Trunk Music

PART IV

AVERAGING OVER NINETY miles an hour, including a fifteen-minute stop at a McDonald’s, they got to Las Vegas in four hours. They drove to McCarran International Airport, parked in the garage and took their briefcases and overnighters out of the trunk. While Edgar waited outside, Bosch went into the terminal and rented a car at the Hertz counter.

It was almost four-thirty by the time they got to the Metro building. As they walked through the detective bureau, Bosch saw Iverson sitting at his desk and talking to Baxter, who stood nearby. A thin smile played on Iverson’s face but Bosch ignored it and went straight to Felton’s office. The police captain was behind his desk doing paperwork. Bosch knocked on the open door and then entered.

“Bosch, where ya been?”

“Taking care of details.”

“This your prosecutor?”

“No, this is my partner, Jerry Edgar. The prosecutor isn’t coming out until the morning.”

Edgar and Felton shook hands but Felton continued to look at Bosch.

“Well, you can call him and tell him not to bother.”

Bosch looked at him a moment. He knew now why Iverson had smiled. Something was going on.

“Captain, you’re always full of surprises,” he said. “What is it this time?”

Felton leaned back in his chair. He had an unlit cigar, one end soggy with saliva, on the edge of the desk. He picked it up and clenched it between two fingers. He was playing it out, obviously trying to get a rise out of Bosch. But Bosch didn’t bite and the captain finally spoke.

“Your boy, Goshen, is packing his bags.”

“He’s waiving extradition?”

“Yeah, he got smart.”

Bosch took the chair in front of the desk and Edgar took one to the right. Felton continued.

“Fired that mouthpiece Mickey Torrino and got his own guy. Not that much of an improvement, but at least the new guy’s got Lucky’s best interest in mind.”

“And how did he get smart?” Bosch asked. “You tell him about the ballistics?”

“Sure, I told him. Brought him over, told him the score. I also told him how we broke his alibi down to shit.”

Bosch looked at him but didn’t ask the question.

“Yeah, that’s right, Bosch. We haven’t been exactly sitting over here on our asses. We went to work on this guy and we’re helping to pound him into the ground for you. He said he never left his office Friday night until it was time to go home at four. Well, we went over and checked that office out. There’s a back door. He could’ve come in and gone out. Nobody saw him from the time Tony Aliso left until four, when he came out to close the club. That gave him plenty of time to go out there, take down Tony and hop the last flight back. And here’s the kicker. Girl that works over there goes by the name of Modesty. She got into it with another dancer and went to the office to complain to Lucky. She said nobody answered when she knocked. So she tells Gussie she wants to see the boss and he tells her the boss ain’t in. That was about midnight.”

Felton nodded and winked.

“Yeah, and what did Gussie say about that?”

“He isn’t saying shit. We don’t expect him to. But if he wants to get on the stand and back up Lucky’s alibi, you can tear him apart easy. He’s got a record goin’ back to the seventh grade.”

“All right, never mind him. What about Goshen?”

“Like I said, we brought him over this morning and told him what we got and that he was running out of time right quick. He had to make a decision and he made it. He switched lawyers. That’s about as clear a sign as you’re going to get. He’s ready to deal, you ask me. That means you’ll get him and Joey Marks, a few of the other douche bags in town. We’ll take the biggest bite out of the outfit in ten years. Everybody’s happy.”

Bosch stood up. Edgar followed suit.

“This is the second time you’ve done this to me,” Bosch said, his voice measured and controlled. “You’re not going to get a third. Where is he?”

“Hey, cool down, Bosch. We’re all working for the same thing.”

“Is he here or not?”

“He’s in interview room three. Last I checked, Weiss was in there with him, too. Alan Weiss, he’s the new lawyer.”

“Has Goshen given you any statement?”

“No, of course not. Weiss gave us the particulars. No negotiating until you get him to L.A. In other words, he’ll waive and you take him home. Your people will have to work out the deal over there. We’re out of it after today. Excepting when you come back to pick up Joey Marks. We’ll help with that. I’ve been waiting for that day for a long time.”

Bosch left the office without further word. He walked through the squad room without looking at Iverson and made his way to the rear hallway that led to the interview rooms. He lifted the flap that covered the door’s small window and saw Goshen in blue jail overalls sitting at the small table, a much smaller man in a suit across from him. Bosch knocked on the glass, waited a beat and opened the door.

“Counselor? Could we speak for a moment outside?”

“Are you from L.A.? It’s about time.”

“Let’s talk outside.”

As the lawyer got up, Bosch looked past him at Goshen. The big man was handcuffed to the table. It was barely thirty hours since Bosch had seen him last but Luke Goshen was a different man. His shoulders seemed slumped, as if he was closing in on himself. His eyes had a hollow look, the kind of stare that comes from a night of looking at the future. He didn’t look at Bosch. After Weiss stepped out, Bosch closed the door.

Weiss was about Bosch’s age. He was trim and deeply tanned. Bosch wasn’t sure but thought he wore a hairpiece. He wore glasses with thin gold frames. In the few seconds he had to size the lawyer up, Bosch decided that Goshen had probably done well for himself.

After introductions Weiss immediately got down to business.

“My client is willing to waive any challenge to extradition. But, Detectives, you need to act quickly. Mr. Goshen does not feel comfortable or safe in Las Vegas, even in Metro lockup. My hope was that we would have been able to go before a judge today but it’s too late now. But at nine A.M. tomorrow, I’ll be in court. It’s already arranged with Mr. Lipson, the local prosecutor. You’ll be able to take him to the airport by ten.”

“Slow down a second, Counselor,” Edgar said. “What’s the hurry all of a sudden? Is it ’cause Luke in there heard about the ballistics we got or because maybe Joey Marks has heard, too, and figures he better cut his losses?”

“I guess maybe it’s easier for Joey to put the hit out on him in Metro than all the way over in L.A., right?” Bosch added.

Weiss looked at them as if they were some form of life he had not previously encountered.

“Mr. Goshen doesn’t know anything about a hit and I hope that statement is just part of the usual intimidation tactics you employ. What he does know is he is being set up to take the fall for a crime he did not commit. And he feels the best way to handle this is to cooperate fully in a new environment. Someplace away from Las Vegas. Los Angeles is his only choice.”

“Can we talk to him now?”

Weiss shook his head.

“Mr. Goshen won’t be saying a word until he’s in Los Angeles. My brother will take the case from there. He has a practice there. Saul Weiss, you may have heard of him.”

Bosch had but shook his head in the negative.

“I believe he has already contacted your Mr. Gregson. So, you see, Detective, you’re just a courier here. Your job is to get Mr. Goshen on a plane tomorrow morning and get him safely to Los Angeles. It will most likely be out of your hands after that.”

“Most likely not,” Bosch said.

