Michael Connelly (29 page)

“Not bad. What’s up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just out for a ride. You want to take a ride?”

“Where to?”

“No place special. I know a place we can go. Be alone.”

“You got a hundred dollars on you?”

“No, but I’ve got fifty dollars for night baseball.”

“Pitching or catching?”

“I’m a pitcher. And I brought my own glove.”

Sharkey hesitated and glanced toward the driveway where he had seen the glow from the Kool. It was gone now. They must be
ready to move. He looked back at the watch.

“That’s cool,” he said, and got in the car.

The car headed west past the alley driveway. Sharkey held himself from looking, but he thought he heard the revving and popping
sound of their bikes. They were following.

“Where we going?” he asked. “Uh, I can’t go home with you, my friend. But I know a place we can go. Nobody will bother us.”

“Cool.”

They stopped at the light at Flores, which made Sharkey think of the guy from the other night. They were near his place. Arson
was hitting harder, it seemed. This would have to stop soon or they would kill someone. He hoped the man with the Rolex would
give it up peaceably. There was no telling what those two would do. Stoked on PCP, they would be ready for battle and blood.

Suddenly the car lurched through the intersection. Sharkey noticed the light was still red.

“What’s going on?” he said sharply.

“Nothing. I’m tired of waiting, is all.”

Sharkey thought there would be nothing suspicious about looking back now. He turned and saw only cars waiting back at the
intersection. No motorbikes. Those bastards, he thought. He felt a dampness beginning on his scalp and the first tremblings
of fear. The car turned right after Barnie’s Beanery and up the hill to Sunset. Then they went east to Highland and the man
with the Rolex steered north again.

“Have we been together before?” the man asked. “You seem familiar. I don’t know, maybe we’ve just seen each other around.”

“No, I’ve never — I don’t think so.”

“Look at me.”

“What?” Sharkey said, startled by the question and the man’s sharp tone. “Why?”

“Look at me. You know me? Have you seen me before?”

“What is this, a credit card commercial? I said no, man.”

The man turned the car off the street into the east parking lot of the Hollywood Bowl. It was deserted. He drove quickly and
without saying another word to the darkened north end. Sharkey thought, If this is your quiet little spot, then that ain’t
no real Rolex you got on your wrist, pal.

“Hey, what are we doing, man?” Sharkey said. He was thinking of a way to bail out of this. He was pretty sure Arson and Mojo,
stoned as they were, were lost. He was alone with this guy and he wanted to scratch it.

“The bowl is closed,” Rolex said. “But I got a key to the dressing rooms, see? We just take the tunnel under Cahuenga and
then near where it comes up, there is a little walkway we take back around. There won’t be anyone around. I work there. I
know.”

For a moment, Sharkey considered trying to take the guy alone, then decided he couldn’t do it. Unless there was a way of taking
him by surprise. He would see. The man turned the car engine off and opened his door. Sharkey opened his own door, got out
and looked across the dark expanse of the empty parking lot. He was looking for the two lights of the motor-bikes, but there
weren’t any. I’ll take this guy out on the other side, he decided. He would make his move. Either hit and run, or just run.

They headed toward the sign that said Pedestrian Expressway. There was a concrete outbuilding with an open doorway and then
stairs. As they walked down the whitewashed steps, the man with the Rolex put his hand on Sharkey’s shoulder and then clamped
it on the back of his neck in a fatherly manner. Sharkey could feel the cold metal of the watch’s wristband.

The man said, “You sure we don’t know each other, Sharkey? Maybe seen each other?”

“No, man, I’m telling you, I haven’t been with you.”

They were about halfway through the tunnel when Sharkey realized he hadn’t told the man his name.

