The Black Box

how much of the sting?”
    “Five hundred cash back and two fifty in service coupons. I could talk to my manager about knocking a dollar or two off the sticker. But he won’t go much. We sell a lot of these things.”
    “Yeah, but why do I need service coupons when you say the thing runs like a tank?”
    “Maintenance and upkeep, my man. Those coupons will cover you at least a couple years, get what’m saying?”
    Bosch nodded and stared at the vehicle as if contemplating things.
    “So you don’t have anything used?” he finally asked.
    “We could go look out back.”
    “Let’s do that. I gotta at least be able to tell my old lady I checked the inventory.”
    “Good deal. Let me grab some keys.”
    Banks went into the manager’s office along the back wall ofthe showroom and soon came out with a large ring of keys. He led Bosch down a hallway to the rear of the building. They went out a doorway into the fenced lot, where the used tractors and ATVs were stored. A row of ATVs lined the rear wall of the dealership.
    “What I got is over here,” Banks said, leading the way. “Recreation or commercial?”
    Bosch wasn’t sure what he meant, so he didn’t answer. He acted like he didn’t hear the question because he was mesmerized by the shiny row of vehicles.
    “You got a farm or a ranch, or are you just going mud jumping?” Banks asked, making it clearer to Bosch.
    “I just bought a vineyard up near Lodi. I want something that can fit between the rows and get me out there fast. I’m too old to be walking that far.”
    Banks nodded like he knew the story.
    “A gentleman farmer, huh?”
    “Something like that, yeah.”
    “Everybody’s buying up vineyards because it’s cool to be in the wine biz. My boss here—the owner—owns lots of grapes up in Lodi. You know the Cosgrove Vineyard?”
    Bosch nodded.
    “Hard to miss it. But I don’t know them. I’m small-time compared to that.”
    “Yeah, well, you gotta start somewhere, get what’m saying? Maybe we can work out something here. What do you like?”
    He gestured toward the six flatbed ATVs that all looked the same to Bosch. All of them were green, and the only differences he could perceive were whether they had roll bars or complete cages and how badly beaten-up and scratchedthe beds were. There was no fancy plastic stand with price tags.
    “They only come in green, huh?” Bosch asked.
    “Only green on our used line right now,” Banks replied. “This is John Deere. We’re proud to be green. But if you want to talk about something new, we can order you one in camo.”
    Bosch nodded thoughtfully.
    “I want a cage,” he said.
    “All right, safety first,” Banks said. “Good choice there.”
    “Yeah,” Bosch said. “Always safety first. Let’s go take a look at that one inside again.”
    “No problem.”
    An hour later Bosch returned to his car, seemingly having come close to buying the ATV in the showroom but ultimately backing away, saying he needed to think about it. Banks was left frustrated by coming so close to a sale, but he tried to salvage things for another day. He gave Bosch his card and encouraged him to call back. He said he’d go over the manager’s head and ask the big boss to discount the new ATV further than the rebates and coupons. He told Bosch that he and the big boss were tight and that the relationship went back twenty-five years.
    There had been no purpose to the encounter other than for Bosch to get close to Banks and try to take his measure, maybe move him a little bit out of his comfort zone. The real move would come later, when part two of his plan began.
    Bosch started the rental car and pulled away from the curb, just in case Banks was watching him go. He then drove two blocks up Crows Landing, made a U-turn, and came backdown to the dealership. He parked half a block short of it and on the other side of the street this time, but still with a view of Banks at his desk.
    Banks never got another live customer the rest of the day. He worked the phones and computer sporadically, but it didn’t look to Bosch as though he had much success. He fidgeted nervously in his seat, repeatedly drumming his fingers on the desk and getting up and down to refill his coffee cup from the back. Twice Bosch saw him sneak a pour out of a pint bottle taken from a desk drawer into his coffee.
    At 6 P.M. Banks and the rest of the staff closed shop and left the dealership en masse. Bosch knew that Banks lived north of