He stepped around the lawyer and opened the door to the interview room. Goshen looked up. Bosch stepped in and moved to the table. He leaned over it and put his hands flat on the table. Before he could speak, Weiss had moved into the room and was talking.

“Luke, don’t say a word to this man. Don’t say a word.”

Bosch ignored Weiss and looked only at Goshen.

“All I want, Lucky, is a show of faith. You want me to take you to L.A., get you there safe, then give me something. Just answer one question. Where-”

“He has to take you anyway, Luke. Don’t fall for this. I can’t represent you if you don’t listen to me.”

“Where’s Layla?” Bosch asked. “I’m not leaving Vegas until I talk to her. If you want to get out of here in the morning, I’ve got to talk to her tonight. She’s not at her place. I talked to her roommate, Pandora, last night and she says Layla’s been gone a couple of days. Where is she?”

Goshen looked from Bosch to Weiss.

“Don’t say a word,” Weiss said. “Detective, if you step out, I’d like to confer with my client. I think, actually, that might be something I won’t have a problem with him answering.”

“Hope not.”

Bosch went back into the hallway with Edgar. He put a cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it.

“Why’s Layla so important?” Edgar asked.

“I don’t like loose ends. I want to know how she fits.”

Bosch didn’t tell him that he knew from the illegal tapes that Layla had called Aliso and asked, at Goshen’s request, when he’d be coming out to Vegas. If they found her, he would have to draw it out of her during the interview without giving away that he already knew it.

“It’s also a test,” he did tell Edgar. “To see how far we can get Goshen to go with us.”

The lawyer stepped out then and closed the door behind him.

“If you try that again, talking to him when I specifically said he would not respond, then we will have no relationship whatsoever.”

Bosch felt like asking what relationship they already had but let it go.

“Is he going to tell us?”

“No. I am. He said that when this person Layla first came to work at the club, he gave her a ride home a few nights. On one of those nights she asked him to drop her at a different place because she was trying to avoid somebody she was dating at the time and she thought he might be waiting at her apartment. Anyway, it was a house in North Las Vegas. She told him it was where she grew up. He doesn’t have the exact address but said the place was at the corner of Donna Street and Lillis. The northeast corner. Try there. That’s all he had.”

Bosch had his notebook out and wrote the street names down.

“Thank you, Counselor.”

“While you have the notebook out, write down courtroom ten. That’s where we will be tomorrow at nine. I trust you will make secure arrangements for my client’s safe delivery?”

“That’s what a courier is for, right?”

“I’m sorry, Detective. Things are said in the heat of the moment. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Bosch went out to the squad room and used the phone at an empty desk to call Southwest and change the reservations on the return flight from three in the afternoon to a ten-thirty morning flight. Bosch didn’t look at Iverson but could tell the detective was watching him from a desk fifteen feet away.

When he was done Bosch stuck his head in Felton’s office. The captain was on the phone. Bosch just mock-saluted him and was gone.

Back in the rental car, Edgar and Bosch decided to go over to the jail and make arrangements for the custody transfer before trying to find Layla.

The jail was next to the courthouse. A discharge sergeant named Hackett gave the detectives a rudimentary rundown on how and where Goshen would be delivered to them. Since it was after five and the shifts had changed, Bosch and Edgar would be dealing with a different sergeant in the morning. Still, it made Bosch feel more comfortable seeing the routine ahead of time. They would be able to put Goshen into their car in an enclosed and safe loading-dock area. He felt reasonably sure that there wouldn’t be trouble. At least not there.

With directions from Hackett, they drove into a middle-class neighborhood in North Las Vegas and found the house where Goshen had once dropped Layla off. It was a small bungalow-style house with an aluminum awning over each window. There was a Mazda RX7 parked in the carport.

An older woman answered the door. She was mid-sixties and well preserved. Bosch thought he could see some of the photo of Layla in her face. Bosch held his badge up so she could see it.

“Ma’am, my name is Harry Bosch and this is Jerry Edgar. We’re over from Los Angeles and we are looking for a young woman we need to talk to. She’s a dancer and goes by the name Layla. Is she here?”

“She doesn’t live here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do, ma’am, and I’d appreciate it if you’d help us out.”

“I told you, she’s not here.”

“Well, we heard she’s staying here with you. Is that right? Are you her mother? She’s tried to contact me. There’s no reason for her to be afraid or to not want to talk to us.”

“I’ll tell her that if I see her.”

“Can we come in?”

Bosch put his hand on the door and firmly but slowly started to push it open before she could reply.

“You can’t just…”

She didn’t finish. She knew what she was going to say would be meaningless. In a perfect world the cops couldn’t just push their way in. She knew it wasn’t a perfect world.

Bosch looked around after he entered. The furnishings were old, having to last a few more years than they were intended to and she probably thought they would have to when she bought them. It was the standard couch and matching chair setup. There were patterned throws on each, probably to cover the wear. There was an old TV, the kind with a dial to change the channels. There were gossip magazines spread on a coffee table.

“You live here alone?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” she said indignantly, as if his question was an insult.

“When was the last time you saw Layla?”

“Her name’s not Layla.”

“That was my next question. What is her name?”

“Her name’s Gretchen Alexander.”

“And you are?”

“Dorothy Alexander.”

“Where is she, Dorothy?”

“I don’t know and I didn’t ask.”

“When’d she leave?”

“Yesterday morning.”

Bosch nodded to Edgar and he took a step back, turned and headed down a hallway leading to the rear of the house.

“Where’s he going?” the woman asked.

“He’s just going to take a look around, that’s all,” Bosch said. “Sit down here and talk to me, Dorothy. Faster we get this over with, the faster we’re out of here.”

He pointed to the chair and remained standing until she finally sat. He then moved around the coffee table and sat on the couch. Its springs were shot. He sank so low in it that he had to lean forward and even then it felt like his knees were halfway up to his chest. He got out his notebook.

“I don’t like him messing around in my things,” Dorothy said, looking back over her shoulder toward the hallway.

“He’ll be careful.” Bosch took out his notebook. “You seemed to know we were coming. How’d you know that?”

“I know what she told me, is all. She said the police might come. She didn’t say anything about them coming all the way from Los Angeles.”

She said Angeles with a hard G.

“And you know why we’re here?”

“Because of Tony. She said he went and got himself killed over there.”

“Where did Gretchen go, Dorothy?”

“She did not tell me. You can ask me all the times you like but my answer’s always going to be the same. I don’t know.”

“Is that her sports car in the carport?”

“Sure is. She bought it with her own money.”

“Stripping?”

“I always said money was the same whether it was made one way or the next.”

Edgar came in then and looked at Bosch. Harry nodded for him to report.

“Looks like she was here. There’s a second bedroom. Ashtray on the nightstand’s full. There’s a space on the rod in the closet where it looks like somebody had hung up some clothes. They’re gone now. She left this.”

