The Murder Book

"I'm an artist."

"In a sense you are. Without the people in your community, art would go dead. It would be a fucked world, man- come on, don't do this. This is stupid, we're both worthwhile, we both have lots to live for."

"Do we?"

"Sure," said Bosc, voice smoothing at the nuance of calm in Milo 's reply. "Just think about it: There's lots of good stuff waiting for both of us."

"Why," said Milo, "do I think you've taken a hostage negotiation course?"

Bosc smiled uneasily. "You're dissing me, but I'm being real with you. Fine, I can dig that. I dissed you, played with your head, you're entitled. But focus on this: At this very moment I'm being realer than anyone you'll ever meet."

Milo approached the sofa from one side, took hold of Bosc's T-shirt. "Get up, or I'll shoot you in the kneecap."

Bosc's smile dropped like a stone down a glacier hole. "You take me out there, and I scream-"

"Then you'll die screaming."

He yanked and Bosc stumbled to his feet and Milo marched him toward the door.

Bosc said, "I give you credit, man, switching wheels the way you did. I thought I knew all the tricks, but you were too quick for me, I give you credit, give you full credit. Only there's something you don't know."

"There's plenty I don't know, Craig," said Milo. Figuring the guy was bargaining for time- another negotiation trick. If only he knew he was expending needless energy. Because eventually, he'd be let loose. What choice did Milo have? The question was where and when. And Bosc would reward the largesse with instant hatred and an overpowering bloodlust for revenge. Given Bosc's position in the department, he'd be very likely to do serious damage, and Milo knew he was screwed.

In big trouble, just as Bosc had gloated. But what choice had there been? Continue flopping around as others yanked the strings, Mr. Meat Puppet?

He shoved Bosc toward the door. Bosc said, "No, I mean something you should know right now. Specifically. For your own sake."

"What's that?"

"You've gotta let me go, first."

"Right."

"I mean it, man. At this point, I've got nothing to lose, so you can do what the fuck you want to me and I'm not go

"My friend," said Milo. Thinking: Rick? Jesus, it had been Rick Bosc tailed initially, Rick's car Bosc boosted. All these years he'd managed to keep Rick out of this world, and now.

He jammed the gun hard into the small of Bosc's back. Bosc gasped, but kept his voice cool. "Your shrink friend Delaware. You switched cars, but he didn't. Still driving round in that green Caddy. I put a satellite tracer on it days ago, know exactly where the dude goes. It feeds into a computer, and I get the data, I know where the feed is. And let me tell you, man, he's been a traveling fool. Did he tell you he was go

"Where'd he go?"

Long silence.

Milo poked even harder. Used his other hand to clamp the back of Bosc's neck.

"Uh-uh, no way," Bosc gasped. "You can fucking blow out my spine, do whatever bad stuff you want, but I'm not giving up my trump card. And something else. And this is the main issue: I'm not the only one knows where the dude is. Other people know, by now. Or they will, real soon. The bad guys. 'Cause the plan was to tell them, leave them one of those anonymous phone calls. We fucking set up your buddy, man. Not to hurt him, necessarily, just to use him, to get everyone together. Converging, you know? It was supposed to be perfectly timed, you were supposed to be in on it, too. That's what I was doing at your place today. I was go

"Bullshit," said Milo. "You were settled in for the night, work was the last thing on your mind."

"Bullshit, yourself, I'm a night owl, fucking Batman-Dracula, come alive when the sun goes down. The plan was perfect, only you screwed it by being too smart and switching cars, and now Delaware's out in the cold, man, and if you want to help him, there's only one thing you can do and you better do it quick."

Milo twirled Bosc around, clamped Bosc's gullet at arm's length, aimed the gun at Bosc's groin.

"Go ahead," said Bosc. "Do your thing. I'm go

Staring back defiantly.

Sincere.

If the word could be applied to the bastard.

CHAPTER 40

Bert said, "Yes, Aimee, the world is nice. Now how about you and I go over to the café, see if we can bake up something."

Aimee smiled, kissed Bill on the forehead, and padded out of the room without a glance at me. Bert said, "We'll be back in a short while. I'll bring you a sugarless brioche, Bill. Alex, what can I get you?"

"I'm fine."

"I'll get you something. You may be hungry later."

I sat on the bed, opposite the wheelchair. "Good to meet you, Mr…"

"We're the Bakers, now," said Bill. "It was as good a name as any, and it made Aimee smile. Because one thing she could always do was cook and bake."

"Bill Baker."

He gri

"It does have a ring to it," I said.

"It does, indeed." He grew serious. "Before we start, I need you to know something. My Aimee, she's like a kid. Always been different, always been scorned. I used to scorn her, like everyone else. Back when I was pushing dope and her brothers used to buy product from me. I liked selling to them because it was a nice change of pace for a South Central junkie. I'd meet them up in the hills above Bel Air, and it was so gorgeous, nothing like my usual transaction locales. I used to call it the scenic route. Make some quick money and get a tour of the way the other side lives."

The same hills where Bowie Ingalls had died in a single-car encounter with a tree. The boys agreeing to meet him in a familiar spot.

I said, "Did you have lots of clients on the Westside?"

"Enough. Anyway, that's how I met Aimee. Once in a while, the boys would bring her along. When their parents were in Europe or somewhere, which was a lot of the time, those parents were always gone. When they did bring her, they'd leave her in the car and make cruel comments. Embarrassed to be seen with her. To be related to her. I went along with the program. Back then, I had not an atom of compassion in my soul, was hollow, cold, manipulative, thinking only of me, me, me, and not very much of myself, at that. Cause if I'd really thought a lot about myself, I wouldn't have done the things I did."

He raised his arms with effort. Compressed his face and pressed his palms together.

"I was a very bad person, sir. I can't say that I'm a good person, now, and I don't give myself any credit for changing, because it was life that changed me." A slow smile split his head. "How much sin can a blind man with no feet get into? I'd like to think I wouldn't be bad, even with eyes and legs. But I can never be sure. I don't really feel sure of myself, here." One hand lowered laboriously and touched his belly.

He laughed. "Eye for an eye, leg for a leg. I ruined lots of lives, and now I'm paying for it. Almost ruined Aimee's life, too. Gave her dope- big dose of LSD, blotter acid. Her brothers' idea, but I didn't have to be talked into it. We forced her to swallow it, big joke, hahaha. She hollered and fussed and cried, and I stood around laughing with them."

He drew a hand over sightless eyes.