THURSDAY, MAY 24

It had been a long time for him. And in Eleanor’s bedroom, Harry Bosch was clumsy in the way of a man who is overly self-conscious
and out of practice. As with most first times he had had, it wasn’t good. She directed him with her hands and whispers. And
afterward he felt like apologizing but didn’t. They held each other and lightly dozed, the smell of her hair in his face.
The same apple scent he had encountered in his kitchen the night before. Bosch was infatuated with her and wanted to breathe
the smell of her hair every minute. After a while he kissed her awake and they made love again. This time he needed no directions
and she didn’t need her hands. When they were done, Eleanor whispered to him, “Do you think you can be alone in this world
and not be lonely?”

He didn’t answer at first, and she said, “Are you alone or are you lonely, Harry Bosch?”

He thought about that for some time, while her fingers gently traced the tattoo on his shoulder.

“I don’t know what I am,” he finally whispered. “You get so used to things the way they are. And I’ve always been alone. I
guess that makes me lonely. Until now.”

They smiled in the dark and kissed, and soon he heard her deep, sleeping breaths. Much later, Bosch got up from the bed, pulled
on his pants and went out on the balcony to smoke. On Ocean Park Boulevard there was no traffic and he could hear the ocean’s
noise from nearby. The lights were out in the apartment next door. They were out everywhere except on the street. He could
see that the jacaranda trees along the sidewalk were shedding their flowers. They had fallen like a violet snow on the ground
and the cars parked along the curb. Bosch leaned on the railing and blew smoke into the cool night wind.

When he was on his second cigarette he heard the door behind him slide open and then felt her hands come around his waist
as she embraced him from behind.

“What’s wrong, Harry?”

“Nothing, just thinking. You better watch out. Carcinogen alert. You ever heard of the draft risk easement?”

“Assessment, Harry, not easement. What are you thinking about? Is this how it is most nights for you?”

Bosch turned around in her arms and kissed her forehead. She was wearing a short robe of pink silk. He rubbed his thumb up
and down the nape of her neck. “Almost no night is like this. I just couldn’t sleep. I guess I was thinking about a lot of
things.”

“About us?” She kissed his chin.

“I guess.”

“And?”

He brought his hand around to her face and traced the outline of her jaw with his fingers.

“I was wondering how you got this little scar here.”

“Oh …that is from when I was a girl. My brother and I, we were riding on a bike and I was on the handlebars. And we went down
this hill, it was called Highland Avenue — this was when we lived in Pennsylvania — and he lost control. The bike started
weaving and I was so scared because I knew we were going to crash. And just as he really lost it and we were going down, he
yelled, ‘Ellie, you’ll be all right!’ Just like that. And because he had yelled that, he was right. I cut my chin but I didn’t
even cry. I always thought that was something, that he would try to yell something to me rather than worry about himself at
a moment like that. But that was my brother.”

Bosch dropped his hands from her face. He said, “I was also thinking that what happened between us was nice.”

“I think so, too, Harry. Nice for a couple of nighthawks. Come back to bed now.”

They went back in. Bosch first went into the bathroom and used his finger as a toothbrush and then crawled back under the
sheet with her. The blue glow of a digital clock on the bedtable said 2:26 and Bosch closed his eyes.

When he opened them again the clock said 3:46 and there was an obnoxious chirping sound coming from somewhere in the room.
He realized he was not in his own room. Then he remembered he was in Eleanor Wish’s room. As he finally got oriented he saw
her shadowy figure stooped next to the bed, her hands going through the pile of his clothes.

“Where is it?” she said. “I can’t find it.”

Bosch reached for his pants, traced his hands along the belt until he found the pager and turned it off without having to
fumble with it. He had done it many times in the dark before.

“Jesus,” she said. “That was rude.”

Bosch swung his legs over the side of the bed, gathered the sheet around his waist and sat up. He yawned and then warned her
that he was going to turn on the light. She said go ahead, and when the light came on it hit him like a diamond burst between
his eyes. When his vision cleared, she was standing in front of him naked, looking down at the digital readout of the pager
in his hand. Bosch finally looked down at the number but didn’t recognize it. He wiped a hand across his face and rustled
his hair. There was a telephone on the bedtable and he pulled it onto his lap. He dialed the number and then fumbled with
his hands in his clothes for a cigarette, which he put in his mouth but didn’t light.

