The Last Coyote

she said that friends called her Jazz. She spoke of growing up in the Florida sun, of never wanting to leave it. She had married once but it was a long time ago. There was nobody in her life now and she was used to it. She said she concentrated most of her life on her art and, in a way, Bosch understood what she meant. His own art, though few would call it that, took most of his life as well.
    “What do you paint?”
    “Portraits mostly.”
    “Who are they?”
    “Just someone I know. Maybe I’ll paint you, Bosch. Someday.”
    He didn’t know what to say to that so he made a clumsy transition to safer ground.
    “Why don’t you give this place to a realtor to sell? That way you could stay in Tampa and paint.”
    “Because I wanted the diversion. I also didn’t want to give a realtor the five percent. This is a nice complex. These units sell pretty well without realtors. A lot of Canadian investment. I think I’ll sell it. This was only the first week I’ve run the ad.”
    Bosch just nodded and wished he had kept the conversation on her painting instead of realtors. The clumsy change seemed to have clogged things up a bit.
    “I was thinking, you want to have dinner?”
    She looked at him solemnly, as if the request and her answer had far deeper implications. They probably did. At least, he thought they did.
    “Where would we go?”
    That was a stall but he played along.
    “I don’t know. It’s not my town. Not my state. You could pick a place. Around here or on the way up to Tampa. I don’t care. I’d like your company, though, Jazz. If you want to.”
    “How long has it been since you were with a woman? I mean on a date.”
    “On a date? I don’t know. A few months, I guess. But, look, I’m not a hard-luck case. I’m just in town and alone and thought maybe you’d-”
    “It’s okay, Harry. Let’s go.”
    “To eat?”
    “Yes, to eat. I know a place on the way up. It’s above Longboat. You’ll have to follow me.”
    He smiled and nodded.
    She drove a Volkswagen Beetle convertible that was powder blue with one red fender. He couldn’t lose her in a hailstorm let alone the slow-moving Florida highways.
    Bosch counted two drawbridges that they had to stop for before they got to Longboat Key. From there they headed north for the length of the island, crossed a bridge onto Anna Maria Island and finally stopped at a place called the Sandbar. They walked through the bar and sat on a deck overlooking the Gulf. It was cool and they ate crabs and oysters chased with Mexican beer. Bosch loved it.
    They didn’t talk much but didn’t need to. It was always in the silences that Bosch felt most comfortable with the women who had moved through his life. He felt the vodka and beer working on him, warming him toward her, sanding off any sharp edges to the evening. He felt a desire for her growing and tugging at him. McKittrick and the case had somehow been pushed into the darkness at the back of his mind.
    “This is good,” he said when he was finally nearing his capacity for food and drink. “It’s great.”
    “Yeah, they do it right. Can I tell you something, Bosch?”
    “Go ahead.”
    “I was only kidding about what I was saying about L.A. cops before. But I have known some cops before…and you seem different. I don’t know what it is but it’s like you’ve got too much of yourself left, you know?”
    “I guess.” He nodded. “Thanks. I think.”
    They both laughed and then in a hesitant move, she leaned over and kissed him quickly on the lips. It was nice and he smiled. He could taste garlic.
    “I’m glad you’re already sunburned or you’d be turning red again.”
    “No, I wouldn’t. I mean, that was a nice thing to say.”
    “You want to come home with me, Bosch?”
    Now he hesitated. Not because there was any deliberation in his answer. But he wanted her to have the chance to withdraw it in case she had spoken too quickly. After a moment of silence from her he smiled and nodded.
    “Yes, I would like that.”
    They left then and cut inland to the freeway. Bosch wondered as he tailed the Volkswagen if she would change her mind as she drove alone. He got his answer at the Skyway bridge. As he pulled up to the tollbooth with his dollar already in hand, the tolltaker shook his head and waved off the money.
    “Nope. That lady in the bug got ya covered.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. You know her?”
    “Not yet.”
    “I think you’re goin’ to. Good luck.”
    “Thanks.”

Chapter