Trunk Music (29 page)

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.”