Trunk Music

quickly so that he might not notice it wasn’t a Metro badge, and gave him twenty dollars.
    “Police business. I’ll be twenty-thirty minutes tops. I need the car here because when we leave we’re going to have to really book.”
    The man looked at the twenty in his hand as if it were human feces. Bosch reached into his pocket, pulled out another twenty and gave it to him.
    “Okay?”
    “Okay. Leave me the keys.”
    “No. No keys. Nobody touches the car.”
    Bosch had to take the picture out of the trunk to get to Eleanor’s suitcase and a gun kit he kept there. He then repacked the trunk and lugged the suitcase inside, waving off an offer of help from a doorman. In the lobby, he put the case down and looked at Edgar.
    “Jerry, thanks a lot,” he said. “You were there, man. Eleanor’s going to change and then I’m going to shoot her out to the airport. I probably won’t be back until late. So let’s just meet here at eight o’clock tomorrow and we’ll go to court.”
    “Sure you don’t need me for the airport run?”
    “No, I think we’re fine. Marks won’t try anything now. And if we’re lucky, Gussie won’t be waking up for another hour or so anyway. I’m going to go check in.”
    He left Eleanor there with him and went to the desk. There was no wait. It was late. After giving the clerk his credit card, he looked back at Eleanor saying her good-bye to Edgar. He put out his hand and she shook it but then she pulled him into an embrace. Edgar disappeared into the crowd of the casino.
    Eleanor waited until they were in his room before she spoke.
    “Why am I going to the airport tonight? You said you doubted they would do anything.”
    “Because I want to make sure you’re safe. And tomorrow I won’t be able to worry about it. I’ve got court in the morning and then I’m driving Goshen to L.A. I have to know you’re safe.”
    “Where am I going to go?”
    “You could go to a hotel but I think my place would be better, safer. You remember where it is?”
    “Yes. Up off Mulholland?”
    “Yeah. Woodrow Wilson Drive. I’ll give you the key. Take a cab from the airport and I’ll be there by tomorrow night.”
    “Then what?”
    “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”
    She sat down on the edge of the bed and Bosch came around and sat next to her. He put his arms around her shoulders.
    “I don’t know if I could live in L.A. again.”
    “We’ll figure it out.”
    He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
    “Don’t kiss me. I need to take a shower.”
    He kissed her again and then pulled her back onto the bed. They made love differently this time. They were more tender, slower. They found each other’s rhythm.
    Afterward, Bosch took the first shower and then while Eleanor bathed he used oil and a rag from his gun kit to clean the Glock that had been thrown into the pool. He worked the action and trigger several times to make sure the weapon was working properly. Then he filled the clip with fresh ammunition. He went to the closet and took a plastic laundry bag off the shelf, put the gun inside it and shoved it beneath a stack of clothes in Eleanor’s suitcase.
    After her shower Eleanor dressed in a yellow cotton summer dress and twined her hair into a French braid. Bosch liked watching her do it with such skill. When she was ready, he closed the suitcase and they left the room. The head valet came up to Bosch as he was putting the suitcase into the trunk.
    “Next time, thirty minutes is thirty minutes. Not an hour.”
    “Sorry ’bout that.”
    “Sorry doesn’t cut it. I could’ve lost my job, man.”
    Bosch ignored him and got in the car. On the way to the airport he tried to compose his thoughts into articulate sentences that he could recite to her but it wasn’t working. His emotions were too much of a jumble.
    “Eleanor,” he finally said. “Everything that’s happened, it’s my fault. And I want to try to make it up to you.”
    She reached over and put her hand on his thigh. He put his hand on top of hers. She didn’t say anything.
    At the airport, Bosch parked in front of the Southwest terminal and got her suitcase out of the trunk. He locked his own gun and badge in the trunk so he could go through the airport’s metal detector without a problem.
    There was one last flight to L.A., leaving in twenty minutes. Bosch bought her a ticket and checked her bag. The gun would cause no problem as long as the bag was checked. He then escorted her to the terminal,