He held his hand out and cradled in his palm was a small oval picture frame with a photograph of Tony Aliso and Gretchen Alexander. They had their arms around each other and were smiling at the camera. Bosch nodded and looked back at Dorothy Alexander.

“If she left, why’d she leave her car here?”

“Don’t know. A taxi came for her.”

“Did she fly?”

“How could I know that if I don’t know where she was going?”

Bosch pointed a finger at her like a gun.

“Good point. Did she say when she’d be back?”

“No.”

“How old is Gretchen?”

“She’ll be twenty-three.”

“How’d she take the news about Tony?”

“Not well. She was in love and now her heart’s broken. I’m worried about her.”

“You think she might do something to hurt herself?”

“I don’t know what she might do.”

“Did she tell you she was in love, or did you just think that?”

“I just didn’t think it up, she told me. She confided in me and it was the truth. She said they were going to get married.”

“Did she know Tony Aliso was already married?”

“Yes, she knew. But he told her, he said that it was over and it was just a matter of time.”

Bosch nodded. He wondered if it was the truth. Not the truth that Gretchen might have believed, but the truth that Tony Aliso believed. He looked down at the blank page of his notebook.

“I’m trying to think if there is anything else,” he said. “Jerry?”

Edgar shook his head, then spoke.

“I guess I’d just like to know why a mother would let her daughter do that for a living. Taking her clothes off like that.”

“Jerry, I-”

“She has a talent, mister. Men came from all over the country and when they see her they keep coming back. Because of her. And I’m not her mother. I might as well have been, her own went and left her with me a long time ago. But she has a talent and I’m not talking to you two anymore. Get out of my house.”

She stood up, as if ready to physically enforce her edict if she needed to. Bosch decided to let her have her say and stood up, putting his notebook away.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” he said as he dug a business card out of his wallet. “If you hear from her, would you give her this number? And tonight she can get me at the Mirage again.”

“I’ll tell her if I hear from her.”

She took the card and followed them to the door. On the front step Bosch looked back at her and nodded.

“Thanks, Mrs. Alexander.”

“For what?”

They were quiet for a while driving back to the Strip. Eventually, Bosch asked Edgar what he thought of the interview.

“She’s a crusty old bitch. I had to ask that question. Just to see how she’d react. Other than that, I think this Layla or Gretchen is just a dead end. Just some stupid girl Tony was leading on. You know, it’s usually the strippers that are working the angles. But this time I think it was Tony.”

“Maybe.”

Bosch lit a cigarette and dropped back into silence. He was no longer thinking of the interview. As far as he was concerned, the work for the day was over and he was now thinking about Eleanor Wish.

When he got to the Mirage, Bosch swung the car into the circle in front and pulled to a stop near the front doors.

“Harry, man, what are you doing?” Edgar said. “Bullets might pop for the Mirage, but she isn’t going to dig into the company wallet for valet parking.”

“I’m just dropping you off. I’m going to go switch the cars tonight. I don’t want to go anywhere near that airport tomorrow.”

“That’s cool, but I’ll go with you, man. Nothin’ to do here but lose money on the machines.”

Bosch reached over and opened the glove box and pushed the trunk-release button.

“No, Jed, I’m going on my own. I want to think about some things. Grab your stuff outta the trunk.”

Edgar looked at him a long moment. Bosch had not called him Jed in a long time. Edgar was about to say something but apparently thought better of it. He opened the door.

“Okay, Harry. You want to grab dinner or something later?”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll call you in your room.”

“You’re the man.”

After Edgar slammed the trunk, Bosch drove back out onto Las Vegas Boulevard and then north to Sands. It was dusk and the day’s dying light was being replaced with the neon glow of the city. In ten minutes he pulled into a parking space in front of Eleanor Wish’s apartment building. He took a deep breath and got out of the car. He had to know. Why had she not answered his calls? Why had she not responded to his message?

When he got to the door, he felt his guts seize as if gripped in a huge fist. The note he had carefully folded and squeezed into the doorjamb two nights before was still there. Bosch looked down at the worn doormat and then squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a tremendous wave of the guilt he had worked so hard to bury come forth from inside. He had once made a phone call that got an innocent man killed. It had been a mistake, something he could not possibly have seen coming, but it happened just the same and he had worked hard to put it not behind him but, at least, in a place where he could live with it. But now Eleanor. Bosch knew what he would find behind the door. Asking Felton for her number and address had sent things into motion, a terrible motion that ended with her being hauled into Metro and her fragile dignity and belief that bad things were behind her being crushed.

Bosch kicked over the doormat on the off chance she had left a key. There was none. His lock picks were in the glove compartment of the car parked at the airport. He hesitated a moment, focused on a spot over the doorknob, then stepped back, raised his left leg and drove his heel into the door. It splintered along the jamb and flew open. Bosch slowly stepped into the apartment.

He noticed nothing amiss in the living room. He moved quickly into the hallway and then down into the bedroom. The bed was unmade and empty. Bosch stood there for a moment, taking it all in. He realized he hadn’t taken a breath since he had kicked in the door. He slowly exhaled and began breathing normally. She was alive. Somewhere. At least he thought so. He sat down on the bed, took out a cigarette and lit it. His feeling of relief was quickly crowded by other doubts and nagging questions. Why hadn’t she called? Hadn’t there been something real about what they had shared?

“Hello?”

A man’s voice came from the front of the apartment. Bosch assumed it was someone who had heard him pop the door. He stood up and headed out of the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m back here. I’m with the police.”

He stepped into the living room and saw a man impeccably dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. It wasn’t what Bosch expected.

“Detective Bosch?”

Bosch tensed and didn’t answer.

“There’s someone outside who would like to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“He’ll tell you who he is and what his business is.”

The man walked out the front door, leaving it up to Bosch whether to follow. He hesitated a moment and did.

There was a stretch limousine in the parking lot, its engine running. The man in the black suit walked around and got into the driver’s seat. Bosch watched this for a moment and then walked toward the limo. He brought his arm up instinctively and brushed it against his coat until he felt the reassuring shape of his gun beneath it. As he did this, the rear door closest to him opened and a man with a rough, dark face beckoned to him. Bosch showed no hesitation. It was too late now.

Bosch ducked into the big car and took a seat facing the rear. There were two men sitting on the plushly padded backseat. One was the rough-faced man, who was casually dressed and slouching in his luxurious spot, and the other an older man in an expensive three-piece suit, the tie pulled tight to his neck. Sitting between the two men on a padded armrest was a small black box with a green light glowing on it. Bosch had seen such a box before. It detected electronic radio waves emitted by eavesdropping devices. As long as that green light glowed they could talk and be reasonably assured they wouldn’t be overheard and recorded.

“Detective Bosch,” the rough-faced man said.

“Joey Marks, I presume.”

“My name is Joseph Marconi.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Marconi?”

