The Closers

You’ll make it home in a couple hours.”
    “Great.”
    Holding the phone up to his right ear, Bosch got out of the truck and walked to the office, never allowing Spider a decent look at his face. He spoke to Rider while he walked.
    “It looks like I’m getting out of here,” he said.
    “Good,” she said. “The man in question is putting on your wheel. Watch yourself when you leave.”
    “Will do.”
    Once he was in the little office Bosch closed the phone. Mackey had gone behind a greasy, cluttered desk. He took several seconds to use a calculator to do the simple arithmetic of the tow and repair charges.
    “Comes to one twenty-five even,” he said. “Four miles towing and the valve was three bucks.”
    Bosch sat down in a chair in front of the desk and pulled out his fold of money.
    “Can I get a receipt for it?”
    As he counted out six twenties and a five he heard the drill outside. The tire was being put back on. He held the money out, but Mackey was preoccupied by looking at a Post-it note he had found on the desk. He held it at an angle that allowed Bosch to read it.

    Ro-FYI. Visa called to confirm employment on your app.

    Bosch read it in a few seconds, but Mackey looked at it for a long time before finally dropping the note back on the desk and taking the money from Bosch. Mackey put the money in a cash drawer and then started fishing around on the desk for a receipt pad. He was taking a long time.
    “Kenny usually writes up the receipts,” he said. “And he went to get some chicken.”
    Bosch was about to say never mind about the receipt when he heard the scrape of a step behind him and knew that someone had entered the office. He didn’t turn in case it was Spider.
    “All right, Ro, it’s done. You just need to let her down.”
    Bosch knew this was the tight moment. Mackey would either introduce him or not.
    “All right, Spider,” Mackey said.
    “Then I’m outta here.”
    “Okay, man, thanks for sticking. Catch you tomorrow.”
    Spider left the office without Bosch ever turning around. Mackey found what he was looking for in the center drawer and scribbled something on it. He gave it to Bosch. It was a blank receipt. He had written $125 in a childlike scrawl at the bottom.
    “You can just fill that out,” Mackey said as he got up. “I’ll go drop your machine and you can get out of here.”
    Bosch followed him out, realizing he had left the newspaper on the seat of the truck. He wondered if he should leave it there or come up with an excuse to go back into the truck so he could get it and maybe leave it in the office where he knew Mackey watched television during the slow parts of his shift.
    He decided to leave it where it was. He had planted the seed as best he could. It was time now to just step back and see what grew from it.
    The Mercedes was off the truck now. Bosch walked around to the driver’s side. Mackey was stowing the harness in the back of the tow truck.
    “Thanks, Roland,” Bosch said.
    “Just Ro, man,” Mackey responded. “You take care, man. And do yourself a favor and stay out of South-Central.”
    “Don’t worry about me,” Bosch said. “I will.”
    Mackey smiled and winked as he pulled off his glove again and offered Bosch his hand. Bosch shook it and smiled back. He then looked down at their hands and saw a tiny white scar in the fleshy part between Mackey’s right thumb and finger. The tattoo from a Colt.45.
    “I’ll catch you later,” he said.

30
    BOSCH DROVE TO THE SPOT where he had met Rider at the start of the surveillance shift and she was there waiting. He parked and got into her Taurus.
    “That was close,” she said. “Turns out you probably did know that guy. Jerry Townsend. Ring a bell? We ran the plate on his pickup when he left work and got the ID.”
    “Jerry Townsend? No, not the name. I just recognized his face.”
    “He has a manslaughter conviction in ’ninety-six. Served five years. Sounds like it was a domestic abuse case, but that’s all they could pull off the computer. I bet if we pulled the file your name would be on it. That’s how you recognized him.”
    “You think he could be connected to this thing we’re working?”
    “I doubt it. What’s probably going on is that whoever owns that station doesn’t mind hiring ex-cons. They come cheap, you know? And if he’s scamming on repairs, then who’s going to complain?”
    “Well, let’s get back and see what happens.”
    She put the car into gear and