The Concrete Blonde Part 10

"What's the price of the whole video? I'll buy it. When the renter brings it back you can hold it for me and I'll come pick it up. How much?"

"Well, Tails Tails is popular. We're going with a $39.95 price tag but for you, Officer, I'll give our law enforcement discount. Fifty bucks." is popular. We're going with a $39.95 price tag but for you, Officer, I'll give our law enforcement discount. Fifty bucks."

Bosch said nothing to that. He had the cash and paid it.

"I want a receipt."

After the purchase was completed, the small guy put the video box in a brown paper bag.

"You know," he said, "Maggie c.u.m Loudly is still on a couple of our loops in the back. You might want to check it out."

He smiled and pointed to a sign on the wall behind him.

"We have a no-exchange policy, by the way."

Bosch smiled back.

"I'll check it out."

"Hey, by the way, what name you want us to hold this video under when it comes back in?"

"Carlo Pinzi."

It was the name of the Outfit's L.A. capo.

"Very f.u.c.king funny, Mr. Pinzi, we'll do that."

Bosch went through the curtain into the back rooms and was almost immediately met by a woman wearing high heels, a black G-string and an ice-cream man's coin changer on a belt, nothing else. Her large silicone-perfected b.r.e.a.s.t.s were dotted by unusually small nipples. Her dyed blonde hair was short and she had too much makeup around her gla.s.sy brown eyes. She looked like she was either nineteen or thirty-five.

"Do you want a private encounter or change for the video booths?" she asked.

Bosch took out his now thin fold of cash and gave her two dollars for quarters.

"Can I keep a dollar for myself? I don't get paid nothin', just tips."

Bosch gave her another dollar and took his eight quarters to one of the small curtained booths where the occu-pied light wasn't on.

"Let me know if you need anything in there," the woman in the G-string called after him.

She was either too stoned or too stupid or both not to have made him as a cop. Bosch waved her away and pulled the curtain shut behind him. The s.p.a.ce he had was about the size of a phone booth. There was a gla.s.s viewing window through which he could see a video screen. Displayed on the screen was a directory of twelve different videos he could select from. It was all video now, though they were still called loops, after the 16mm film loops that ran over and over again in the first peep machines.

There was no chair but there was a small shelf with an ashtray and a Kleenex box on it. Used tissues were littered on the floor and the booth smelled like the industrial disinfectant they used in the coroner's vans. He put all eight quarters in the coin slot and the video picture came on.

It was two women on a bed kissing and ma.s.saging each other. It took Bosch only a few seconds to eliminate them as possibly being the girl on the video box. He began pus.h.i.+ng the channel b.u.t.ton and the picture jumped from coupling to coupling-heteros.e.xual, h.o.m.os.e.xual, bis.e.xual-his eyes lingering only long enough to determine whether the woman he was looking for was there.

She was on the ninth loop. He recognized her from the video box he had bought. Seeing her in motion also helped convince him that the woman who used the name Magna c.u.m Loudly was the concrete blonde. In the video she lay on a couch on her back, biting one of her fingers while a man knelt between her legs on the floor and rhythmically ground his hips into hers.

Knowing this woman was dead, had died violently, and standing there watching her submit to another kind of violence affected him in a way he was unsure he even understood. Guilt and sorrow welled up as he watched. Like most cops, he had spent a stint in vice. He had also seen some of the films of the two other adult film actresses who were killed by the Dollmaker. But this was the first time this uneasiness had hit him.

On the video, the actress took the finger out of her mouth and began to moan loudly, living up to her billing. Bosch fumbled with the sound k.n.o.b and turned it down. But he could still hear her, her moans turned into shouts, from videos in other booths. Other men were watching the same show. It made Bosch feel creepy knowing the video had drawn the interest of different men for different reasons.

The curtain behind him rustled and he heard someone move behind him into the booth. At the same moment he felt a hand move up his thigh to his crotch. He reached into his jacket for his gun as he turned but then saw it was the coin changer.

"What can I do for you, darling?" she cooed.

He pushed her arm away from him.

"You can start by getting out of here."

"C'mon, lover, why look at it on TV when you can be doing it? Twenty bucks. I can't go lower. I have to split it with the management."

She was pressed against him now and Bosch couldn't tell if it was his breath or hers that was lousy with cigarettes. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were hard and she was pus.h.i.+ng them against his chest. Then suddenly she froze. She had felt the gun. Their eyes held each other for a moment.

"That's right," Bosch said. "If you don't want to go for a ride to the cage, get out of here."

"No problem, Officer," she said.

She parted the curtain and was gone. Just then the screen went back to the directory. Bosch's two dollars were up.

As he walked out, he heard Magna c.u.m Loudly yelling in false joy from the other booths.

8.

On the ride on the freeway to the next valley, he tried to imagine that life. He wondered what hope she might still have had and still nurtured and protected like a candle in the rain, even as she lay there on her back with distant eyes turned toward the stranger inside her. Hope must have been the only thing she had left. Bosch knew that hope was the lifeblood of the heart. Without it there was nothing, only darkness.

He wondered how the two lives-killer's and victim's-had crossed. Maybe the seed of l.u.s.t and murderous desire had been planted by the same loop Bosch had just seen. Maybe the killer had rented the video Bosch had just paid fifty dollars for. Could it have been Church? Or was there another out there? The box, Bosch thought, and pulled off at the next exit, Van Nuys Boulevard in Pacoima.

