The Concrete Blonde (hb-3)

and pulled out the rover.
    “One, how we doing?”
    “Movie’s getting out now. I’m watching for him.”
    That wasn’t right, Bosch knew. No general release movie was that short. And he knew the Dome was a single theater. One movie shown at a time. So Mora had gone into the theater after the movie had started. If he had really gone in. An adrenaline-charged alert swept over him.
    “You sure it’s over, One? He’s barely been in there an hour.”
    “We’re going in!”
    There was panic in Sheehan’s voice. Then Bosch understood. We’re going in. Opelt had not followed Mora into the theater. They had clicked off on Rollenberger’s order to split up but they hadn’t followed the order. They couldn’t. Mora had seen Sheehan and Opelt the day before at the burrito stand by Central Division. There was no way one of them could go into a dark theater looking for Mora and risk being seen by the vice cop first. If that happened, Mora would instantly tumble to the setup. He would know. Sheehan had rogered the order from Rollenberger because the alternative was to tell the lieutenant that they had fucked up the day before.
    The VCR rewind clicked off. Bosch sat there motionless, his finger poised in front of the VCR. He knew they had been made. Mora was a cop. He had made the tail. The theater stop had been a scam.
    He hit the play button.
    This tape had not been erased. The quality of the image on it was better than Bosch had seen in the video booth at X Marks the Spot four nights earlier. The tape had all the production values of a feature-length porno tape. Framed in the TV picture was the four-poster bed on which two men were engaged in sex with a woman. Bosch watched for a moment and hit the fast forward button while the picture was still on the screen. The players in the video began a quick jerking motion that was almost comedic. Bosch watched as they changed couplings over and over. Every conceivable coupling in fast speed. Finally, he returned it to normal speed and studied the players.
    The woman did not fit the Follower’s mold. She wore the black wig. She was also rail-thin and young. In fact, she wasn’t a woman-legally, at least. Bosch doubted she was more than sixteen years old. One of her partners was young, too, perhaps he was her age or less. Bosch couldn’t be sure. He was sure, however, that the third participant was Ray Mora. His face was turned away from the camera but Bosch could tell. And he could see the gold medal, the Holy Spirit, bouncing on his chest. He turned the tape off.
    “I forgot about that tape, didn’t I?”
    Still on his knees in front of the television, Bosch turned. Ray Mora was standing there with a gun pointed at his face.
    “Hey, Ray.”
    “Thanks for reminding me.”
    “Don’t worry about it. Look, Ray, why don’t you put-”
    “Don’t look at me.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t want you to look at me! Turn around, look at the screen.”
    Bosch obediently looked at the blank screen.
    “You’re a leftie, right? With your right hand take out your gun and slide it across the floor this way.”
    Bosch carefully followed the orders. He thought he heard Mora pick the gun up off the floor.
    “You fucks think I’m the Follower.”
    “Look, I’m not going to lie to you, Ray, we were checking you out, that’s all... I know now, I know we’re wrong. You-”
    “The kosher burrito boys. Somebody ought to teach them how to follow a fucking suspect. They don’t know shit... took me a while but I figured something was going down after I saw them.”
    “So we’re wrong about you, right, Ray?”
    “You have to ask, Bosch? After what you just saw? The answer is, yeah, you got your head up your ass. Whose idea was it to check me out? Eyman? Leiby?”
    Eyman and Leiby were the co-commanders of Administrative Vice.
    “No. It came from me. It was my call.”
    A long moment of silence followed this confession.
    “Then maybe I ought to just blow your head off right here. Be within my rights, wouldn’t it?”
    “Look, Ray-”
    “Don’t!”
    Bosch stopped from turning all the way and looked back at the television.
    “You do that, Ray, and your life unalterably changes. You know that.”
    “It did that as soon as you broke in, Bosch. Why shouldn’t I just take it to the logical conclusion? Cap you and just disappear.”
    “‘Cause you’re a cop, Ray.”
    “Am I? Am I still going to be a cop if I let you go? You going to kneel there and tell me you’ll make it