Vol Ii Part 8 (2/2)
”Ah, I hit it last week when I was working on the deck. Hurt like a son of a b.i.t.c.h.”
”Yeah, you better be careful or Pounds is going to be on you like a son of a b.i.t.c.h.”
”He already is.”
”Man, he's nothing but a bean counter, a punk. Why can't you just leave it alone? You know you're just-”
”You know, you're beginning to sound like the shrink they're sending me to. Maybe I should just sit with you for an hour today, what you say?”
”Maybe she's talking some sense to you.”
”Maybe I should've taken the cab.”
”I think you should figure out who your friends are and listen to them for once.”
”Here it is.”
Edgar slowed in front of the rental car agency. Bosch got out before the car was even stopped.
”Harry, wait a minute.”
Bosch looked back in at him.
”What's going on with this Fox thing? Who is the guy?”
”I can't tell you now, Jerry. It's just better this way.”
”You sure?”
Bosch heard the phone in his briefcase start to ring. He looked down at it and then back at Edgar.
”Thanks for the ride.”
He closed the car door.
Chapter 11
The call was from Keisha Russell at the Times. Times. She said she'd found one small story in the morgue under Fox's name but she wanted to meet with Bosch to give it to him. He knew it was part of the game, part of making the pact. He looked at his watch. He could wait to see what the story said. He told her he'd buy her lunch at the Pantry in downtown. She said she'd found one small story in the morgue under Fox's name but she wanted to meet with Bosch to give it to him. He knew it was part of the game, part of making the pact. He looked at his watch. He could wait to see what the story said. He told her he'd buy her lunch at the Pantry in downtown.
Forty minutes later she was already in a booth near the cas.h.i.+er's cage when he got there. He slipped into the opposite side of the booth.
”You're late,” she said.
”Sorry, I was renting a car.”
”They took your car, huh? Must be serious.”
”We're not going to talk about that.”
”I know. You know who owns this place?”
”Yeah, the mayor. Doesn't make the food bad.”
She curled her lip and looked around as if the place were crawling with ants. The mayor was a Republican. The Times Times had gone with the Democrat. What was worse, for her, at least, was that the mayor was a supporter of the Police Department. Reporters didn't like that. That was boring. They wanted City Hall infighting, controversy, scandal. It made things more interesting. had gone with the Democrat. What was worse, for her, at least, was that the mayor was a supporter of the Police Department. Reporters didn't like that. That was boring. They wanted City Hall infighting, controversy, scandal. It made things more interesting.
”Sorry,” he said. ”I guess I could've suggested Gorky's or some more liberal establishment.”
”Don't worry about it, Bosch. I'm just funnin' with ya.”
She wasn't more than twenty-five, he guessed. She was a dark-complected black woman who had a beautiful grace about her. Bosch had no idea where she was from but he didn't think it was L.A. She had the touch of an accent, a Caribbean lilt, that maybe she had worked on smoothing out. It was still there, though. He liked the way she said his name. In her mouth, it sounded exotic, like a wave breaking. He didn't mind that she was little more than half his age and addressed him only by his last name.
”Where you from, Keisha?”
”Why?”
”Why? Because I'm interested is all. You're on the beat. I wanna know who I'm dealing with.”
”I'm from right here, Bosch. I came from Jamaica when I was five years old. I went to USC. Where are you from?”
”Right here. Been here all my life.”
He decided not to mention the fifteen months he spent fighting in the tunnels in Vietnam and the nine in North Carolina training for it.
”What happened to your hand?”
”Cut it working on my house. Been doing odd jobs while I'm off. So, what's it been like taking Bremmer's place on the cop beat? He'd been there a long time.”
”Yeah, I know. It's been difficult. But I'm making my way. Slowly. I'm making friends. I hope you'll be one of my friends, Bosch.”
”I'll be your friend. When I can. Let's see what you got.”
She brought a manila file up onto the table but the waiter, an old bald man with a waxed mustache, arrived before she could open it. She ordered an egg salad sandwich. He ordered a well-done hamburger and fries. She frowned and he guessed why.
”You're vegetarian, right?”
”Yes.”
”Sorry. Next time you pick the place.”
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