He pulled to the curb and took the video box out of the brown paper bag the small guy had provided. He turned the light on in the car and studied every surface of the box, reading every word. But there was no copyright date that would have told him when the tape was made, whether it had been made before or after Church's death.

He got back on the Golden State, which took him north into the Santa Clarita Valley. After exiting on Bouquet Canyon Road he wound his way through a series of residential streets, past a seemingly endless line of California custom homes. On Del Prado, he pulled to the curb in front of the house with the Ritenbaugh Realty sign out front.

Sylvia had been trying to sell the house for more than a year, without luck. When he thought about it, Bosch was relieved. It kept him from facing a decision about what he and Sylvia would do next.

Sylvia opened the door before he reached it.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What do you have?"

"Oh, it's something from work. I've gotta make a couple calls in a while. Did you eat?"

He bent down and kissed her and moved inside. She had on the gray T-s.h.i.+rt dress she liked to wear around the house after work. Her hair was loose and down to her shoulders, the blonde highlights catching the light from the living room.

"Had a salad. You?"

"Not yet. I'll fix a sandwich or something. I'm sorry about this. With the trial and now this new case, it's ... well, you know."

"It's okay. I just miss you. I'm sorry about how I acted on the phone."

She kissed him and held him. He felt at home with her. That was the best thing. That feeling. He had never had it before and he would forget it at times when he was away from her. But as soon as he was back with her it was there.

She took him by the hand into the kitchen and told him to sit down while she made him a sandwich. He watched her put a pan on the stove and turn on the gas. Then she put four strips of bacon in the pan. While they cooked, she sliced a tomato and an avocado and laid out a bed of lettuce. He got up, took a beer from the fridge and kissed her on the back of the neck. He stepped back, annoyed that the memory of the woman grabbing him in the booth intruded on the moment. Why had that happened?

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

She put two slices of sunflower bread into the toaster and took the bacon out of the pan. A few minutes later she put the sandwich in front of him at the table and sat down.

"Who do you have to call?"

"Jerry Edgar, maybe a guy at Ad-Vice."

"Ad-Vice? She was p.o.r.no? This new victim?"

Sylvia had once been married to a cop and she made leaps of thought like a cop. Bosch liked that about her.

"Think so. I have a line on her. But I've got court, so I want to give it to them."

She nodded. He never had to tell her not to ask too much. She always knew just when to stop.

"How was school today?"

"Fine. Eat your sandwich. I want you to hurry up and make your calls because I want us to forget about court and school and your investigation. I want us to open some wine, light some candles and get in bed."

He smiled at her.

They had fallen into such a relaxed life together. The candles were always her signal, her way of initiating their lovemaking. Sitting there, Bosch realized he had no signals. She initiated it almost every time. He wondered what that meant about him. He worried that maybe theirs was a relations.h.i.+p solely founded on secrets and hidden faces. He hoped not.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" she asked. "You're really s.p.a.ced."

"I'm fine. This is good. Thank you."

"Penny called tonight. She's got two people interested, so she's going to have an open house on Sunday."

He nodded, still eating.

"Maybe we could go somewhere for the day. I don't want to be here when she brings them through. We could even leave Sat.u.r.day and go overnight somewhere. You could get away from all of this. Maybe Lone Pine would be good."

"That sounds good. But let's see what happens."

After she left the kitchen for the bedroom, Bosch called the bureau and Edgar picked up. Bosch deepened his voice and said, "Yeah, you know that thing you showed on TV. The one that gots no name?"

"Yes, can you help us?"

"Sure can."

Bosch covered his mouth with his hand to hold back the laughter. He realized he hadn't thought of a good punch line. His mind raced as he tried to decide what it should be.

"Well, who is it, sir?" Edgar said impatiently.

"It-it's-it's ..."

"It's who?"

"It's Harve Pounds in drag!"

Bosch burst out laughing and Edgar easily guessed who it was. It was stupid, not even funny, but they both laughed.

"Bosch, what do you want?"

It took him some time to stop laughing. He finally said, "Just checking in. Did you call Ray Mora?"

"Nah, I called over to Ad-Vice and they said he wasn't working tonight. I was going to talk to him tomorrow. How'd you do?"

"I think I've got a name. I'll give Mora a call at home so he can pull what they have on her first thing."

He told Edgar the name and heard the other detective laugh.

"Well, at least it's original. How-what makes you think it's her?"

Bosch answered in a low voice in case his voice was carrying to the bedroom.

"I saw a loop and I have a box from a video with her picture on it. It looks like the plaster face you got. A little off on the wig. But I think it's her. I'll drop the box off on your desk on my way into court tomorrow."

"Cool."

"Maybe Mora can get an early start on getting her real name and prints over to you. She probably had an adult entertainment license. All right if I call him?"

"That's cool. You know him."

They hung up. Bosch didn't have a home number for Mora. He called Detective Services and gave his name and badge number and asked to be put through. It took about five minutes and then Mora answered after three rings. He seemed out of breath.

"It's Bosch, you gotta minute?"

"Bosch, yeah, Bosch, what's up, man?"

"How's business?"

"Still sucks."