“I thought we’d have a little conversation, that’s all. You, me and my attorney here.”

“Mr. Torrino?”

The other man nodded.

“Heard you lost a client today.”

“That’s what we want to talk to you about,” Marconi said. “We’ve got a problem here. We-”

“How did you know where I was?”

“I’ve had some fellows watching it for me. We kind of figured you’d be back. Once you left that note, especially.”

They had obviously followed him and he wondered when that had started. His mind then jumped to another conclusion and he suddenly knew what the meeting was all about.

“Where’s Eleanor Wish?”

“Eleanor Wish?” Marconi looked at Torrino and then back at Bosch. “I don’t know her. But I suppose she’ll turn up.”

“What do you want, Marconi?”

“I just wanted this chance to talk, that’s all. Just a little calm conversation. We’ve got a problem here and maybe we can work it out. I want to work with you, Detective Bosch. Do you want to work with me?”

“Like I said, what do you want?”

“What I want is to straighten this out before it gets too far out of hand. You are going down the wrong road here, Detective. You are a good man. I had you checked out. You’ve got ethics and I appreciate that. Whatever you do in life, you need a code of ethics. You have that. But you are on the wrong road here. Tony Aliso, I had nothing to do with that.”

Bosch smirked and shook his head.

“Look, Marconi, I don’t want your alibi. I’m sure it’s airtight but I could care less. You can still pull a trigger from three hundred fifty miles away. It’s been done from farther away, know what I mean?”

“Detective Bosch, there is something wrong here. Whatever that rat bastard is telling you, it’s a lie. I’m clean on Tony A., my people are clean on Tony A., and I’m simply giving you this opportunity to make it right.”

“Yeah, and how do I do that? Just kick Lucky loose so you can pick him up outside the jail in your limo here, take him for a ride out into the desert? Think we’ll ever see Lucky again?”

“You think you’ll ever see that lady ex-FBI agent again?”

Bosch stared at him a moment, letting his anger build up until he felt a slight tremor tick in his neck. Then, in one quick move, he pulled his gun and leaned across the space between the seats. He grabbed the thick gold braided chain around Marconi’s neck and jerked him forward. He pressed the barrel deep into Marconi’s cheek.

“Excuse me?”

“Easy now, Detective Bosch,” Torrino said then. “You don’t want to do something rash.”

He put a hand on Bosch’s arm.

“Take your hand off me, you asshole.”

Torrino removed his hand and raised it along with his other one in a surrendering gesture.

“I just want to calm things down a little here, that’s all.”

Bosch leaned back into his seat but kept his gun in his hand. The muzzle had left a ring of skin indentation and gun oil on Marconi’s cheek. He wiped it away with his hand.

“Where is she, Marconi?”

“I just heard she wanted to get away for a few days, Bosch. No need to overreact like that. We’re friends here. She’ll be back. In fact, now that I know you’re so, uh, attached to her, I’ll personally guarantee she’ll be back.”

“In exchange for what?”

Hackett was still on duty at the Metro jail. Bosch told him he had to talk to Goshen for a couple of minutes in regard to a security issue. Hackett hemmed and hawed about it being against regulations to set up an after-hours visit but Bosch knew it was done on occasion for the locals, against the rules or not. Eventually Hackett gave way and took Bosch to a room lawyers used to interview clients and told him to wait. Ten minutes later, Hackett waltzed Goshen into the room and cuffed one wrist to the chair he was placed in. Hackett then folded his arms and stood behind the suspect.

“Sergeant, I need to talk to him alone.”

“Can’t do it. It’s a security issue.”

“We’re not going to talk anyway,” Goshen interjected.

“Sergeant,” Bosch said. “What I tell this man, whether he chooses to talk to me or not, could put you in danger if it becomes known you have this knowledge. Know what I mean? Why add that potential danger to your list? Five minutes. It’s all I want.”

Hackett thought a moment and without a word left them alone.

“Pretty smooth, Bosch, but I’m not talking to you. Weiss said you might try a backdoor run. He said you’d want to try to get into the candy jar before it’s time. I’m not playing with you. Get me to L.A., sit me in front of the people who can deal, and then we’ll deal. Everybody will get what they want then.”

“Shut up and listen, you stupid fuck. I don’t give a shit about any deal anymore. The only deal I’m worried about now is whether to keep you alive or not.”

Bosch saw he had his attention now. He waited a few moments to turn the squeeze up and then began.

“Goshen, let me explain something to you. In all of Las Vegas there is exactly one person I care about. One. You take her out of the picture and the whole place could dry up and blow away and I really wouldn’t worry about it. But there’s that one person I care about. And out of all the people in this place, she’s the one that your employer decides to grab and hold against me.”

Goshen’s eyes narrowed in concern. Bosch was talking about his people. Goshen knew exactly what was coming.

“So the deal I’m talking about is this,” Bosch said. “You for her. Joey Marks said if you never get to L.A., then my friend comes back. And vice versa. You understand what I’m telling you?”

Goshen looked down at the table and slowly nodded.

“Do you?”

Bosch pulled his gun and pointed it three inches from the big man’s face. Goshen went cross-eyed looking at the barrel’s black hole.

“I could blow your shit away right here. Hackett would come in here and I’d tell him you made a move for my gun. He’d go along. He set the meeting up here. It’s against the rules. He’d have to go along.”

Bosch withdrew the gun.

“Or tomorrow. This is how it goes tomorrow. At the airport we’re waiting for our flight. There’s a commotion over at the machines. Somebody’s won a big fucking jackpot and my partner and I make the mistake of looking over there. Meantime, somebody-maybe it’s your pal Gussie-puts a six-inch stiletto in your neck. End of you, my friend comes home.”

“What do you want, Bosch?”

Bosch leaned across to him.

“I want you to give me the reason not to do it. I don’t give a shit about you, Goshen, dead or alive. But I’m not going to let any harm befall her. I’ve made mistakes in my life, man. I once got somebody killed that shouldn’t have been killed. You understand that? It’s not going to happen again. This is redemption, Goshen. And if I have to give a piece of shit like you up to get it, I’ll do it. There’s only one alternative. You know Joey Marks, where would he have her?”

“Oh, Jesus, I don’t know.”

Goshen rubbed a hand over his scalp.

“Think, Goshen. He’s done this kind of thing before. It’s routine for you people. Where would he hold somebody he doesn’t want anyone to find?”

“There was…there’s a couple of safe houses he uses. He’d, uh,…I think for this he’d use the Samoans.”

“Who are they?”

“These two big fuckers he uses. Samoans. They’re brothers. Their names are too hard to say. We call them Tom and Jerry. They’ve got one of the safe houses. Joey would use their place for this. The other place is mostly for counting cash, putting up people from Chicago.”

“Where is the house with the Samoans?”

“It’s in North Vegas, not too far from Dolly’s, actually.”

