The Last Coyote

they’re quoting Revelations, Matthew, Paul, John three-sixteen, John this, John that. And it works! It goddamn works. These old guys on the board eat that shit up. Plus I guess they’re all sitting up there getting thick in their pants having all these women groveling in front of them. Anyway, you got me started, Harry. It’s your fault, not mine.”
    “Sorry about that.”
    “It’s okay. So what else is new? Haven’t seen you in the building. You got anything coming my way?”
    It was the question Bosch had been waiting for Goff to get to so he could nonchalantly steer the conversation toward Arno Conklin.
    “Ah, nothing much. It’s been slow. But, hey, let me ask you, did you know Arno Conklin?”
    “Arno Conklin? Sure, I knew him. He hired me. What are you asking about him for?”
    “Nothing. I was going through some old files, making room in one of the cabinets, and I came across some old newspapers. They were pushed into the back. There were some stories about him and I thought of you, thought it was about when you started.”
    “Yeah, Arno, tried to be a good man. A little high and mighty for my taste, but I think he was a decent man overall. Especially considering he was both a politician and a lawyer.”
    Goff laughed at his own line but Bosch was silent. Goff had used the past tense. Bosch felt a heavy presence push into his chest and he only realized then how strong the desire to avenge could be.
    “He’s dead?”
    He closed his eyes. He hoped Goff wouldn’t detect the urgency he had let slip into his voice.
    “Oh, no, he’s not dead. I meant, you know, when I knew him. He was a good man then.”
    “He’s still practicing law somewhere?”
    “Oh, no. He’s an old man. Retired. Once a year they wheel him out at the annual prosecutors banquet. He personally hands out the Arno Conklin Award.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Some piece of wood with a brass plate on it that goes to the administrative prosecutor of the year, if you can believe that. That’s the guy’s legacy, an annual award to a so-called prosecutor who doesn’t set foot inside a courtroom all year. It always goes to one of the division heads. I don’t know how they decide which one. Prob’ly whoever got his or her nose farthest up the DA’s ass that year.”
    Bosch laughed. The line wasn’t that funny but he was also feeling the relief of learning that Conklin was still alive.
    “It’s not funny, Bosch. It’s fucking sad. Administrative prosecutor, whoever heard of such a thing? An oxymoron. Like Andrew and his screenplays. He deals with these studio people called, get this, creative executives. There’s your classic contradiction. Well, there you go, Bosch, you got me going again.”
    Bosch knew Andrew was Goff’s roommate but he had never met him.
    “Sorry, Roger. Anyway, what do you mean, they wheel him out?”
    “ Arno? Well, I mean they wheel him out. He’s in a chair. I told you, he’s an old man. Last I heard he was in some full-care retirement home. One of the classy ones in Park La Brea. I keep saying I’m going to see him one day, thank him for hiring me way back when. Who knows, maybe I could put in a word for that award or something.”
    “Funny guy. You know, I heard that Gordon Mittel used to be his frontman.”
    “Oh, yeah, he was the bulldog outside the door. Ran his campaigns. That’s how Mittel got started. Now that’s one mean-I’m glad he got out of criminal law and into politics, he’d be a motherfucker to come up against in court.”
    “Yeah, I’ve heard,” Bosch said.
    “Whatever you’ve heard, you can double it.”
    “You know him?”
    “Not now and not then. I just knew to keep clear. He was already out of the office by the time I came in. But there were stories. Supposedly in those early days, when Arno was the heir apparent and everybody knew it, there was a lot of maneuvering. You know, to get next to him. There was one guy, Sinclair I think his name was, that was set to run Arno ’s campaign. Then one night the cleaning lady found some porno shots under his blotter. There was an internal investigation and the photos proved to be stolen from another prosecutor’s case files. Sinclair was dumped. He always claimed he was set up by Mittel.”
    “Think he was?”
    “Yes. It was Mittel’s style…But who knows.”
    Bosch sensed that he had said and asked enough to pass it off as conversation and gossip. Anything further and Goff might get suspicious about the