The Drop

have a conflict of interest voting for any company repped by his son.”
    “Of course he would. But the first vote is with the Taxi Franchise Board, and who puts the people on that board? The council. And when it next comes before the council for ratification, sure, Irving nobly cites conflict of interest and steps out on the vote and it all looks completely aboveboard. But what about the backroom trade-offs? ‘You vote for me when I step out and next time I’ll vote for you.’ You know what goes on, Kiz. But what George offers is even more of a sure thing. He offers a fuller service, shall we say. Regent says, yes, we’ll take the full package, and a month after he’s hired by Regent, things start going sideways for the current holder of the franchise, B and W.”
    “What do you mean ‘sideways’?”
    “I’m trying to tell you. Less than a month after George Irving is hired by Regent, B and W drivers start getting popped on deuce raps and traffic citations and suddenly the company’s not looking so good.”
    “How many arrests?”
    “Three, the first coming a month after Irving signed on. And then there’s an auto accident where the B and W driver is held at fault. There are several traffic violations—all moving violations that give the appearance of reckless driving. Speeding, running traffic lights and stop signs.”
    “I think the Times wrote about this. The DUIs, anyway.”
    “Yeah, I have the story and I’m pretty sure George Irving’s the one who tipped them to it. It was all part of an organized plan to get the Hollywood taxi franchise.”
    “So you’re saying that the son went to the father and said put some pressure on B and W? The father then in turn reached into the department?”
    “I am not exactly sure how it worked yet. But both of them—father and son—still have connections in the department. The councilman has sympathizers and his son was a cop for five years. A guy who was a close friend of his works patrol in Hollywood. I have all the B and W arrest reports and the traffic citations. The same cop—George Irving’s friend—made all three DUI arrests and wrote two of the moving violations. A guy named Robert Mason. What are the chances of that? That he’d get all three deuces.”
    “It could happen. You make one arrest and then you know what to look for after that.”
    “Sure, Kiz, whatever you say. One of these guys wasn’t even pulled over. He was parked at a cab stand on La Brea when Mason rolled up on him.”
    “Well, were these legit busts or not? Did they blow?”
    “They blew and the busts were legit as far as I know. But three busts starting a month after Irving was hired. The DUIs, the moving violations and the accident report then become the centerpiece of Regent’s application to the franchise board to take Hollywood away from B and W. He had it completely greased and it just doesn’t smell right, Kiz.”
    She finally nodded, a tacit agreement with Bosch’s point of view.
    “Okay, even if I agree with you, there’s still the question: How does all of this get George Irving killed? And why?”
    “I’m not sure why but let me move to the—”
    Bosch stopped when there was a loud explosion of voices from the lobby. After a few seconds they were gone.
    “Okay, let me move to the night Irving took the high dive. He arrives by car at nine-forty, gives his keys to the valet and goes upstairs to the lobby to check in. Also arriving at that time is a writer from the East Coast named Thomas Rapport. He comes by cab from the airport and pulls in right behind Irving.”
    “Don’t tell me. He was in a Black and White cab.”
    “You know, Lieutenant, you really ought to be a detective.”
    “I tried it, but my partner was an asshole.”
    “I heard about that. Anyway, yes, it was a B and W cab and the driver actually recognized Irving as he was turning his car over to the valet. His picture had been shown around the garage when the application letter to the franchise board got copied to B and W. This driver, a guy named Rollins, recognizes Irving and gets on his radio and says, ‘What do you know, I just saw public enemy number one,’ or words to that effect. And on the other end of that radio call is the shift supervisor. The night man. A guy named Mark McQuillen.”
    Bosch stopped there and waited for her to recognize the name. She didn’t.
    “McQuillen as in ‘McKillin,’” he said. “That ring a bell?”
    It still didn’t break through.