On a piece of notebook paper Bosch gave him, Goshen drew a crude map with directions to the house.

“You’ve been there, Goshen?”

“A few times.”

Bosch turned the piece of paper over on the table.

“Draw the layout of the house.”

Bosch pulled the dusty detective car he had picked up at the airport into the valet circle at the Mirage and jumped out. A valet approached but Bosch walked past him.

“Sir, your keys?”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

The valet was protesting that he couldn’t just leave the car there when Bosch disappeared through the revolving door. As he crossed through the casino toward the lobby, Bosch scanned the players for Edgar, his eyes stopping on every tall black man, of whom there were few. He didn’t see Edgar.

On a house phone in the lobby he asked for Edgar’s room and then breathed an almost audible sigh of relief when his partner picked up the phone.

“Jerry, it’s Bosch. I need your help.”

“What’s up?”

“Meet me out front at the valet.”

“Now? I just got room service. When you didn’t call I-”

“Right now, Jerry. And did you bring your vest from L.A.?”

“My vest? Yeah. What’s-”

“Bring your vest with you.”

Bosch hung up before Edgar could ask any questions.

As he turned to head back to the car, he came face to face with someone he knew. At first, because the man was well dressed, Bosch thought it was one of Joey Marks’s men, but then he placed him. Hank Meyer, Mirage security.

“Detective Bosch, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Just got in tonight. Came to pick somebody up.”

“You got your man then?”

“We think so.”

“Congratulations.”

“Listen, Hank, I gotta go. I’ve got a car blocking traffic in the front circle.”

“Oh, that’s your car. I just heard that on the security radio. Yes, please move it.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

Bosch made a move to pass him.

“Oh, Detective? Just wanted you to know we still haven’t had that betting slip come in.”

Bosch stopped.

“What?”

“You asked if we’d check to see if anyone cashed the bet your victim put down Friday night. On the Dodgers?”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“Well, we went through the computer tapes and located the sequence number. I then checked the number on the computer. No one has collected on it yet.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I called your office today to let you know but you weren’t there. I didn’t know you were coming here. We’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“Thanks, Hank. I gotta go.”

Bosch started walking away but Meyer kept talking.

“No problem. Thank you. We look forward to opportunities to cooperate with and hopefully help our law enforcement brethren.”

Meyer smiled broadly. Bosch looked back at him and felt like he had a weight tied to his leg. He couldn’t get away from him. Bosch just nodded and kept going, trying to remember the last time he had heard the phrase law enforcement brethren. He was almost across the lobby when he glanced back and saw that Meyer was still behind him.

“One more thing, Detective Bosch.”

Bosch stopped but lost his patience.

“Hank, what? I’ve got to get out of here.”

“It will just take a second. A favor. I assume your department will go to the press with this arrest. I’d appreciate it if you kept any mention of the Mirage out of it. Even our help, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem. I won’t say a word. Talk to you later, Hank.”

Bosch turned and walked away. It was unlikely the Mirage would have been mentioned in any press release anyway, but he understood the concern. Guilt by association. Meyer was mixing public relations with casino security. Or maybe they were the same thing.

Bosch got to the car just as Edgar came out, carrying his bulletproof vest in his hand. The valet looked at Bosch balefully. Bosch took out a five and handed it to him. It didn’t do much to change his disposition. Then Bosch and Edgar jumped in the car and took off.

The safe house Goshen told Bosch about looked deserted when they drove by. Bosch pulled the car to a stop a half block away.

“I still don’t know about this, Harry,” Edgar said. “We should be calling in Metro.”

“I told you. We can’t. Marks has to have somebody inside Metro. Or else he wouldn’t have known to snatch her in the first place. So we call Metro, he finds out and she’s dead or moved somewhere else before Metro even makes a move. So we go in and we call Metro afterward.”

“If there is an afterward. Just what the hell are we going to do? Go in blasting? This is cowboy shit, Harry.”

“No, all you’re going to do is get behind the wheel, turn the car around and be ready to drive. We might have to leave in a hurry.”

Bosch had hoped to use Edgar as a backup but after he’d told him the situation on the way over, it was clear that Edgar wasn’t going to be solid. Bosch went to plan B, where Edgar was simply a wheel man.

Bosch opened his door and looked back at Edgar before getting out.

“You’re going to be here, right?”

“I’ll be here. Just don’t get killed. I don’t want to have to explain it.”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best. Let me borrow your cuffs and pop the trunk.”

Bosch put Edgar’s cuffs into his coat pocket and went to the trunk. At the trunk, he took out his vest and put it on over his shirt and then put his coat back on to hide his holster. He pulled up the trunk liner and lifted up the spare tire. Below it was a Glock 17 pistol wrapped in an oily rag. Bosch popped the clip on it, checked the top bullet for corrosion and then put the weapon back together. He put it in his belt. If there was going to be any shooting on this mission, he wasn’t going to use his service gun.

He came up alongside the driver’s window, saluted Edgar and headed down the street.

The safe house was a small concrete-block-and-plaster affair that blended in with the neighborhood. After jumping a three-foot fence, Bosch took the gun from his belt and held it at his side as he walked along the side of the house. He saw no light emitted from any of the front or side windows. But he could hear the muffled sound of television. She was here. He could feel it. He knew Goshen had told the truth.

When he got to the rear corner, he saw there was a pool in the backyard as well as a covered porch. There was a concrete slab with a satellite dish anchored to it. The modern Mafia crash pad, Bosch thought. You never knew how long you’d have to hole up, so it was good to have five hundred channels.

The backyard was empty but as Bosch turned the corner he saw a lighted window. He crept down the back of the house until he was close. The blinds were drawn on the window, but by getting close and looking between the cracks he could see them in there. Two huge men he immediately assumed were the Samoans. And Eleanor. The Samoans sat on a couch in front of a television. Eleanor sat on a kitchen chair next to the couch. One wrist and one ankle were handcuffed to the chair. Because the shade of a floor lamp was in the way, he could not see her face. But he recognized her clothes as those she had worn on the day they had dragged her into Metro. The three of them were sitting there watching a rerun of a Mary Tyler Moore show. Bosch felt the anger building in his throat.

Bosch crouched down and tried to think of a way to get her out of there. He leaned his back against the wall and looked across the yard and the shimmering pool. He got an idea.

After taking one more glimpse through the blinds and seeing that no one had moved, Bosch went back to the corner of the house to the slab where the satellite dish sat. He put his gun back in his belt, studied the equipment for a few moments and then simply used two hands to turn the dish out of alignment and point its focus toward the ground.

It took about five minutes. Bosch figured most of this must have been spent with one or the other of the Samoans fiddling with the TV and trying to get the picture back. Finally, an outdoor floodlight came on, the back door opened and one of them stepped out onto the porch. He wore a Hawaiian shirt as big as a tent and had long dark hair that flowed over his shoulders.

