The Drop

to get the news to McQuillen before they got to him.
    Bosch rapped on the door with his knuckles as he opened it. As he stepped in, he saw two men in the room, just as before. But one was McQuillen and the other was a new man as well. McQuillen was standing by his workstation, spraying a disinfectant on the radio headset he was about to put on. He seemed unfazed by the appearance of the two men in suits. He even nodded as if to signal that they were expected.
    “Detectives,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
    “Mark McQuillen?” Bosch asked.
    “That would be me.”
    “Detectives Bosch and Chu, LAPD. We want to ask you a few questions.”
    McQuillen nodded again and turned to the other dispatcher.
    “Andy, you hold the fort? Hopefully this won’t take long.”
    The other man nodded and gave the smooth-seas signal with his hand.
    “Actually,” Bosch said, “it might. Maybe you should see if you can get someone in.”
    This time McQuillen spoke while looking directly at Bosch.
    “Andy, call Jeff, get him out. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    Bosch turned and gestured toward the door. McQuillen started out of the office. He was wearing a baggy shirt that was not tucked in. Bosch stayed behind him and kept his eyes on his hands the whole time. When they got into the garage, he put his hand on McQuillen’s back and directed him toward a taxi that was on jacks.
    “Do you mind putting your hands on the hood for a minute?”
    McQuillen complied, and when he did so his wrists extended past the cuffs of his shirtsleeves. Bosch saw the first thing he was hoping to see. A military-style watch on his right wrist. It had a large steel bezel with grip ridges.
    “Not at all,” McQuillen said. “And I’ll tell you right now that in my right-front waistband you will find a little two-shot popper I like to carry. It’s not the safest job in the world. I know you have it tougher but we work in there through the night, the garage door always open. We take each driver’s bank at the end of shift and sometimes the drivers themselves aren’t the nicest guys, if you know what I mean.”
    Bosch reached around McQuillen’s substantial girth and found the weapon. He pulled it out and held it up to show Chu. It was a Cobra Derringer with a big-bore barrel. Nice and small but hardly a popper. It could fire two .38 caliber rounds and they could do some damage if you used it up close enough. The Cobra had been on the list of guns McQuillen had registered and that Chu had pulled up on the ATF computer. Harry put it into his pocket.
    “You have a concealed weapons permit?” Bosch asked.
    “Not quite.”
    “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
    As Bosch finished the pat-down, he felt what he was sure was a phone in McQuillen’s right-front pocket. He left it in place, acting as though he had missed it.
    “Do you shake down everybody you bring in for questioning?” McQuillen asked.
    “Rules,” Bosch said. “Can’t take you in the car without cuffs unless we do the pat-down.”
    Bosch wasn’t exactly talking about department rules. More his own rules. When he had seen the Cobra on the ATF report, he guessed that it was a weapon McQuillen liked to carry on him—there wasn’t really much other reason to have a pocket pistol. Harry’s first priority was to separate him from it and anything else that might not have been on the ATF’s radar.
    “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
    They walked out of the garage and into the late afternoon sun. Walking on either side of McQuillen, the detectives led him toward their car.
    “Where are we going for this voluntary conversation?” McQuillen asked.
    “The PAB,” Bosch replied.
    “Haven’t seen the new building but if it is all the same, I’d rather go to Hollywood. It’s close and I can get back to work sooner.”
    This was the start of a cat-and-mouse game. The key thing from Bosch’s perspective was to keep McQuillen cooperating. The moment he shut down and said, I want a lawyer, was the moment everything halted. Being a former cop, McQuillen was smart enough to know this. He was playing them.
    “We can check if they have the space,” Bosch said. “Partner, give them a call.”
    Bosch had used the code word. As Chu pulled his phone, Bosch opened the back door of their sedan and held it while McQuillen climbed in. He closed it and over the hood of the car gave Chu a hand signal, like a cutoff motion. The meaning was, we are not going to Hollywood.
    Once they were