The Brass Verdict

he asked.
    “Haven’t seen or heard him. I guess I scared his ass away.”
    Bosch holstered his gun and threw me a look, as if to say my tough-guy pose was convincing no one except maybe myself.
    “What was that last shot?”
    “An accident.”
    I pointed toward the hole in the floor.
    “Give me that gun before you get yourself killed.”
    I handed it over and he put it into the waistband of his pants.
    “You don’t own a gun – not legally. I checked.”
    “It’s my investigator’s. He leaves it here at night.”
    Bosch scanned the ceiling, until he saw the two holes I had put there. He then looked at me and shook his head.
    He went over to the blinds and checked the street. Broadway was dead out there this time of night. A couple nearby buildings had been converted into residential lofts but Broadway still had a way to go before recapturing the nightlife it had had eighty years before.
    “Okay, let’s sit down,” he said.
    He turned from the window to see me standing behind him.
    “In your office.”
    “Why?”
    “Because we’re going to talk about this.”
    I moved into the office and took a seat behind the desk. Bosch sat down across from me.
    “First of all, here’s your stuff. I found it out there on the bridge.”
    From the pocket of his jacket he pulled my wallet and loose bills. He put it all on the desk and then reached back in for the coins.
    “Okay, now what?” I asked as I put my property back in my pocket.
    “Now we talk,” Bosch said. “First off, do you want to file a report on this?”
    “Why bother? You know about it. It’s your case. Why don’t you know who this guy is?”
    “We’re working on it.”
    “That’s not good enough, Bosch! He came after me! Why can’t you ID him?”
    Bosch shook his head.
    “Because we think he’s a hitter brought in from out of town. Maybe out of the country.”
    “That’s fucking fantastic! Why did he come back here?”
    “Obviously, because of you. Because of what you know.”
    “Me? I don’t know anything.”
    “You’ve been in here for three days. You must know something that makes you a danger to him.”
    “I’m telling you, I’ve got nothing.”
    “Then, you have to ask yourself, why did that guy come back? What did he leave behind or forget the first time?”
    I just stared at him. I actually wanted to help. I was tired of being under the gun – in more ways than one – and if I could’ve given Bosch just one answer, I would have.
    I shook my head.
    “I can’t think of a single-”
    “Come on, Haller!” Bosch barked at me. “Your life is threatened here! Don’t you get it? What’ve you got?”
    “I told you!”
    “Who did Vincent bribe?”
    “I don’t know and I couldn’t tell you if I did.”
    “What did the FBI want with him?”
    “I don’t know that, either!”
    He started pointing at me.
    “You fucking hypocrite. You’re hiding behind the protections of the law, while the killer is out there waiting. Your ethics and rules won’t stop a bullet, Haller. Tell me what you’ve got!”
    “I told you! I don’t have anything and don’t point your fucking finger at me. This isn’t my job. It’s your job. And maybe if you would get it done, people around here would feel-”
    “Excuse me?”
    The voice came from behind Bosch. In one fluid move he turned and pivoted out of his chair, drawing his gun and aiming it at the door.
    A man holding a trash bag stood there, his eyes going wide in fright.
    Bosch immediately lowered his weapon, and the office cleaner looked like he might faint.
    “Sorry,” Bosch said.
    “I come back later,” the man said in a thick accent from Eastern Europe.
    He turned and disappeared quickly through the door.
    “Goddamn it!” Bosch cursed, clearly unhappy about pointing his gun at an innocent man.
    “I doubt we’ll ever get our trash cans emptied again,” I said.
    Bosch went over to the door and closed and bolted it. He came back to the desk and looked at me with angry eyes. He sat back down, took a deep breath and proceeded in a much calmer voice.
    “I’m glad you can keep your sense of humor, Counselor. But enough with the fucking jokes.”
    “All right, no jokes.”
    Bosch looked like he was struggling internally with what to say or do next. His eyes swept the room and then held on me.
    “All right, look, you’re right. It is my job to catch this guy. But you had him right here. Right goddamn here! And so it stands to reason that he was here with a