When the big man got to the dish, he clearly wasn’t sure how to proceed. He looked at it for a long moment, then came around to the other side to see if this afforded him a better angle. He now had his back to Bosch.

Bosch stepped away from the corner of the house and came up behind the man. He placed the muzzle of the Glock against the small of the man’s back, though even the small of his back wasn’t small.

“Don’t move, big man,” he said in a low, calm voice. “Don’t say a word, ’less you want to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair with your piss sloshing around in a bag.”

Bosch waited. The man did not move and said nothing.

“Which are you, Tom or Jerry?”

“I’m Jerry.”

“Okay, Jerry, we’re going to walk over to the porch. Let’s go.”

They moved to one of two steel support beams that held up the porch roof. Bosch kept the gun pressed against the man’s shirt the whole time. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out Edgar’s cuffs. He handed them around the girth of the man and held them up.

“Okay, take ’em. Cuff yourself around the beam.”

He waited until he heard both cuffs click, then came around and checked them, clicking them tightly around the man’s thick wrists.

“Okay, that’s good, Jerry. Now, do you want me to kill your brother? I mean I could just walk in there and waste him and get the girl. That’s the easy way. You want me to do it that way?”

“No.”

“Then do exactly what I tell you. If you fuck up, he dies. Then you die ’cause I can’t afford to leave a witness. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, without saying his name, because I don’t trust you, just call to him and ask if the picture’s back on the TV. When he says no, tell him to come out here and help. Tell him she’ll be fine, she’s handcuffed. Do it right, Jerry, and everybody lives. Do it wrong and some people aren’t going to make it.”

“What do I call him?”

“How ’bout ‘Hey, Bro?’ That oughta work.”

Jerry did as he was told and did it right. After some back-and-forth banter, the brother stepped out onto the porch, where he saw Jerry with his back to him. Just as he realized something wasn’t right, Bosch came from the blind spot to his right rear and put the gun on him. Using his own cuffs this time, he locked the second brother, who he guessed was slightly larger than the first and had on a louder shirt, to the porch’s other support beam.

“Okay, take five, boys. I’ll be back in a minute. Oh, who has the key to the cuffs on the woman?”

They both said, “He does.”

“That’s not smart, guys. I don’t want to hurt anybody. Now who has the cuff key?”

“I do.”

The voice came from behind him, from the porch door. Bosch froze.

“Slowly, Bosch. Toss the gun into the pool and turn around real slow like.”

Bosch did what he was told and turned around. It was Gussie. And Bosch could see the delight and hate in his eyes, even in the dark. He stepped onto the porch and Bosch could see the shape of a gun in his right hand. Bosch immediately became angry with himself for not casing the house further or even asking Jerry if there was anyone other than his brother and Eleanor in the house. Gussie raised the gun and pressed its barrel against Bosch’s left cheek, just below the eye.

“See how it feels?”

“Been talking to the boss, huh?”

“That’s right. And we’re not stupid, man, you’re stupid. We knew you might try something like this. Now we gotta call him and see what he wants to do. But first off, what you’re gonna do is unhook Tom and Jerry. Right the fuck now.”

“Sure, Gussie.”

Bosch was contemplating reaching into his coat and going for his other gun but knew it was suicide as long as Gussie held his gun at point-blank range. He started slowly reaching into his pocket for his keys when he saw the movement to his left and heard the shout.

“Freeze it up, asshole!”

It was Edgar. Gussie didn’t move an inch. After a few moments of this stand-off, Bosch reached into his coat, pulled his own gun and pushed the muzzle up into Gussie’s neck. They stood there staring at each other for a long moment.

“What do you think?” Bosch finally said. “You want to try it? See if we both get one off?”

Gussie said nothing and Edgar moved in. He put the muzzle of his gun against Gussie’s temple. A smile broke across Bosch’s face and he reached up and took Gussie’s gun from him and threw it into the pool.

“I didn’t think so.”

He looked over at Edgar and nodded his thanks.

“You got him? I’ll go get her.”

“I got him, Harry. And I’m hoping he does something stupid, the big fat fuck.”

Bosch checked Gussie for another weapon and found none.

“Where’s the cuff key?” he asked.

“Fuck you.”

“Remember the other night, Gussie? You want a repeat performance? Tell me where the fucking key is.”

Bosch figured his own cuff key would fit but he wanted to make sure he got one away from Gussie. The big man finally blew out his breath and told Bosch the key was on the kitchen counter.

Bosch went inside the house, his gun out, his eyes scanning for more surprises. There was nobody. He grabbed the cuff key off the kitchen counter and went into the back den where Eleanor was. When he stepped into the room and her eyes rose to his, he saw something that he knew he would always cherish. It wasn’t something he believed he could ever put into words. The giving way of fear, the knowledge of safety. Maybe thanks. Maybe that was how people looked at heroes, he thought. He rushed to her and knelt in front of her chair so that he could unlock the cuffs.

“You okay, Eleanor?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. I knew, Harry. I knew you would come.”

He had the cuffs off and he just looked up at her face. He nodded and pulled her into a quick hug.

“We gotta go.”

They went out the back, where the scene did not look as if it had changed at all.

“Jerry, you got him? I’m going to find a phone and call Felton.”

“I got-”

“No,” Eleanor said. “Don’t call them. I don’t want that.”

Bosch looked at her.

“Eleanor, what are you talking about? These guys, they abducted you. If we hadn’t come here, there’s a good chance they would’ve taken you out into the desert tomorrow and planted you.”

“I don’t want the cops. I don’t want to go through all of that. I just want this to end.”

Bosch looked at her a long moment.

“Jerry, you got him?” he asked.

“I got him.”

Bosch went to Eleanor and grabbed her arm and led her back into the house. When they were in the alcove by the kitchen and far enough away that the men outside could not hear them, he stopped and looked at her.

“Eleanor, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want-”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m-”

“Did they rape you? Tell me the truth.”

“No, Harry. It is nothing like that. I just want this to end here.”

“Listen to me, we can take down Marks, his lawyer and those three assholes out on the porch. That’s why I’m here. Marks told me he had you.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Harry. You can’t touch Marks on this. What did he really tell you? And who’s your witness going to be? Me? Look at me. I’m a convicted felon, Harry. Not only that, I used to be one of the good guys. Just think what a mob lawyer can do with that.”

Bosch didn’t say anything. He knew she was right.

“Well, I’m not going to put myself through that,” she said. “I got a dose of reality when they jerked me out of my home and took me down to Metro. I’m not going to go to bat for them on this. Now can you get me out of here?”

“As long as you are sure. You can’t change your mind once we’re out of here.”

“I’m as sure as I’ll ever be.”

Bosch nodded and led her out to the porch.

“It’s your lucky day, boys,” he said to the three thugs. Then to Edgar he said, “We’re pulling out of here. We’ll talk about it later.”

