He stopped there but Eleanor continued. “The IAD detectives misjudged things, though, Harry. They didn’t realize that public opinion would be with you. You were known in the newspapers as the cop who broke the Beauty Shop Slasher and Dollmaker cases. A character in a TV show. They couldn’t take you down without a lot of public scrutiny and embarrassment for the department.”

“Someone reached down from above them and put a stop to the grand jury move,” Bosch said. “They had to settle for a suspension and my demotion to Hollywood homicide.”

Bosch had his fingers on the stem of his empty wine glass and was absentmindedly turning the glass on the table.

“Some settlement,” he said after a while. “And those two IAD sharks are still swimming around out there, waiting for the kill.”

They sat silently for a while then. He was waiting for her to ask the question she had asked once before. Had the whore lied? She never asked it, and after a while she just looked at him and smiled. And he felt as if he had just passed the test. She started gathering the plates off the table. Bosch helped her in the kitchen and when the work was done, they stood close, drying their hands on the same dish towel, and lightly kissed. Then, as if following the same secret signals, they pressed themselves against each other and kissed with the kind of hunger lonely people have.

“I want to stay,” Bosch said after momentarily breaking away.

“I want you to stay,” she said.

Arson’s stoned eyes were shiny and reflected the neon night. He sucked hard on the Kool and held the precious smoke in. The cigarette had been dipped in PCP. A smile cracked across his face as the jet streams of smoke escaped his nostrils. He said, “You’re the only shark I ever heard of being used as bait. Get it?”

He laughed and took another deep drag before handing the cigarette to Sharkey, who waved it away because he’d had enough. Mojo took it then.

“Yeah, I’m getting tired of this shit,” Sharkey said. “You take a turn for once.”

“Chill out, man, you’re the only one can get away with it, man. Mojo and me, man, we just don’t play the part good as you. Besides, we got our part. You ain’t big enough to pound these faggots.”

“Well, whyn’t we do the 7-Eleven again?” Sharkey said. “I don’t like this not knowing who it is. I like it at the 7-Eleven. We pick our meat, they don’t pick me.”

“No way,” Mojo spoke up then. “We go back there, we don’t know if that last guy reported it to the sheriff’s or not. We have to stay clear a there awhile. They’re probly watching the place from the same parking lot we did.”

Sharkey knew they were right. He just thought that being out on Santa Monica on the queer stroll was getting too close to the real thing. Next thing, he guessed, the two dopers will not feel like charging in. They’ll want him to go through with it, get the money that way. That was when he would split these guys, he knew.

“Okay,” he said, stepping off the curb. “Don’t fuck me up.”

He started to cross the street. Arson yelled after him, “BMW or better!”

As if I need to be told, Sharkey thought. He walked a half block toward La Brea and then leaned against the door of a closed print shop. He was still a half block from Hot Rod’s, an adult bookstore that offered twenty-five-cent all-male peeps. But he was close enough to catch the eye of somebody walking out. If the eye was looking. He looked back the other way and saw the glow of the joint in the darkness of the driveway where Arson and Mojo sat on their bikes.

Sharkey hadn’t been standing there ten minutes when a car, a new Grand Am, pulled to the curb and the electric window glided down. Sharkey was going to blow this one off, remembering BMW or better, until he saw the glint of gold and stepped closer. His adrenaline kicked up a notch. The wrist the driver had draped over the steering wheel was adorned with a Rolex Presidential. If it was real, Arson knew where they could get $3,000 for it. A grand apiece, not to mention what else the meat might have at home or in his wallet. Sharkey looked the man over. The guy looked like a straight, a businessman. Dark hair, dark suit. Mid-forties, not too big. Sharkey might even be able to take him alone. The man smiled at Sharkey and said, “Hey, howya doin’?”

“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 motorbikes, 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.