Bosch tried to put the conversation from the elevator out of his mind. It wasn’t important at the moment because it wouldn’t help him get his daughter back. But it was hard to compartmentalize his feelings. His daughter had told him back in L.A. that Eleanor was in a relationship. And he’d had relationships himself since their divorce. But being hit with the reality of it here in Hong Kong was difficult. He was riding with a woman he still loved on some basic level and her new man. It was hard to take.

He was sitting behind Eleanor. He looked over the seat at Sun and studied the man’s stoic demeanor. He was no hired gun here. He had more of a stake than that. Bosch realized that could make him an asset. If his daughter could count on and trust him, then so could Bosch. The rest he could put aside.

As if sensing the eyes on him, Sun turned and looked at Bosch. Even with the blackout shades guarding Sun’s eyes, Bosch could tell he had read the situation and knew there were no secrets any longer.

Bosch nodded. It wasn’t any sort of approval he was giving. It was just the silent message that he now understood they were all in this together.

26

Wan Chai was the part of Hong Kong that never slept. The place where anything could happen and anything could be had for the right price. Anything. Bosch knew that if he wanted a laser sight to go with the gun they were going to pick up, he could get it. If he wanted a shooter to go with the setup, he could probably get that, too. And this didn’t even begin to address the other things, like drugs and women, that would be available to him in the strip bars and music clubs along Lockhart Road.

It was eight-thirty and full daylight as they cruised down Lockhart. Many of the clubs were still active, shutters closed against the light but neon burning brightly up above in the smoky air. The street was wet and steamy. Fragmented reflections of neon splashed across it and over the windshields of the taxis lining the curbs.

Bouncers stood on post and female hawkers sat on stools waving down pedestrians and motorists alike. Men in rumpled suits, their steps slowed by a night of alcohol or drugs, were moving slowly on the pavement. Double-parked outside the rows of red taxis the occasional Rolls-Royce or Mercedes idled, waiting for the money to run out inside and the journey home to finally begin.

In front of almost every establishment was an ash can for burning offerings to the hungry ghosts. Many were alive with flames. Bosch saw a woman in a silk robe with a red dragon on the back standing outside a club called Red Dragon. She was showering what looked like real Hong Kong dollars into the flames leaping from the can in front of her club. She was hedging her bets with the ghosts, Bosch thought. She was going with the real thing.

The smell of fire and smoke mixed with an underlying scent of fried foods got into the car despite the windows being up. Then a harsh odor Bosch couldn’t identify, almost like one of the cover-up odors he’d pick up from time to time in the coroner’s office, hit him and he started breathing through his mouth. Eleanor flipped down her visor so she could see him in the makeup mirror.

“Gway lang go,” she said.

“What?”

“Turtle-shell jelly. They make it around here in the mornings. They sell it in the medicine shops.”

“It’s strong.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it. You think the smell’s strong, you should actually taste it sometime. Supposed to be the cure for whatever ails you.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

In another two blocks the clubs got smaller and seedier from the outside. The neon signage was more garish and usually accompanied by lighted posters containing photographs of the beautiful women supposedly waiting inside. Sun double-parked next to the taxi that was first in line at the intersection. Three of the corners were occupied by clubs. The fourth was a noodle shop that was open and already crowded.

Sun released his seat belt and opened his door. Bosch did the same.

“Harry,” Eleanor said.

Sun turned back to look at him.

“You don’t go,” he told Bosch.

Bosch looked at him.

“You sure? I have money.”

“No money,” Sun said. “You wait here.”

He got out and closed the door. Bosch closed his door and stayed in the car.

“What’s going on?”

“Sun Yee’s calling on a friend for the gun. It’s not a transaction involving money.”

“Then, what does it involve”

“Favors.”

“Is Sun Yee in a triad?”

“No. He wouldn’t have gotten the job in the casino. And I wouldn’t be with him.”

Bosch wasn’t so sure about the casino job being off-limits to a triad man. Sometimes the best way to know your enemy is to hire your enemy.

“Was he in a triad?”

“I don’t know. I doubt it. They don’t let you just quit.”

“But he’s getting the gun from a triad guy, right”

“I don’t know that either. Look, Harry, we are getting the gun you told me you had to have. I didn’t think there would be all of these questions. Do you want it or not?”

“Yes, I want it.”

“Then, we are doing what needs to be done to get it. And Sun Yee is risking his job and freedom doing it, I might add. Gun laws are very harsh here.”

“I understand. No more questions. Just thank you for help-ing me.”

In the silence that followed, Bosch could hear muffled but pulsing music coming from one of the shuttered clubs or maybe from all three of them. Through the windshield he saw Sun approach three men in suits who were standing outside a club directly across the intersection. Like with most of the establishments in Wan Chai, the sign out front was in Chinese and English. The place was called the Yellow Door. Sun spoke briefly with the men and then nonchalantly opened his suit jacket so they could see he was not armed. One of the men did a quick but competent pat-down and Sun was then allowed to enter through the signature yellow door.

They waited for nearly ten minutes. During that time Eleanor said almost nothing. Bosch knew she was fearful about their daughter’s situation and angry with his questions, but he needed to know more than he knew.

“Eleanor, don’t get upset with me, okay? Let me just say this. As far as we know, we have the element of surprise here. As far as the people who have Maddie know, I’m still in L.A., deciding whether to kick their guy loose or not. So if Sun Yee is going to the triad here to get me a gun, won’t he have to tell them where the gun is going and what it might be used for? Won’t the guy with the gun then turn around and give the triad guys across the harbor in Kowloon the heads-up? You know, like, look who’s in town and, oh, by the way, he’s coming your way.”

“No, Harry,” she said dismissively. “That’s not how it works.”

“Well, then how does it work?”

“I told you. Sun Yee is calling in a favor. That’s it. He doesn’t have to provide any information because the guy with the gun owes him the favor. That’s how it works. Okay?”

Bosch stared at the club entrance. No sign of Sun.

“Okay.”

Another five minutes went by silently in the car and then Bosch saw Sun step back through the yellow door. But instead of heading back to the car, he crossed the street and went into the noodle shop. Bosch tried to track him through the glass windows but the reflecting neon outside was too strong and Sun disappeared from sight.

“Now what, he’s getting food?” Bosch asked.

“I doubt it,” Eleanor said. “He was probably sent over there.”

Bosch nodded. Precautions. Another five minutes went by and when Sun emerged from the noodle shop he was carrying a Styrofoam to-go carton that was secured closed with two rubber bands. He carried it flat, as if trying not to dishevel the plate of noodles within. He returned to the car and got in. Without a word he handed the carton over the seat to Bosch.