Edgar just nodded. Bosch went one by one to the Samoans and put their own cuffs on their wrists and then took off the others. When he was done, he held the key up in front of the smaller of the two giants and then tossed it into the pool. He went over to the fence that ran behind the pool and took down a long pole with a net attached to the end of it. He fished his gun off the bottom and handed it to Eleanor to hold. He then returned to Gussie, who was dressed completely in black. Edgar was still standing to his right, holding the gun against his temple.

“Almost didn’t recognize you without the tux, Gussie. Will you give Joey Marks a message?”

“Yeah. What?”

“Fuck you. Just tell him that.”

“He’s not going to like that.”

“I don’t really care. He’s lucky I don’t leave him three bodies here as a message.”

Bosch looked over at Eleanor.

“Anything you want to say or do?”

She shook her head.

“Then we’re outta here. Only thing is, Gussie, we’re one set of cuffs short. That’s too bad for you.”

“There’s rope in the-”

Bosch hit him on the bridge of the nose with the butt end of his gun, crushing whatever bone had not been broken in their earlier scuffle. Gussie dropped heavily to his knees, then pitched forward, his face making a thud on the porch tile.

“Harry! Jesus!”

It was Edgar. He looked shocked by the sudden violence.

Bosch just looked at him a moment and said, “Let’s go.”

When they got to Eleanor’s apartment, Bosch backed the car up nearly to the door and popped the trunk.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he said. “Jerry, you stay out here, watch for anybody coming. Eleanor, you can fill the trunk with whatever you can fit in there. That’s about all you can take.”

She nodded. She understood. Las Vegas was over for her. She could no longer stay, not with what had happened. Bosch wondered if she also understood that it was all because of him. Her life would still be as it had been if he had not wanted to reach out to her.

They all got out of the car and Bosch followed Eleanor into the apartment. She studied the broken door for a moment until he told her he had done it.

“Why?”

“Because when I didn’t hear from you I thought…I thought something else.”

She nodded again. She understood that, too.

“There’s not a lot,” she said, looking around the place. “Most of this stuff I don’t care about. I probably won’t even need the whole trunk.”

She went into the bedroom, took an old suitcase out of the closet and started filling it with clothes. When it was full, Bosch took it out and put in the trunk. When he came back in, she was filling a box from the closet with her remaining clothes and other personal belongings. He saw her put a photo album in the box and then she went to the bathroom to clear the medicine cabinet.

In the kitchen all she took was a wine bottle opener and a coffee mug with a picture of the Mirage hotel on it.

“Bought this the night I won four hundred sixty-three dollars there,” she said. “I was playing the big table and I was way in over my head but I won. I want to remember that.”

She put that in the top of the full box and said, “That’s it. That’s all I have to show for my life.”

Bosch studied her a moment and then took the box out to the car. He struggled a bit, getting it to fit in next to the suitcase. When he was done, he turned around to call to Eleanor that they must go and she was already standing there, holding the framed print of The Nighthawks, the Edward Hopper painting. She was holding it in front of her like a shield.

“Will this fit?”

“Sure. We’ll make it fit.”

At the Mirage, Bosch pulled into the valet circle again and saw the chief valet frown as he recognized the car. Bosch got out, showed the man his badge quickly so that he might not notice it wasn’t a Metro badge, and gave him twenty dollars.

“Police business. I’ll be twenty-thirty minutes tops. I need the car here because when we leave we’re going to have to really book.”

The man looked at the twenty in his hand as if it were human feces. Bosch reached into his pocket, pulled out another twenty and gave it to him.

“Okay?”

“Okay. Leave me the keys.”

“No. No keys. Nobody touches the car.”

Bosch had to take the picture out of the trunk to get to Eleanor’s suitcase and a gun kit he kept there. He then repacked the trunk and lugged the suitcase inside, waving off an offer of help from a doorman. In the lobby, he put the case down and looked at Edgar.

“Jerry, thanks a lot,” he said. “You were there, man. Eleanor’s going to change and then I’m going to shoot her out to the airport. I probably won’t be back until late. So let’s just meet here at eight o’clock tomorrow and we’ll go to court.”

“Sure you don’t need me for the airport run?”

“No, I think we’re fine. Marks won’t try anything now. And if we’re lucky, Gussie won’t be waking up for another hour or so anyway. I’m going to go check in.”

He left Eleanor there with him and went to the desk. There was no wait. It was late. After giving the clerk his credit card, he looked back at Eleanor saying her good-bye to Edgar. He put out his hand and she shook it but then she pulled him into an embrace. Edgar disappeared into the crowd of the casino.

Eleanor waited until they were in his room before she spoke.

“Why am I going to the airport tonight? You said you doubted they would do anything.”

“Because I want to make sure you’re safe. And tomorrow I won’t be able to worry about it. I’ve got court in the morning and then I’m driving Goshen to L.A. I have to know you’re safe.”

“Where am I going to go?”

“You could go to a hotel but I think my place would be better, safer. You remember where it is?”

“Yes. Up off Mulholland?”

“Yeah. Woodrow Wilson Drive. I’ll give you the key. Take a cab from the airport and I’ll be there by tomorrow night.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and Bosch came around and sat next to her. He put his arms around her shoulders.

“I don’t know if I could live in L.A. again.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

“Don’t kiss me. I need to take a shower.”

He kissed her again and then pulled her back onto the bed. They made love differently this time. They were more tender, slower. They found each other’s rhythm.

Afterward, Bosch took the first shower and then while Eleanor bathed he used oil and a rag from his gun kit to clean the Glock that had been thrown into the pool. He worked the action and trigger several times to make sure the weapon was working properly. Then he filled the clip with fresh ammunition. He went to the closet and took a plastic laundry bag off the shelf, put the gun inside it and shoved it beneath a stack of clothes in Eleanor’s suitcase.

After her shower Eleanor dressed in a yellow cotton summer dress and twined her hair into a French braid. Bosch liked watching her do it with such skill. When she was ready, he closed the suitcase and they left the room. The head valet came up to Bosch as he was putting the suitcase into the trunk.

“Next time, thirty minutes is thirty minutes. Not an hour.”

“Sorry ’bout that.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I could’ve lost my job, man.”

Bosch ignored him and got in the car. On the way to the airport he tried to compose his thoughts into articulate sentences that he could recite to her but it wasn’t working. His emotions were too much of a jumble.

“Eleanor,” he finally said. “Everything that’s happened, it’s my fault. And I want to try to make it up to you.”

She reached over and put her hand on his thigh. He put his hand on top of hers. She didn’t say anything.

At the airport, Bosch parked in front of the Southwest terminal and got her suitcase out of the trunk. He locked his own gun and badge in the trunk so he could go through the airport’s metal detector without a problem.

