The Narrows (17 page)

Rachel backed out and drove out of the lot onto Koval. She drove around the block and parked in a spot that gave her a good view of both of the parking lot exits of Bosch’s sorry motel. She was sure Bosch was up to something and she was going to find out what it was.

25

B
ACKUS HAD CAUGHT ONLY A GLIMPSE of the man who answered the motel room door when Rachel Walling knocked. But he thought he recognized him from a time many years before. He felt his pulse quicken. If he was right about the man she was meeting in room 22, then the stakes had grown considerably higher.

He studied the motel and his situation. He had located the three bureau surveillance cars. The agents were hanging back. One agent had deployed and was sitting across Koval on a bus bench. He looked out of place, wearing a gray suit and supposedly waiting for a bus, but that was the FBI’s style.

That left the motel clear for Backus to move about. It was L-shaped with parking on all sides. He realized that if he was on the other side of the building, he might catch another glimpse of the man Rachel was with through a rear window or balcony.

He decided not to risk moving the car from the front parking lot to the rear. It might draw the attention of the bench warmer across the street. Instead he cracked the door and slipped out of his car. He had the interior light switched off so there was no threat of exposure. He crab-walked between two other cars and straightened up, pulling a baseball cap over his head and yanking the brim down as he emerged. The hat said UNLV on it.

Backus walked through the breezeway on the bottom floor of the two-story motel. He passed the soda and candy machines and came out on the other side and started walking through the rear parking lot as if looking for his car. He glanced up at the lighted balcony that he believed corresponded with the door to room 22, where he had seen Rachel enter. He could see the sliding door was open.

Glancing around as if looking for his lost car, Backus saw that the agent on the bench did not have a visual angle on the rear lot. No one was watching him here. He casually moved to a position directly below the balcony of room 22. He tried to listen for any verbal morsel that would spill through the open slider. He heard Rachel’s voice but could not make out the words until he very clearly heard her say, “Must feel naked.”

This confused and intrigued him. He was thinking about the possibility of climbing up to the second level so that he could hear the conversation in room 22. The sound of a door shutting ended that idea. He guessed Rachel had just left. Backus returned to the breezeway and hid behind a Coke machine when he heard a car’s ignition fire. He waited and listened. He detected the sound of another car entering the lot. He moved from the Coke machine to the corner and glanced out. A man was getting out of a taxi and Backus recognized him, too. It was Terry McCaleb’s charter partner. There was no doubt. Backus felt like he had just tripped across a treasure of intrigue and mystery. What was Rachel up to? How had she connected with the charter partner so quickly? And what was the LAPD doing here?

He looked past the taxi and saw Rachel’s Crown Victoria pull out onto the street and drive away. He waited a moment and saw one of the Grand Ams stop and pick up the man on the bus bench and then take off. Backus yanked the brim of his hat down again and stepped out of the breezeway. He walked toward his car.

26

I
WAS LOOKING THROUGH the peephole, thinking about Agent Walling, and wondering how the brutal terrain of the FBI and the Dakotas had not robbed her of her fire and sense of humor. I liked her for that and sensed a connection. I was thinking that I might be able to trust her at the same time I was thinking I had just been played by a pro. I was sure she hadn’t told me everything she was up to, nobody ever does, but she had told me enough. We wanted the same thing, maybe for different reasons. But I wasn’t second-guessing my decision to take on the extra rider in the morning.

The view through the peephole was suddenly filled with the concave image of Buddy Lockridge. I opened the door before he could knock and quickly pulled him inside. I wondered if Walling had seen him on her way out.

“Perfect timing, Buddy. Did anybody talk to you or stop you out there?”

“Where, here?”

“Yeah, here.”

“No, I just got out of the cab.”

“Okay, then where have you been?”

He explained his lateness by saying there were no cabs at the Bellagio, a story I didn’t believe. I saw one of the pockets of his jeans bulging when I took from him the two files he carried.

“That’s bullshit, Buddy. Cabs can be hard to find in this town but not at the Bellagio. There are always cabs there.”

I reached over and slapped my hand against his full pocket.

“You stopped to play, didn’t you? You’ve got a pocket full of chips there.”

“Look, I stopped to play a couple quick shots of blackjack before coming. But I got lucky, man. I couldn’t lose. Look at this.”

He reached into the pocket and pulled out a handful of five-dollar chips.

“I was kicking ass! And you can’t walk away from good luck.”

“Yeah, great. That will help you pay for that room you’ve got.”

Buddy looked around my place, taking it in. Through the open balcony there was traffic and jetliner noise.

“Gladly,” he said. “I ain’t going to stay here.”

I almost laughed, considering what I had seen of his boat.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay wherever you want because I don’t need you out here anymore. Thanks for bringing the files.”

His eyes widened.

“What?”

“I’ve got a new partner. The FBI. So you can go back to L.A. as soon as you want or you can play blackjack until you own the Bellagio. I’ll pay the airfare, like I said, and for the chopper ride to the island and forty bucks toward the room. That’s the daily rate at this place.”

