Lost Light

turned back to the chair I noticed his eyes flutter and then go still at half mast.
    “Hey, Law? It’s me, Harry Bosch.”
    I noticed the green light on the monitor on the bureau and moved behind the chair to turn it off.
    “Harry?” he said. “Where?”
    I came back around the chair and looked down on him with a frozen smile on my face.
    “Right here, man. You awake now?”
    “Yeah… mmm ’wake.”
    “Good. There’s some stuff I need to tell you. And I got you something.”
    I went to the bed and started pulling the clock out of the box Andre Biggar had packed for me.
    “Black Bush?”
    His voice was alert now. Once again I regretted my choice of words to him. I came back into his field of vision holding the clock up.
    “I got you this clock for the wall. Now you’ll be able to tell the time when you need it.”
    He blew a burst of air out through his lips.
    “She’ll just take it down.”
    “I’ll tell her not to. Don’t worry.”
    I opened the toolbox and pulled out the hammer and a drywall nail from a plastic package that contained a variety of nails for different purposes. I surveyed the wall to the left of the television and picked a spot at center. There was an electrical outlet directly below. I held the nail up high on the wall and drove it halfway in with the hammer. I was hanging the clock when the door opened and Danny looked in.
    “What are you doing? He doesn’t want a clock in here.”
    I finished hanging the clock, lowered my hands and looked at her.
    “He told me he did want a clock.”
    We both looked at Law to settle it. His eyes flitted from his wife to me and then back again.
    “Let’s try having a clock for a while,” he said. “I’d like to know the time of day so I know when my shows are coming on.”
    “Fine,” she said in a clipped tone. “Whatever you want.”
    She left the room, closing the door behind her. I leaned over and plugged the clock’s line into the outlet. Then I checked my watch and reached up to set the time and turn on the camera. When I was finished I put the hammer back into the toolbox and snapped the latch.
    “Harry?”
    “What?” I asked, though I knew what the question would be.
    “Did you bring me some?”
    “A little.”
    I reopened the toolbox and took out the flask I had filled in the parking lot at the Vendome.
    “Danny said you’re hung over. You sure?”
    “’Course I’m sure. Give me a taste, Harry. I need it.”
    I went through the same routine as the day before and then waited to see if he could tell I had watered down the whiskey.
    “Ah, that’s the good stuff, Harry. Give me another, would you?”
    I did and then I closed the flask, feeling somehow guilty about giving this broken man the one joy he seemed to have left in life.
    “Listen, Law, I’m here to give you a heads-up. I think I sort of kicked over a can of worms with this thing.”
    “What happened?”
    “I tried to run down that agent you said had called Jack Dorsey about the currency numbers. You know, about the problem?”
    “Yeah, I know. Did you find her?”
    “No, Law, I didn’t. The agent was Martha Gessler. That ring a bell with you?”
    His eyes moved across the ceiling as if that was where he kept his memory banks.
    “No, should it?”
    “I don’t know. She’s missing. She’s been missing for three years, since right about the time she called Jack.”
    “Holy shit, Harry.”
    “Yeah. So I kind of walked into that when I called up to try to track that call.”
    “They’re going to come talk to me?”
    “I don’t know. But that’s the heads-up. I think they might. Somehow, they’ve got this whole thing tied into a terrorism angle. It’s one of these post-September eleven crews running with it now. And I hear they like to kick ass and read the rule book later.”
    “I don’t want them coming here, Harry. What did you start?”
    “I’m sorry about that, Law. If they come, just let them ask their questions and you answer them the best you can. Get their names and tell Danny to call me after they leave.”
    “I’ll try. I just want to be left alone.”
    “I know, Law.”
    I moved closer to his chair and held the flask up into his field of vision.
    “You want more?”
    “Does the pope shit in the woods?”
    I poured a good slug into his mouth, then a chaser. I waited for it to go down and then work its way back up into his eyes. They seemed to glaze over.
    “You okay?”
    “Fine.”
    “There are a few more questions I have