There was one last flight to L.A., leaving in twenty minutes. Bosch bought her a ticket and checked her bag. The gun would cause no problem as long as the bag was checked. He then escorted her to the terminal, where there was already a line of people making their way down the jetway.

Bosch took the key to his house off his keychain, gave it to her and told her the exact address.

“It’s not the same as you might remember it,” he said. “The old place got wrecked in the earthquake. It’s been rebuilt and it’s not all the way done. But it will be all right. The sheets, uh, I probably should’ve washed them a few days ago but didn’t have time. There’s fresh ones in the hallway closet.”

She smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure everything out.”

“Uh, listen, like I said before, I don’t think that you’ve got anything to worry about anymore but just in case, you’ve got the Glock in your suitcase. That’s why I checked it.”

“You cleaned it while I was in the shower, didn’t you? I thought I smelled the oil when I came out.”

He nodded.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need it anyway.”

“Probably not.”

She looked over at the line. The last people were boarding. She had to go.

“You’re being very good to me, Harry. Thank you.”

He frowned.

“Not good enough. Not enough to make up for everything.”

She went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good-bye, Harry.”

“Good-bye, Eleanor.”

He watched her hand in her ticket and go through the door to the jetway. She didn’t look back and there was a whisper in the back of his mind telling him he might never see her again. But he shut it off and walked back through the nearly deserted airport. Most of the slot machines stood mute and ignored. Bosch felt a deep sense of loneliness engulf him.

The only hitch in Thursday morning’s court proceedings occurred before they started, when Weiss came out of lockup after conferring with his client and quickly went into the hall to find Bosch and Edgar conferring with Lipson, the local prosecutor who would handle the extradition hearing. Gregson had not made the trip from the L.A. County DA’s office. Weiss and Lipson had given him their assurances that Luke Goshen was going to waive any objection to being brought back to California.

“Detective Bosch?” Weiss said. “I was just in with my client and he asked me to get him some information before the hearing. He said he wanted an answer before he gave any waiver. I don’t know what it’s about, but I hope you haven’t been in contact with my client.”

Bosch put a concerned yet puzzled look on his face.

“What’s he want to know?”

“He just wanted to know how last night worked out, whatever that means. I’d like to know what is going on here.”

“Just tell him everything is fine.”

“What is fine, Detective?”

“If your client wants to tell you, he can tell you. Just deliver the message.”

Weiss stalked away, heading back toward the lockup door.

Bosch looked at his watch. It was five till nine and he figured the judge wouldn’t come out to the bench at the crack of nine. None of them ever did. He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes.

“I’m going outside to have a smoke,” he told Edgar.

Bosch took the elevator down and went out to the front of the courthouse to have his cigarette. It was warm out and he thought the day would probably be another scorcher. With Las Vegas in September it was pretty much guaranteed. He was glad he’d be leaving soon. But he knew the ride through the desert during the heat of the day would be rough.

He didn’t notice Mickey Torrino until the lawyer was a few feet away from him. He, too, was smoking a cigarette before going in to handle the day’s business of mob-related legal work. Bosch nodded his greeting as did Torrino.

“I guess you heard by now. No deal.”

Torrino looked around to see if they were being watched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”

“Yeah, I know. You guys never know anything.”

“I do know one thing and that’s that you are making a mistake on this one. In case you care about things like that.”

“I don’t think so. At least not in the big picture. We might not have the real shooter but we have the guy who set it up. And we’re going to get the guy who ordered it. Who knows, maybe we’ll get the whole crew. Who you going to work for then, Counselor? That is, if we don’t get you, too.”

Torrino smirked and shook his head as if he were dealing with a foolish child.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with here. It’s not going to play. You’ll be lucky if you get to keep Goshen. At best you’ve got only him. That’s all.”

“You know, Lucky keeps making noises about being set up. He, of course, thinks it’s us putting him in the frame and I know that’s bullshit. But I keep thinking, ‘What if there is a frame?’ I mean, I have to admit that him keeping that gun is hard to figure, though I’ve seen even dumber moves in my time. But if there is a frame and we didn’t do it, who did? Why would Joey Marks frame his own guy when that guy’s just going to roll over and put the finger back on Joey? Doesn’t make sense. At least, from Joey’s point of view. But then I started thinking, What if you were Joey’s righthand man, say his lawyer, and you wanted to be the big shot, the one who makes the calls? See what I’m talking about here? This’d be a nice little way of getting rid of your nearest competitor and Joey at the same time. How would that play, Counselor?”

“If you ever repeat that bullshit story to anyone, you will be very, very sorry.”

Bosch took a step toward him so that their faces were only a foot apart.

“If you ever threaten me again, you will be very, very sorry. If anything ever happens to Eleanor Wish again, I will hold you personally responsible, asshole, and sorry is not the right word for how you will be then.”

Torrino stepped back, loser in the staring contest. Without another word he walked away from Bosch and toward the courthouse doors. As he opened the heavy glass door, he looked back at Bosch, then disappeared inside.

When Bosch got back to the third floor, he met Edgar as he was coming quickly out of the courtroom, followed by Weiss and Lipson. Bosch looked at the hallway clock. It was five after nine.

“Harry, whereya been, smokin’ a whole pack?” Edgar asked.

“What happened?”

“It’s over. He waived. We’ve got to bring the car around and get over to the release desk. We’ll have him in fifteen minutes.”

“Detectives?” Weiss said. “I want to know every detail of how my client will be moved and what security measures you’re taking.”

Bosch put his arm on Weiss’s shoulders and leaned into him in a confidential manner. They had stopped at the bank of elevators.

“The very first security measure we are taking is that we aren’t telling anyone how or when we’re getting back to L.A. That includes you, Mr. Weiss. All you need to know is that he’ll be in L.A. Municipal Court for arraignment tomorrow morning.”

“Wait a minute. You can’t-”

“Yes, we can, Mr. Weiss,” Edgar said as an elevator opened. “Your client waived his opposition to extradition and in fifteen minutes he’ll be in our custody. And we’re not going to divulge any information about security, here or there or on the way there. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

They left him there and loaded onto the elevator. As the doors closed, Weiss shouted something about them not being allowed to talk to his client until his Los Angeles counsel had met with him.

A half hour later the Strip was in the rearview mirror and they were driving into the open desert.

“Say good-bye, Lucky,” Bosch said. “You won’t be back.”

When Goshen didn’t say anything, Bosch checked him in the mirror. The big man was sitting sullenly in the back with his arms cuffed to a heavy chain that went around his waist. He returned Bosch’s stare and for a brief moment Bosch thought he saw the same look he had let loose for a moment in his bedroom before he managed to drag it back inside like a naughty child.

“Just drive,” he said after he had recovered his demeanor. “We’re not having a conversation here.”

Bosch looked back at the road ahead and smiled.

“Maybe not now, but we will. We’ll be talking.”