I held up the files.

“I’ll throw in a couple hundred for your time getting these and getting here.”

“No way, man. I came all the way out here, man. I can still help. I’ve worked with the agents before, when me and Terry worked a thing.”

“That was then, Buddy, this is now. Come on. I’ll give you a ride back to your hotel. I hear cabs are scarce and I’m going that way anyway.”

After closing the balcony door I walked him out of the apartment and locked up. I brought the files with me for reading later. As we were walking down the steps to the parking lot I looked around for the security man but didn’t see him. I looked around for Rachel Walling and didn’t see her either. I did see my neighbor Jane putting a shoebox into the trunk of a car, a white Monte Carlo. From my angle on the steps I could see the trunk was crowded with other, larger boxes.

“You’re better off with me,” Buddy said, protest still clinging to his voice. “You can’t trust the bureau, man. Terry was in it and he didn’t even trust them.”

“I know, Buddy. I’ve been dealing with the bureau for thirty years.”

He just shook his head. I watched Jane get in her car and back out. I wondered if it was the last time I would see her. I wondered if my telling her I had been a cop had spooked her and made her split. Maybe she had heard some of my conversation with Agent Walling through the thin walls.

Buddy’s comments about the bureau reminded me of something.

“You know, when you get back there they’re going to want to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“About your GPS. They found it.”

“Wow, great! You mean it wasn’t Finder? It was Shandy?”

“Think so. But the news isn’t all that great, Buddy.”

“How come?”

I unlocked the Mercedes and we got in. I looked at Buddy as I was starting the engine.

“All your waypoints were wiped out. There’s only one on it now and you won’t catch any fish there.”

“Ah, goddamnit! I should’ve known.”

“Anyway, they’re going to ask you all about it and all about Terry and that last charter. Just like I did.”

“So they’re running behind you, huh? Playing catch-up. You’re the man, Harry.”

“Not really.”

I knew what was coming. Buddy turned in his seat and leaned toward me.

“Take me with you, Harry. I’m telling you I can help. I’m smart. I can figure things out.”

“Put your seat belt on, Buddy.”

I jumped into reverse before he got a chance and he almost went into the dashboard.

We headed over to the strip and slowly made our way down to the Bellagio. It was early evening and the sidewalks were cooling off and getting crowded. I saw that the overhead trams and walkways were becoming full. The neon from every fa?de on the street was lighting dusk up like a brilliant sunset. Almost. Buddy continued to lobby me for a part in the investigation but I fended him off at every turn. After we pulled in around the huge front fountain and under the casino’s giant entry portico I told the valet man that we were just picking somebody up and he directed me to a curb, telling me not to leave the car unattended.

“Who we picking up?” Buddy asked, new life in his voice.

“Nobody. I just said that. Tell you what, you want to work with me, Buddy? Then stay here in the car for a few minutes so they won’t tow it away. I need to run in here real quick.”

“What for?”

“To see if somebody’s here.”

“Who?”

I jumped out of the car and closed the door without answering his question because I knew with Buddy that every answer led to another question and then another and I didn’t have time for that.

I knew the Bellagio like I knew the turns on Mulholland Drive. This was where Eleanor Wish, my ex-wife, made her living, and where I had watched her do so on more than one occasion. I quickly made my way through the plush casino, around the orchard of slot machines and to the poker room.

There were only two poker tables working. It was very early. I quickly scanned the thirteen players and did not see Eleanor. I checked the podium and saw the table manager was a man I knew from coming here with Eleanor and then hanging out and watching while she played. I went over.

“Freddy, what’s shaking?”

“A lot of ass shaking around here tonight.”

“That’s good. Gives you something to look at.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Do you know, is Eleanor coming in?”

It was Eleanor’s habit to let the table managers know if she intended to come in and play on a particular night. Sometimes they would save places at tables of high rollers or higher skilled players. Sometimes they would set up private games. In a way, my ex was a secret Vegas attraction. She was an attractive woman who was damn good at poker. That presented a challenge to men of a certain kind. The smart casinos knew this and played to it. Eleanor was always treated well at the Bellagio. If she needed anything—from a drink to a suite to a rude player removed from a table—she got it. No questions asked. And that was why she usually played here on the nights she played.

“Yeah, she’s coming in,” Freddy told me. “I don’t have anything for her right now but she’ll be coming along.”

I waited before hitting him with another question. I had to finesse this. I leaned on the railing and casually watched the dealer at the hold’em table put down the final deal of the hand, the cards scraping on the blue felt like quiet little whispers. Five people had stayed in for the whole ride. I watched a couple of their faces when they looked at the last card. I was watching for tells but didn’t see any.

Eleanor had told me once that the real players call the last card in hold’em the “river” because it gives you life or takes it away with it. If you’ve played the hand through to the seventh card, everything rides on it.

