.”
    I wrinkled my nose in disgust. The last thing I wanted to do was sit in the seat that only hours ago some creep had been merrily slashing away at.
    “Here’s what we’ll do,” Anatoly said. I rolled my eyes but chose not to interrupt. “I’ll go upstairs, get my camera and take some pictures of the damage before we move it.”
    “Like I said before, we don’t need to do anything.”
    “Here’s my cell phone.” He pulled his Nokia out of his jacket pocket. “Call the police and tell them we’re coming over.”
    I pulled my hair back with enough force to damage some of the weaker strands. The guy was asking to be smacked. “I’m going to say this