Trunk Music

talked to you last night, but she’s gone and won’t be back. And secondly, if you’re a friend of Tony’s, then how come you’re asking me how to find her?”
    She wasn’t as dumb as Bosch had thought. He decided to go direct.
    “Because Tony got himself killed, so I can’t ask him. I want to find Layla to tell her and maybe warn her.”
    “What?” she shrieked.
    Her voice cut through the loud music like a bullet through a slice of bread. Everybody in the place, including the naked Randy on the stage, looked in their direction. Bosch had no doubt that everyone in the place must think he had just propositioned her, offering an insulting fee for an equally insulting act.
    “Keep it down, Randy,” he quickly said.
    “It’s Rhonda.”
    “Rhonda then.”
    “What happened to him? He was just here.”
    “Somebody shot him in L.A. when he got back. Now, do you know where Layla is or not? You tell me and I’ll take care of you.”
    “Well, what are you? Are you really his friend or not?”
    “In a way I’m his only friend right now. I’m a cop. My name’s Harry Bosch and I’m trying to find out who did it.”
    Her face took on a look that seemed even more horrified than when he told her Aliso was dead. Sometimes telling people you were a cop did that.
    “Save your money,” she said. “I can’t talk to you.”
    She got up then and moved quickly away toward the door next to the stage. Bosch threw her name out after her but it was crushed by the sound of the music. He casually took a look around and noticed behind him that the tuxedo man was eyeing him through the darkness. Bosch decided he wasn’t going to stick around for Rhonda’s second show. He took one more gulp of beer-he hadn’t even touched his second glass-and got up.
    As he neared the exit the tuxedo leaned back and knocked on the mirror behind him. It was then that Bosch realized there was a door cut into the glass. It opened and the tuxedo stepped to the side to block Bosch’s exit.
    “Sir, could you step into the office, please?”
    “What for?”
    “Just step in. The manager would like a word with you.”
    Bosch hesitated but through the door he could see a lighted office where a man in a suit sat behind a desk. He stepped in and the tuxedo came in behind him and shut the door.
    Bosch looked at the man behind the desk. Blond and beefy. Bosch wouldn’t know whom to bet on if a fight broke out between the tuxedoed bouncer and the so-called manager. They were both brutes.
    “I just got off the phone with Randy in the dressing room, she says you were asking about Tony Aliso.”
    “It was Rhonda.”
    “Rhonda, whatever, never-the-fuck-mind. She said you said he was dead.”
    He spoke with a midwestern accent. Sounded like southside Chicago, Bosch guessed.
    “Was and still is.”
    The blond nodded to the tuxedo and his arm came up in a split second and hit Bosch with a backhand in the mouth. Bosch went back against the wall, banging the back of his head. Before his mind cleared, the tuxedo twirled him around until he was face-against-the-wall and leaned his weight against him. He felt the man’s hands begin patting him down.
    “Enough of the wiseass act,” the blond said. “What are you doing talking to the girls about Tony?”
    Before Bosch could say anything the hands running over his body found his gun.
    “He’s strapped,” the tuxedo said.
    Bosch felt the gun being jerked out of his shoulder holster. He also tasted blood in his mouth and felt rage building in his throat. The hands then found his wallet and his cuffs. Tuxedo threw them on the desk in front of the blond and held Bosch pinned against the wall with one hand. By straining to turn his head Bosch could watch the blond open the wallet.
    “He’s a cop, let him go.”
    The hand came off his neck and Bosch gruffly pulled away from the tuxedo.
    “An L.A. cop,” the blond said. “Hieronymus Bosch. Like that painter, huh? He did some weird stuff.”
    Bosch just looked at him and he handed the gun and cuffs and wallet back.
    “Why’d you have him hit me?”
    “That was a mistake. See, most cops what come in here, they announce themselves, they tell us their business and we help ’em if we can. You were sneaking around, Anonymous Hieronymus. We have a business to protect here.”
    He opened a drawer and pulled out a box of tissues and proffered it to Bosch.
    “Your lip’s bleeding.”
    Bosch took the whole box.
    “So this is true what she says you told