Three of the five players folded right away. The remaining two went back and forth to a call and one of the men I had watched took the pot with three sevens.

“What time did she say she was coming in?” I asked Freddy.

“Uh, she said the usual time. Around eight.”

Despite my attempt at being casual about it I could tell Freddy was getting hesitant, realizing his allegiance should be to Eleanor and not her ex-husband. I had what I needed so I thanked him and walked away. Eleanor was planning on putting our daughter to bed and then coming in to work. Maddie would be left with the live-in nanny watching over her.

When I got back to the casino entrance my car was empty. I looked around for Buddy and spotted him talking to one of the valet men. I called to him and waved good-bye. But he came running over and caught me at the door of the Mercedes.

“You taking off?”

“Yeah, I told you. I was just going in for a couple minutes. Thanks for staying with the car like I asked.”

He didn’t get it.

“No problem,” he said. “You find him?”

“Find who?”

“Whoever you were going in there to see.”

“Yeah, Buddy, I found him. I’ll see you —”

“Come on, man, let’s do this thing together. Terry was my friend, too.”

That gave me pause.

“Buddy, I understand. But the best thing you can do right now if you want to do something for Terry is go back home, wait for the agents to show up and then tell them every single thing you know. Don’t hold back anything.”

“You mean including that you sent me over there to the boat to steal the file and get the photos?”

Now he was just trying to taunt me because he finally understood that he was out.

“I don’t care if you tell them,” I said. “I told you, I’m working with them. They’ll know it before you even meet them. But just so you have it straight, I didn’t tell you to steal anything. I’m working for Graciela. That boat and everything in it belongs to her. Including those files and those photographs.”

I poked him hard in the chest.

“Got it, Buddy?”

He physically backed off.

“Yeah, I got it. I was just —”

“Good.”

I then put my hand out. We shook hands but there wasn’t anything very pleasant about it.

“I’ll catch you later, Buddy.”

He let go of my hand and I got in and closed the door. I started it up and drove away. In the mirror I watched him go in through the revolving door and knew he would lose all his money back to the casino before the night was over. He had been right. He should never have walked away from luck.

The dashboard clock told me that Eleanor would not be leaving her house for the night’s work at the casino for another ninety minutes. I could head over there now but knew it would be best to wait. I wanted to see my daughter but not my ex-wife. To her everlasting credit Eleanor had been kind enough to allow me full visiting privileges while she was working. So that would not be a problem. And I didn’t care if Maddie was awake or not. I just wanted to see her, hear her breathing and touch her hair. But it seemed that every time Eleanor and I crossed paths we skidded sideways and anger from both of us ruled the moment. I knew it was best this way, to come to the house when she was not there.

I could’ve gone back to the Double X and spent an hour reading the Poet file but instead I drove. Paradise Road was much less congested than the strip. It always is. I took Harmon over and then turned north and almost immediately into the parking lot of the Embassy Suites. I thought maybe Rachel Walling might want a cup of coffee and a fuller explanation of the next day’s excursion. I cruised through the lot looking for a bureau car that would be obvious to me because of its cheap hub caps and government plate. But I didn’t see one. I pulled out my cell, called information and got the number for the Embassy Suites. I called and asked for Rachel Walling’s room and was put through. The phone rang repeatedly but was not answered. I hung up and thought for a moment. I then reopened my phone and called the cell number she had given me. She answered right away.

“Hey, it’s Bosch, what are you up to?” I said as casually as I could.

“Nothing, just hanging out.”

“You at the hotel?”

“Yeah, why, what’s up?

“Nothing. I just thought you might want a cup of coffee or something. I’m out and about and have some time to kill. I could be at your hotel in a couple minutes.”

“Oh, well, thanks but I think I’m going to stay in tonight.”

Of course you can’t come out, I thought. You’re not even there.

“I’m kind of jet-lagged, to tell you the truth. It always hits me the second day. Plus, tomorrow we’ve got the early start.”

“I understand.”

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Are we still on for eight?”

“I’ll be out front.”

We hung up and I felt the first weight of doubt in my stomach. She was up to something, playing me in some way.

But then I tried to dismiss it. Her assignment was to keep tabs on me. She’d been upfront about that. Maybe I had this latest thing all wrong.

I made another circuit around the parking lot, looking for a Crown Vic or an LTD, but didn’t see one. I quickly drove out of the lot then and back onto Paradise Road. At Flamingo I turned west and went back across the strip and over the freeway. I pulled into the lot of a steakhouse near the Palms, the casino favored by many of the locals because it was off the strip and it drew a lot of celebrities. The last time Eleanor and I had talked civilly she told me she was thinking of switching her allegiance from the Bellagio to the Palms. The Bellagio was still where the money went, but most of that went into baccarat and pai gow and craps. Poker was a different skill and it was the only game where you weren’t playing against the house. She had heard through the local grapevine that all the celebrities and athletes that came over from L.A. to the Palms were playing poker and losing lots of cash while they learned.