Bosch didn’t answer. He made it across and went up the stairs into Chungking Mansions. It was like stepping onto another planet.

28

The first thing that hit Bosch as he stepped up into the first level of the Chungking Mansions was the smell. Intense odors of spices and fried food invaded his nostrils as his eyes became accustomed to the dimly lit third-world farmers’ market that spread before him in narrow aisles and warrens. The place was just opening for the day but was already crowded with shopkeepers and customers. Six-foot-wide shop stalls offered everything from watches and cell phones to newspapers of every language and foods of any taste. There was an edgy, gritty feel to the place that left Bosch casually checking his wake every few steps. He wanted to know who was behind him.

He moved to the center, where he came to an elevator alcove. There was a line fifteen people deep waiting for two elevators, and Bosch noticed that one elevator was open, dark inside and obviously out of commission. There were two security guards at the front of the line, checking to make sure everybody going up had a room key or was with somebody who had a key. Above the door of the one functioning elevator was a video screen that showed its interior. It was crowded to maximum capacity, sardines in a can.

Bosch was staring at the screen and wondering how he was going to get up to the fourteenth floor when Eleanor and Sun caught up to him. Eleanor roughly grabbed him by the arm.

“Harry, enough with the one-man army! Don’t run off like that again.”

Bosch looked at her. It wasn’t anger he saw in her eyes. It was fear. She wanted to be sure she wasn’t without him when she faced whatever there was to face on the fourteenth floor.

“I just want to keep moving,” Bosch said.

“Then move with us, not away from us. Are we going up”

“We need a key to go up.”

“Then we have to rent a room.”

“Where do we do that?”

“I don’t know.”

Eleanor looked at Sun.

“We have to go up.”

That was all she said but the message was transmitted. He nodded and led them away from the alcove and farther into the labyrinth of shop stalls. Soon they came to a row of counters with signs in multiple languages.

“You rent the room here,” Sun said. “There is more than one hotel here.”

“You mean in the building” Bosch asked. “More than one”

“Yes, many. You pick from here.”

He gestured to the signs on the counters. And Bosch realized that what Sun was saying was that there were multiple hotels within the building, all of them competing for the business of the cut-rate traveler. Some, by virtue of the language on their signs, targeted travelers from specific countries.

“Ask which one has the fourteenth floor,” he said.

“There won’t be a fourteenth floor.”

Bosch realized he was right.

“Fifteenth, then. Which one has the fifteenth floor?”

Sun went down the line, asking about the fifteenth floor, until he stopped at the third counter and waved Eleanor and Bosch over.

“Here.”

Bosch took in the man behind the counter. He looked like he had been there for forty years. His bell-shaped body seemed form-fitted to the stool he sat on. He was smoking a cigarette attached to a four-inch holder made of carved bone. He didn’t like getting smoke in his eyes.

“Do you speak English” Bosch asked.

“Yes, I have English,” the man said tiredly.

“Good. We want a room on the four-the fifteenth floor.”

“All of you? One room”

“Yes, one room.”

“No, you can’t one room. Only two persons.”

Bosch realized that he meant the maximum occupancy of each room was two people.

“Then give me two rooms on fifteen.”

“You do.”

The deskman slid a clipboard across the counter. There was a pen attached with a string and under the clip a thin stack of registration forms. Bosch quickly scribbled his name and address and slid the board back across the counter.

“ID, passport,” the deskman said.

Bosch pulled his passport and the man checked it. He wrote the number down on a piece of scratch paper and handed it back.

“How much?” Bosch asked.

“How long you stay?”

“Ten minutes.”

The deskman moved his eyes over all three of them as he considered what Bosch’s answer meant.

“Come on,” Bosch said impatiently. “How much?”

He reached into his pocket for his cash.

“Two hundred American.”

“I don’t have American. I have Hong Kong dollars.”

“Two room, one thousand five hundred.”

Sun stepped forward and put his hand down over Bosch’s money.

“No, too much.”

He started speaking quickly and authoritatively to the deskman, refusing to let him take advantage of Bosch. But Harry didn’t care. He cared about momentum, not the money. He peeled fifteen hundred off his roll and threw it on the desk.

“Keys,” he demanded.

The deskman disengaged from Sun and swiveled around to the double row of cubbyholes behind him. As he selected two keys from the slots, Bosch looked at Sun and shrugged.

But when the deskman turned back and Bosch put out his hand, he withheld the keys.

“Key deposit one thousand.”

Bosch realized he should never have flashed his roll. He quickly pulled it again, this time holding it below the counter, and peeled off two more bills. He slapped them down on the counter. When the man on the stool finally offered the keys, Harry grabbed them out of his hand and started back to the elevator.

The room keys were old-fashioned brass keys attached to red plastic diamond-shaped fobs with Chinese symbols on them and room numbers. They had been given rooms 1503 and 1504. Along the way back to the alcove, Bosch handed one of the keys to Sun.

“You’re with him or me,” he said to Eleanor.

The line for the elevator had gotten longer. It was now more than thirty men deep and the overhead video showed that the guards were putting eight to ten people on each time, depending on the size of the travelers. The longest fifteen minutes of Bosch’s life were spent waiting to go up. Eleanor tried to calm his growing impatience and anxiety by engaging in conversation.

“When we get up there, what’s the plan?”

Bosch shook his head.

“No plan. We play it like it lays.”

“That’s it? What are we going to do, just knock on doors?”

Bosch shook his head and held up the photo of the reflection again.

“No, we’ll know what room it is. There is one window in this room. One window per room. We know from this that our window is the seventh down on the side that fronts Nathan Road. When we get up there, we hit the seventh room from the end.”

“Hit?”

“I’m not knocking, Eleanor.”

The line moved forward and it was finally their turn. The security guard checked Bosch’s key and passed him and Eleanor toward the elevator door, but then put his arm out behind them and stopped Sun. The elevator was at capacity.

“Harry, wait,” Eleanor said. “Let’s take the next one.”

Bosch pushed onto the elevator and turned around. He looked at Eleanor and then at Sun.

“You wait if you want. I’m not waiting.”

Eleanor hesitated for a moment and then stepped onto the elevator next to Bosch. She called out something in Chinese to Sun as the door closed.

Bosch stared up at the digital floor indicator.

“What did you say to him?”

“That we’d be waiting on fifteen for him.”

Bosch didn’t say anything. It didn’t matter to him. He tried to compose himself and slow his breathing. He was readying himself for what he might find or be confronted with on fifteen.

The elevator moved slowly. It stunk of body odor and fish. Bosch breathed through his mouth to try to avoid it. He realized he was also a contributor to the problem. The last time he’d showered was on Friday morning in L.A. To him, that seemed like a lifetime ago.