Eleanor noticed her nakedness and walked over to a lounge chair to get her robe. After it was on she went into the bathroom
and closed the door. Bosch heard water running. The other end of the line was picked up halfway through the first ring. Jerry
Edgar didn’t answer with a hello, just “Harry, where you at?”

“I’m not home. What is it?”

“This kid you were looking for, the one on the nine one one call, you found him, right?”

“Yeah, but we’re looking for him again.”

“Who’s ‘we’ — you and the feebee woman?”

Eleanor came out of the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Jerry, what are you calling me for?” Bosch asked. He was beginning to get a sinking feeling in his chest.

“What’s the kid’s name?”

Bosch was in a daze. It had been months since he had fallen so deeply asleep, only to be rousted out of it. He couldn’t remember
Sharkey’s real name and he didn’t want to ask Eleanor because Edgar might hear and then know they were together. Harry looked
at Eleanor and when she began to speak, he touched his finger to her lips and shook his head.

“Is it Edward Niese?” Edgar spoke into the silence. “That the kid’s name?”

The sinking feeling was gone. Bosch felt an invisible fist pressing up under his ribs and into the folds of his guts and heart.

“Right,” he said. “That’s the name.”

“You gave him one of your business cards?”

“Right.”

“Harry, you aren’t looking for him anymore.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Come on out and see for yourself. I’m over at the bowl. Sharkey’s in the pedestrian tunnel under Cahuenga. Park on the east
side. You’ll see the cars.”

• • •

The Hollywood Bowl’s east parking lot was supposed to be empty at 4:30
A.M.
But as Bosch and Wish drove up Highland to the mouth of the Cahuenga Pass they saw that the north end of the lot was crowded
with the usual grouping of official cars and vans that signal the violent, or at least unexpected, end of a life. There was
yellow plastic crime scene tape strung in a square, boxing the entrance to the stairwell that went down to the pedestrian
underpass. Bosch flashed his badge and gave his name to a uniform cop who was keeping the officers-on-the-scene list on a
clipboard. He and Wish ducked under the tape and were met by the loud sound of an engine echoing from the mouth of the tunnel.
Bosch knew by the sound that it was a generator making the juice for the crime scene lights. At the top step, before they
began their descent, he turned to Eleanor and said, “You want to wait here? We don’t both have to go.”

“I’m a cop, for godsake,” she said. “I’ve seen bodies before. You going to get protective of me now, Bosch? Tell you what.
Want me to go down and you stay up here?”

Startled by her abrupt change in mood, Bosch didn’t answer. He looked at her a moment longer, confused. He started down a
few steps in front of her but stopped when he saw Edgar’s large body come out of the tunnel and start up the steps. Edgar
saw Bosch, and then Bosch saw his eyes go over his shoulder and take Eleanor Wish in.

“Hey, Harry,” he said. “This your new partner? You must be getting along real fine already.”

Bosch just stared at him. Eleanor was still three steps behind and probably hadn’t heard the remark.

“Sorry, Harry,” Edgar said just loud enough to be heard over the roar from the tunnel. “Out of line. Been a bad night. You
should see who I got for a new partner, the useless fuck Ninety-eight Pounds stuck me with.”

“I thought you were going to get —” “Nope. Get this: Pounds put me with Porter from autos. The guy’s a burned-out lush.”

“I know. How’d you even get him out of bed for this?”

“He wasn’t in bed. I had to track him down at the Parrot up in North Hollywood. It’s one of them private bottle clubs. Porter
gives me the number when we’re first introduced as partners and tells me that’s where he’ll be most nights. Tells me he works
a security detail there. But I called the off-duty assignments office at Parker Center to check it out and they got no record.
I know the only thing he does there is booze. He must’ve been practically passed out when I called. The bartender said the
pager on his belt went off but he didn’t even hear it. Harry, I think the guy could blow a point two right now if we put a
Breathalyzer on him.”