Trunk Music

joke.”
    Bosch smiled and nodded.
    “You’re cool, Lieutenant.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Anytime.”
    “And it’s Grace.”
    “Right. Grace.”
    Bosch was thinking about how much he liked Billets as he walked down the short hallway to the interview rooms and into the open door of room three. Edgar was just closing the cuffs on Powers’s wrists. His hands were in front of him now.
    “Do me a favor, Bosch,” Powers said. “Let me use the can in the front hallway.”
    “What for?”
    “So nobody’ll see me in the back. I don’t want anybody to see me like this. Besides, you might have a problem if people don’t like what they see.”
    Bosch nodded. Powers had a point. If they took him to the locker room, then all the cops in the watch office would likely see them and there would be questions, maybe even anger from some of the cops who didn’t know what was going on. The bathroom in the front hallway was a public rest room, but this early on a Sunday morning it would likely be empty and they could take Powers in and out of there without being seen.
    “Okay, let’s go,” Bosch said. “To the front.”
    They walked him past the front counter and down the hallway past the administration offices, which were empty and closed for the day. While Bosch stayed with Powers in the hall, Edgar checked the rest room out.
    “It’s empty,” he said, holding the door open from inside.
    Bosch followed Powers in and the big cop went to the furthest of three urinals. Bosch stayed by the door and Edgar took a position on the other side of Powers by the row of sinks. When Powers was finished at the urinal, he stepped toward one of the sinks. As he walked, Bosch saw that his right shoelace was untied and so did Edgar.
    “Tie your shoe, Powers,” Edgar said. “You trip and fall and break your pretty face, I don’t want any cryin’ ’bout po-lice brutality.”
    Powers stopped and looked down at the shoelace on the floor and then at Edgar.
    “Sure,” he said.
    Powers first washed his hands, used a paper towel to dry them and then brought his right foot up on the edge of the sink to tie his shoe.
    “New shoes,” Edgar said. “Laces on ’em always come undone, don’t they?”
    Bosch couldn’t see Powers’s face because the cop’s back was turned toward the door. But he was looking up at Edgar.
    “Fuck you, nigger.”
    It was almost as if he had slapped Edgar, whose face immediately filled with revulsion and anger. He looked over at Bosch, a quick glance to judge whether Bosch was going to do anything about his plan to hit Powers. But it was all the time Powers needed. He sprang away from the sink and threw his body into Edgar, pinning him against the white-tiled wall. His cuffed hands came up and the left one grabbed a handful of the front of Edgar’s shirt while the right pressed the barrel of a small gun into the stunned detective’s throat.
    Bosch had covered half of the distance to them when he saw the gun and Powers began to shout.
    “Back off, Bosch. Back off or you got a dead partner. You want that?”
    Powers had turned his head so that he was looking back at Bosch. Bosch stopped and raised his hands away from his body.
    “That’s it,” Powers said. “Now this is what you’re going to do. Take your gun out real slowly and drop it in that first sink there.”
    Bosch made no move.
    “Do it. Now.”
    Powers spoke with measured force, careful to keep his voice low.
    Bosch looked at the tiny gun in Powers’s hand. He recognized it as a Raven.25, a favored throw-down gun among patrol cops going back to at least his own time in a uniform. It was small-it looked like a toy in Powers’s hand-but deadly and it fit snugly into a sock or boot, virtually unseen with the pants leg pulled down. As Bosch came to the realization that Edgar and Rider had not completely searched Powers, he also knew that a shot from the Raven at point-blank range would certainly kill Edgar. It was against all his instincts to give up his weapon, but he saw no alternative. Powers was desperate and Bosch knew desperate men didn’t think things out. They went against the odds. They were killers. With two fingers he slowly removed his gun and dropped it into the sink.
    “That’s real good, Bosch. Now I want you to get on the floor underneath the sinks.”
    Bosch did as he was told, never taking his eyes off Powers as he moved.
    “Edgar,” Powers said. “Now your turn. You can just go ahead and drop yours on the