Trunk Music

mob lawyer can do with that.”
    Bosch didn’t say anything. He knew she was right.
    “Well, I’m not going to put myself through that,” she said. “I got a dose of reality when they jerked me out of my home and took me down to Metro. I’m not going to go to bat for them on this. Now can you get me out of here?”
    “As long as you are sure. You can’t change your mind once we’re out of here.”
    “I’m as sure as I’ll ever be.”
    Bosch nodded and led her out to the porch.
    “It’s your lucky day, boys,” he said to the three thugs. Then to Edgar he said, “We’re pulling out of here. We’ll talk about it later.”
    Edgar just nodded. Bosch went one by one to the Samoans and put their own cuffs on their wrists and then took off the others. When he was done, he held the key up in front of the smaller of the two giants and then tossed it into the pool. He went over to the fence that ran behind the pool and took down a long pole with a net attached to the end of it. He fished his gun off the bottom and handed it to Eleanor to hold. He then returned to Gussie, who was dressed completely in black. Edgar was still standing to his right, holding the gun against his temple.
    “Almost didn’t recognize you without the tux, Gussie. Will you give Joey Marks a message?”
    “Yeah. What?”
    “Fuck you. Just tell him that.”
    “He’s not going to like that.”
    “I don’t really care. He’s lucky I don’t leave him three bodies here as a message.”
    Bosch looked over at Eleanor.
    “Anything you want to say or do?”
    She shook her head.
    “Then we’re outta here. Only thing is, Gussie, we’re one set of cuffs short. That’s too bad for you.”
    “There’s rope in the-”
    Bosch hit him on the bridge of the nose with the butt end of his gun, crushing whatever bone had not been broken in their earlier scuffle. Gussie dropped heavily to his knees, then pitched forward, his face making a thud on the porch tile.
    “Harry! Jesus!”
    It was Edgar. He looked shocked by the sudden violence.
    Bosch just looked at him a moment and said, “Let’s go.”
    When they got to Eleanor’s apartment, Bosch backed the car up nearly to the door and popped the trunk.
    “We don’t have a lot of time,” he said. “Jerry, you stay out here, watch for anybody coming. Eleanor, you can fill the trunk with whatever you can fit in there. That’s about all you can take.”
    She nodded. She understood. Las Vegas was over for her. She could no longer stay, not with what had happened. Bosch wondered if she also understood that it was all because of him. Her life would still be as it had been if he had not wanted to reach out to her.
    They all got out of the car and Bosch followed Eleanor into the apartment. She studied the broken door for a moment until he told her he had done it.
    “Why?”
    “Because when I didn’t hear from you I thought…I thought something else.”
    She nodded again. She understood that, too.
    “There’s not a lot,” she said, looking around the place. “Most of this stuff I don’t care about. I probably won’t even need the whole trunk.”
    She went into the bedroom, took an old suitcase out of the closet and started filling it with clothes. When it was full, Bosch took it out and put in the trunk. When he came back in, she was filling a box from the closet with her remaining clothes and other personal belongings. He saw her put a photo album in the box and then she went to the bathroom to clear the medicine cabinet.
    In the kitchen all she took was a wine bottle opener and a coffee mug with a picture of the Mirage hotel on it.
    “Bought this the night I won four hundred sixty-three dollars there,” she said. “I was playing the big table and I was way in over my head but I won. I want to remember that.”
    She put that in the top of the full box and said, “That’s it. That’s all I have to show for my life.”
    Bosch studied her a moment and then took the box out to the car. He struggled a bit, getting it to fit in next to the suitcase. When he was done, he turned around to call to Eleanor that they must go and she was already standing there, holding the framed print of The Nighthawks, the Edward Hopper painting. She was holding it in front of her like a shield.
    “Will this fit?”
    “Sure. We’ll make it fit.”
    At the Mirage, Bosch pulled into the valet circle again and saw the chief valet frown as he recognized the car. Bosch got out, showed the man his badge