where there was a boat ramp providing access to the river. He parked next to a line of pickup trucks with empty boat trailers attached. He waited another twenty minutes before Banks finally came out of the bar and got into his car.
Bosch had seen him put down three drinks in the bar. He assumed there had been one before he got there and at least one after. His concern was that if Banks showed obvious evidence of driving impairment, Bosch would have to pull him over too soon to stop him from possibly hurting himself and others.
But Banks was a skilled drunk driver. He pulled out and started east on Hatch, back the way he had come. Bosch followed from a distance but kept his eyes on the taillights in front of him. He saw no swerving, speeding, or unexplained braking. Banks appeared to have control of his car.
Nevertheless, it was a tense ten minutes as Bosch followed Banks to the entrance ramp to the 99 freeway, where he headed north. Once they were on the freeway, Bosch narrowed the gap and pulled up right behind Banks. Five minutes later, they passed the Hammett Road exit and then came to the sign that welcomed travelers to San Joaquin County. Bosch put the strobe light on the dashboard and turned it on. He closed the space between the two cars even more and flicked on the bright lights, illuminating the interior of Banks’s car. Bosch had no siren but there was no way Banks could miss the light show behind him. After a few seconds, Banks put on his right-turn signal.
Bosch was counting on Banks not pulling off onto the freeway shoulder, and he was right. The first exit to Ripon was a half mile away. Banks slowed down and exited, then pulled to a stop in the gravel lot of a closed fruit stand. He killed the engine. It was dark and deserted. That made it perfect for Bosch.
Banks didn’t get out of his car, unlike many protesting drunks. He didn’t lower his window either. Bosch walked up, his large Mag-Lite held on his shoulder so that it would be too bright should Banks try to look up at his face. He rapped his knuckles on the window and Banks grudgingly lowered it.
“You had no cause to pull me over, man,” he said before Bosch could speak.
“Sir, you’ve been swerving the whole time I’ve been behind you. Have you been drinking?”
“Bullshit!”
“Sir, step out of the car.”
“Here.”
He handed his driver’s license out the window. Bosch took it and held it up into the light as if he were looking at it. But he never took his eyes off Banks.
“Call it in,” Banks said, a clear challenge in his voice. “Call it in to Sheriff Drummond and he’ll tell you to go back to your undercover car and get the fuck out of here.”
“I don’t need to call Sheriff Drummond,” Bosch said.
“You better, buddy, ’cause your job’s on the line here. Take a hint from me. Make the fucking call.”
“No, you don’t understand, Mr. Banks. I don’t need to call Sheriff Drummond because this isn’t Stanislaus County. This is San Joaquin County, and our sheriff is named Bruce Ely. I could call him but I don’t want to piss him off over something as small as a suspected drunk driver.”
Bosch saw Banks drop his head down as he realized he had crossed the county line and gone from protected to unprotected territory.
“Step out of the car,” Bosch said. “I won’t ask you again.”
Banks shot his right hand to the ignition and tried to start the car. But Bosch was ready for it. He dropped the MagLite and quickly reached into the car, prying Banks’s hand off the ignition before he could get the car started. He then held Banks by the wrist with one hand while he used the other to open the door. He pulled Banks out of the car and spun him around, pushing his chest against the side of the car.
“You are under arrest, Mr. Banks. For resisting an officer and suspicion of drunk driving.”
Banks struggled as Bosch pulled his arms behind his back to cuff him. He managed to turn and look back. The driver’s door was open and the interior light was on. There was enough light for him to recognize Bosch.
“You?”
“That’s right.”
Bosch managed to finish cuffing Banks’s wrists together.
“What the fuck is this?”
“This is you being arrested. Now we’re going to walk to the back door of my car, and if you struggle with me again, you are going to trip and fall right on your face, you understand? You’ll be spitting out gravel, Banks. You want that?”
“No, I just want a lawyer.”
“You get a lawyer once you’re booked. Let’s go.”
Bosch jerked him away from his car and walked him back to the Crown Vic. The strobe light was still pulsing. Bosch took him to the rear passenger-side door, put him in the seat, and then buckled his seat belt.
“If you move from this spot while we’re driving, you’re going to get the butt end of my flashlight in your mouth. Then you’ll want a dentist to go with your lawyer. Am I clear?”
“Yes. I won’t fight. Just take me in and get me my lawyer.”
Bosch slammed the door shut. He went back to Banks’s car, took the keys out of the ignition, and locked it up. The last thing he did was go back to his car for the “Out of Gas” note he had used the night before. He took it to Banks’s car and clipped it under the windshield wiper.
As he returned to his car, Bosch saw a car silhouetted by the lights from the freeway. The car was dark and parked on the shoulder of the freeway exit. Bosch didn’t remember passing a car parked there when he exited behind Banks.
The interior of the car was too dark for Bosch to see if there was anyone in it. He opened his door and got in, killed the strobe, and dropped it into drive. He then quickly pulled out of the gravel lot and drove down the freeway frontage road. The whole way he kept his eye on the rearview mirror, half to check on Banks and half to check for the mystery car.
Bosch pulled into the parking lot of the Blu-Lite and saw that there were only two other cars and they were on the other side of the lot from Bosch’s room. He backed into the slot that put the passenger side of his car closest to his room’s door.
“What’s going on here?” Banks demanded.
Bosch didn’t answer. He got out and used his key to open his room’s door. He then went back to the car and scanned the parking lot before getting Banks out of the backseat. He walked him quickly toward the door, his arm around him as if he were supporting a drunk being taken to his room.
Inside the room, he hit the light switch, kicked the door closed behind him, and walked Banks to the chair at the table that positioned him facing the lights.
“You can’t do this,” he protested. “You have to book me and give me a lawyer.”
Bosch still said nothing. He moved behind Banks, uncuffed one of his wrists, and looped the cuff and chain through the two bars that supported the back of the chair. He then put the cuff back on Banks’s wrist, securing him to the chair.
“You are going to be so fucked,” Banks said. “I don’t care which county this is, you crossed a line, you fuck! Take the cuffs off!”
Bosch didn’t answer. He walked into the kitchenette and filled a plastic cup with water from the sink. He then went to the table and sat down. He drank some of the water and put the cup on the table.
“Are you fuckin’ listening to me? I know people. Powerful people in this Valley and you have so fucked yourself.”
Bosch stared at him without speaking. The seconds went by. Banks tensed his muscles and Bosch heard the cuffs rattling against the chair’s support bars. But the effort failed. Banks leaned forward in defeat.
“Are you going to say something or not?” he yelled.
Bosch took out his phone and put it down on the table. He took another drink of water and then cleared his throat. He finally spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. He used a variation on the opener he’d used the week before with Rufus Coleman.
“This moment is the most important moment of your life. The choice you are about to make is the most important choice of your life.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You know all about it. And if you want to save yourself, you will tell me everything. That is the
