Lost Light

parking lot and stopped next to a Volkswagen van three decades out of place. The smog was heavy. For the most part the view dropped off just past the Capital Records building.
    “Get to the point, huh?” Lindell said, turning in his seat toward me. “Okay, I’ll get to it. What’s going on with the investigation?”
    I looked at him for a long moment, trying to gauge whether he had turned up because of Marty Gessler or as a follow-up from Special Agent Peoples. As a test to determine if I was out of it. Sure Lindell and Peoples were different animals from different floors of the federal building. But they both carried the same badge. And there was no telling what kind of pressure had been brought to bear on Lindell.
    “What’s going on is that there is no investigation.”
    “What? Are you fucking me?”
    “No, I’m not fucking you. You could say I see the light. I was made to see it.”
    “Then what are you going to do, just drop it?”
    “That’s right. I’m going to get my car and go on vacation. Vegas, I think. I got a start on the sunburn this morning. I might as well go lose my money, too.”
    Lindell smiled like he was clever.
    “Fuck you,” he said. “I know what you’re doing. You think I’ve been sent out to test you, huh? Well, fuck you.”
    “That’s nice, Roy. Can you take me back now? I need to pack a bag.”
    “Not until you tell me what is really going on.”
    I cracked the door.
    “Okay, I can walk. I need the exercise.”
    I got out and started walking toward Mulholland. Lindell threw open his door, hitting the side of the old van. He came hurrying after me.
    “Listen, Bosch, listen to me.”
    He caught up to me and stood in front of me, very close, forcing me to stop. He put his hands into fists and held them up in front of his chest as if he was trying to break apart a chain that was binding him.
    “Harry, I’m here for me. Nobody sent me, okay? Do not drop this. Those guys down there, they were probably just throwing you a scare, that’s all.”
    “Tell that to the people they’ve been holding in there. I don’t feel like disappearing, Roy. You know what I mean?”
    “Bullshit. You’ve never been the kind of guy who would -”
    “Hey! Asshole!”
    I turned around at the sound of the voice and saw two men piling out of the sliding door of the Volkswagen van. They were bearded longhairs who looked like they belonged on Harleys, not in a hippie van.
    “You dented the shit out of the door,” the second one yelled.
    “How the fuck can you tell?” Lindell shot back.
    Here we go, I thought. I looked past the approaching behemoths and could see a four-inch crease in the front passenger door of the Volkswagen. Lindell’s door was still open and in contact with it, the obvious culprit.
    “You think it’s a joke?” said the first heavy. “How about if we put a dent in your face?”
    Lindell reached behind his back and in one swift move his hand came out from under his jacket with a pistol. With his free hand he reached forward and grabbed the first heavy by the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, taking a handful of beard in the process. The gun came up and the barrel was pressed into the taller man’s throat.
    “How ’bout you and David Crosby get back in that piece of shit and flower power your way the fuck out of here?”
    “Roy,” I said. “Easy.”
    The smell of marijuana was just now reaching us from the van. There was a long moment of silence while Lindell held eyes with the first heavy. The second stood nearby watching but unable to make a move because of the gun.
    “Okay, man,” the first one finally said. “Everything’s cool. We’ll just back on out of here.”
    Lindell shoved him away and dropped the gun down to his side.
    “Yeah, you do that, Tiny. Back on out. Go smoke the peace pipe somewhere else.”
    We watched silently while they went back to the van, the second man angrily slamming Lindell’s door so he could get into the front passenger seat of the van. The engine started and the van backed out and pulled out onto Mulholland. The requisite hand gestures were offered from both driver and passenger and then they were gone. I thought about myself just a few hours earlier giving the same salute to the camera in the cube. I knew how helpless the two men in the van felt.
    Lindell turned his attention back to me.
    “That was good, Roy,” I said to him. “With skills like that I’m surprised they didn’t tap you for a ninth-floor