“Look, I didn’t break in, okay? We’ve been calling all night and got no answer. We first of all wanted to make sure you were all right. And, secondly, the captain wants you to be in on the arrest, so he sent me over to try to find you. We gotta get going. Why don’t you get dressed?”
“What arrest?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you if you’d get dressed and we could get going. You hit the jackpot with those prints you flew in here with.”
Bosch looked at him for a moment and then went to the closet to grab a pair of pants and some underwear. He then went into the bathroom to put them on. When he came back out, he said one word to Iverson.
“Talk.”
Bosch quickly finished dressing as Iverson began.
“You know the name Joey Marks?”
Bosch thought a moment and then said it sounded familiar but he couldn’t place it.
“Joseph Marconi. They call him Joey Marks. Used to, before he tried to put on legitimate airs. Now, it’s Joseph Marconi. Anyway, he got the name Joey Marks ’cause that’s what he did, he left marks on anybody who crossed him, got in his way.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the Outfit’s guy in Vegas. You know what the Outfit is, right?”
“The Chicago Mafia family. They control or have the say, at least, on everything west of the Mississippi. That includes Vegas and L.A.”
“Hey, you took some geography, didn’t you? I probably won’t have to school you too much then on what’s what out here. You already’ve got a score card.”
“You’re saying the prints on my vic’s jacket came from Joey Marks?”
“In your dreams. But they did come back to one of his top guys and, Bosch, that’s like manna from heaven. We’re taking this guy down today, pulling him right the fuck out of bed. We’re going to turn him, Bosch, make him our boy and through him we’ll finally get Joey Marks. He’s been a thorn in our side going on near a decade now.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“No, I don’t think-oh, yeah, of course you and the LAPD have our undivided thanks for this.”
“No, you’re forgetting it’s my case. It’s not your case. What the fuck you people think you’re doing taking this guy down without even talking to me?”
“We tried to call. I told you that.”
Iverson sounded hurt.
“So? You don’t get me and you just go ahead with the plan?”
Iverson didn’t answer. Bosch finished tying his shoes and stood up ready to go.
“Let’s go. Take me to Felton. I can’t believe you guys.”
On the elevator down Iverson said that while Bosch’s exception to the plan was noted, it was too late to stop anything. They were heading out to a command post in the desert and from there they would move in on the suspect’s house, which was out near the mountains.
“Where’s Felton?”
“He’s out there at the CP.”
“Good.”
Iverson was silent during most of the ride out, which was good because it allowed Bosch to think about this latest development. He realized suddenly that Tony Aliso might have been washing money for Joey Marks. Marks was Rider’s Mr. X, he guessed. But something went wrong. The IRS audit was endangering the scheme and thereby endangering Joey Marks. Marks had responded by eliminating the washer.
The story felt good to Bosch, but there were still things that didn’t jibe. The break-in at Aliso’s office two days after he was dead. Why did whoever that was wait until then, and why didn’t they take all the financial records? The records-if connections between the dummy corporations and Joey Marks could be made-might be just as dangerous to Marks as Aliso was. Bosch found himself wondering if the hitter and the B amp;E man were the same person. It didn’t seem so.
“What’s this guy’s name, the one the prints matched?”
“Luke Goshen. We only had his prints on file because he had to give ’em to get the entertainment license for one of Joey’s strip clubs. The license is in Goshen’s name. It keeps Joey out of it. Nice and clean. Only not anymore. The prints tie Goshen to a murder and that means Joey isn’t far behind.”
“Wait a minute, what’s the name of the club?”
“Dolly’s. It’s in-”
“North Las Vegas. Son of a bitch.”
“What, I say something?”
“This Goshen guy, do they call him Lucky?”
“Probably not after today. His luck’s about to run out. Sounds like you know of him.”
“I met the prick last night.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“At Dolly’s. The last phone call from Aliso’s office in L.A. was to Dolly’s. I found out he was coming out here and spending time with one of the dancers at that place. I went to check it out last night and fucked up. Goshen had one of his guys give me this.”
Bosch touched the bump on his lip.
“I was wondering where you got that. Which one give you that?”
“Gussie.”
“Fucking Big John Flanagan. We’ll be bringing his lard ass in today, too.”
“John Flanagan? How they get Gussie out of that?”
“It’s on account he’s the best-dressed bouncer in the county. You know, the tuxedo. He gets all gussied up to go to work. That’s how he got that one. I hope you didn’t let him get away with puttin’ that knot on your lip.”
“We had a little discussion in the parking lot before I left.”
Iverson laughed.
“I like you, Bosch. You’re a tough nut.”
“I’m not sure I like you yet, Iverson. I’m still not happy about you people trying to take over my case.”
“It’ll work out for all of us. You’re going to clear your case and we’re going to take a couple of major douche bags out of the picture. City fathers are going to be smiling all around.”
“We’ll see.”
“There’s one other thing,” Iverson said. “We were already working a tip on Lucky when you showed up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We got a tip. It was anonymous. Came in Sunday to the bureau. Guy won’t give his name but says he was in a strip club the night before and hears a couple of big guys talking about a hit. He heard one call the other Lucky.”
“What else?”
“Just something about the guy being put in the trunk and then getting capped.”
“Felton know this when I talked to him yesterday?”
“No, it hadn’t filtered up to him. It came up last night after he found out the prints you brought matched Goshen. One of the guys in the bureau had taken the tip and was going to check it out. Put out a flier on it. It would’ve eventually gotten over there to L.A. and you woulda come calling. You’re just here sooner rather than later.”
They had completely left the urban sprawl of the city and the chocolate-brown mountain chain rose in front of them. There were sporadic patches of neighborhoods. Homes that were built way out and were waiting for the city to catch up. Bosch had been out this way once before on an investigation, going to a retired cop’s house. It had reminded him of no-man’s-land then and it still did now.
“Tell me about Joey Marks,” Bosch said. “You said he’s trying to go legitimate?”
“No, I said he’s trying to give the appearance of legitimacy. That’s two different things. Guy like that, he’ll never be legitimate. He can clean up his act, but he’s always going to be a grease spot on the road.”
“What’s he into? If you believe the media, the mob was run out of town to make way for all the All-American
