“That’s right!” I yelled. “Come on in!”
The image on the other side of the glass door disappeared. I heard footsteps moving away in the hallway and then the door to the bridge opening and closing. I stood stock-still and listened for any other sound. There was nothing.
Without taking my eyes off the door, I stepped over to the reception desk and picked up the phone. I called 911 and it was answered right away, but I got a recording that told me my call was important and that I needed to hold on for the next available emergency dispatcher.
I realized I was shaking, not with fear but with the overload of adrenaline. I put the gun on the desk, checked my pocket and found that I hadn’t lost my cell phone. With the office phone in one hand, I used the other to open the cell and call Harry Bosch. He answered on the first ring.
“Bosch! That guy you showed me was just here!”
“Haller? What are you talking about? Who?”
“The guy in the photo you showed me today! The one with the gun!”
“All right, calm down. Where is he? Where are you?”
I realized that the stress of the moment had pulled my voice tight and sharp. Embarrassed, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself before answering.
“I’m at the office. Vincent’s office. I was leaving and I saw him in the garage. I ran back inside and he ran in after me. He tried to get into the office. I think he’s gone but I’m not sure. I fired a couple of shots and then-”
“You have a gun?”
“Goddamn right I do.”
“I suggest you put it away before somebody gets hurt.”
“If that guy’s still out there, he’ll be the one getting hurt. Who the hell is he?”
There was a pause before he answered.
“I don’t know yet. Look, I’m still downtown and was just heading home myself. I’m in the car. Sit tight and I’ll be there in five minutes. Stay in the office and keep the door locked.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not moving.”
“And don’t shoot me when I get there.”
“I won’t.”
I reached over and hung up the office phone. I didn’t need 911 if Bosch was coming. I picked the gun back up.
“Hey, Haller?”
“What?”
“What did he want?”
“What?”
“The guy. What did he come there for?”
“That’s a good goddamn question. But I don’t have the answer.”
“Look, stop fucking around and tell me!”
“I’m telling you! I don’t know what he’s after. Now quit talking and get over here!”
I involuntarily squeezed my hands into fists as I yelled and put an accidental shot into the floor. I jumped as though I had been shot at by someone else.
“Haller!” Bosch yelled. “What the hell was that?”
I pulled in a deep breath and took my time composing myself before answering.
“Haller? What’s going on?”
“Get over here and you’ll find out.”
“Did you hit him? Did you put him down?”
Without answering I closed the phone.
Bosch made it in six minutes but it felt like an hour. A dark image appeared on the other side of the glass and he knocked sharply.
“Haller, it’s me, Bosch.”
Carrying the gun at my side, I unlocked the door and let him in. He, too, had his gun out and at his side.
“Anything since we were on the phone?” he asked.
“Haven’t seen or heard him. I guess I scared his ass away.”
Bosch holstered his gun and threw me a look, as if to say my tough-guy pose was convincing no one except maybe myself.
“What was that last shot?”
“An accident.”
I pointed toward the hole in the floor.
“Give me that gun before you get yourself killed.”
I handed it over and he put it into the waistband of his pants.
“You don’t own a gun – not legally. I checked.”
“It’s my investigator’s. He leaves it here at night.”
Bosch scanned the ceiling, until he saw the two holes I had put there. He then looked at me and shook his head.
He went over to the blinds and checked the street. Broadway was dead out there this time of night. A couple nearby buildings had been converted into residential lofts but Broadway still had a way to go before recapturing the nightlife it had had eighty years before.
“Okay, let’s sit down,” he said.
He turned from the window to see me standing behind him.
“In your office.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to talk about this.”
I moved into the office and took a seat behind the desk. Bosch sat down across from me.
“First of all, here’s your stuff. I found it out there on the bridge.”
From the pocket of his jacket he pulled my wallet and loose bills. He put it all on the desk and then reached back in for the coins.
“Okay, now what?” I asked as I put my property back in my pocket.
“Now we talk,” Bosch said. “First off, do you want to file a report on this?”
“Why bother? You know about it. It’s your case. Why don’t you know who this guy is?”
“We’re working on it.”
“That’s not good enough, Bosch! He came after me! Why can’t you ID him?”
Bosch shook his head.
“Because we think he’s a hitter brought in from out of town. Maybe out of the country.”
“That’s fucking fantastic! Why did he come back here?”
“Obviously, because of you. Because of what you know.”
“Me? I don’t know anything.”
“You’ve been in here for three days. You must know something that makes you a danger to him.”
“I’m telling you, I’ve got nothing.”
