Michael Connelly - Angels Flight

Bosch turned the car on, just to be doing something. Rider yawned and then he had to. Then Edgar joined in.

The phone rang. It was Mistress Regina. She asked for him by number.

“You can come to me in one hour. I require a donation of two hundred dollars for a one-hour session. Cash only and in advance. Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Uh, yes, Mistress Regina.”

“That’s very good.”

Bosch looked over at Rider, who was in the front passenger seat, and winked. She smiled back at him.

Regina gave the address and apartment number. Bosch turned the overhead light on and looked over at Rider’s notes. The address he had just been given was the same one Rider had but the apartment number was different. He told Regina he would be there and they ended the call.

“It’s a go. But not for an hour. She uses a different apartment in the same building.”

“We gonna wait?” Edgar asked.

“Nope. I want to get home and get some sleep.”

Bosch turned the car onto Kings Road and cruised a half block up until they found the address. It was a small apartment building made of wood and stucco. There was no parking anywhere so he pulled into a red zone in front of a fireplug and they got out. He didn’t really care if Regina had a front apartment and saw the slickback. They weren’t coming to make an arrest. All they wanted was information.

Apartments six and seven were in the back of the building anyway. Their doors were side by side. Bosch guessed the woman who called herself Mistress Regina lived in one apartment and worked in the other. They knocked on the work door.

And got no answer.

Edgar hit the door again, harder, and this time kicked it a couple times as well. Finally, a voice was heard from the other side.

“What is it?”

“Open up. Police.”

Nothing.

“Come on, Regina, we need to ask you some questions. That’s all. Open the door or we’ll have to break the lock. Then what are you gonna do?”

It was a baseless threat. Bosch knew he had no legal power to do anything if she didn’t want to open her door.

Finally, Bosch heard the locks turning and the door opened to reveal the angry face of the woman Bosch recognized from the photo print he had found in Howard Elias’s office.

“What do you want? Let me see some ID.”

Bosch badged her.

“Can we come in?”

“You’re LAPD? This is West Hollywood, Mister. You’re off your turf.”

She pushed the door closed but Edgar reached a strong arm up and stopped it. He pushed it all the way back open and stepped in, a mean look on his face.

“Don’t you be closing the door on my face, Mistress Regina.”

Edgar said her name in a tone that indicated that he was subservient to no one. Regina stepped back to allow him space to enter. Bosch and Rider followed him in. They stepped into a dimly lit landing with stairs going up and down from it. Bosch looked down the stairs to his left and saw them retreat into complete darkness. The stairs going up led to a lighted room. He moved to them and started up.

“Hey, you can’t just barge in here like this,” Regina said, but the protest was leaving her voice. “You need a warrant.”

“We don’t need anything, Mistress Regina, you invited us in. I’m Harry – or make that three-six-seven. We just talked on the phone, remember?”

She followed them up the stairs. Bosch turned and got his first full look at her. She was wearing a sheer black robe over a leather corset and black silk underwear. She wore black stockings and spike-heeled shoes. Her makeup consisted of dark eye liner and glaring red lipstick. It was a sad caricature of a depressing male fantasy.

“Been a long time since Halloween,” Bosch said. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Regina ignored the question.

“What are you doing here?”

“We have questions. Sit down. I want to show you a picture.”

Bosch pointed to a black leather couch and the woman reluctantly went to it and sat down. He put his briefcase down on the coffee table and opened it. He nodded slightly to Edgar and started looking for the photo of Elias.

“Hey, where’s he going?” Regina cried.

Edgar had moved to another set of stairs that led up to a loft.

“He’s insuring our safety by making sure you don’t have anybody hiding in the closet,” Bosch said. “Now take a look at this picture, please.”

He slid the photo across the table and she looked at it without touching it.

“Recognize him?”

“What is this?”

“Do you recognize him?”

“Of course.”

“He a client?”

“Look, I don’t have to tell you a fucking thing about – ”

“IS HE A CLIENT?” Bosch yelled, silencing her.

Edgar came down from the loft and moved across the living room. He glanced into the alcove kitchen, saw nothing that interested him and went down the stairs to the landing. Bosch then heard his steps on the lower staircase as he descended into the darkness below.

“No, he isn’t a client, okay? Now, will you please leave?”

“If he isn’t a client then how do you recognize him?”

“What are you talking about? Haven’t you been watching TV today?”

“Who is he?”

“He’s that guy, the one that got killed on – ”

“Harry?”

It was Edgar from below.

“What?”

“I think you ought to come down here a sec.”

Bosch turned to Rider and nodded.

“Take over, Kiz. Talk to her.”

Bosch went down the steps and made the turn in the landing. There was now a glowing red light emanating from the room below. As he came down Bosch saw Edgar was wide-eyed.

“What is it?”

“Check this out.”

As they crossed the room Bosch saw that it was a bedroom. One wall was completely mirrored. Against the opposite wall was a raised hospital-style bed with what looked like plastic sheets and restraints buckled across it. Next to it was a chair and a floor lamp with a red bulb in it.

Edgar led him into a walk-in closet. Another red bulb glowed from the ceiling. There was nothing hanging on the clothes rods running down either side of the closet. But a naked man stood spread-eagled on one side of the closet, his arms up and wrists handcuffed to the clothes rod. The cuffs were gold-plated and had ornate designs on them. The man was blindfolded and had a red ball gag in his mouth. There were red welts caused by fingernail scratches running down his chest. And between his legs a full liter bottle of Coke dangled at the end of a leather strap that was tied in a slipknot around the head of his penis.

“Jesus,” Bosch whispered.

“I asked him if he needed help and he shook his head no. I think he’s her customer.”

“Take the gag out.”

Bosch pulled the blindfold up on the man’s forehead while Edgar pulled out the gag. The man immediately jerked his face to the right and tried to turn away. He moved his arm and tried to use it to block the view of his face, but his cuffed wrist prevented him from hiding. The man was in his mid-thirties with a good build. It seemed as though he could certainly defend himself against the woman upstairs. If he wanted to.

“Please,” he said in a desperate voice. “Leave me alone. I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

“We’re the police,” Bosch said. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure. You think if I needed help I wouldn’t ask for it? I don’t need you here. This is completely consensual and nonsexual. Just leave us alone.”

“Harry,” Edgar said, “I think we ought to just step the fuck back out of here and forget we ever saw this guy.”

Bosch nodded and they stepped out of the closet. He looked around the room and saw that the chair had clothes draped over it. He went to them and checked the pockets of the pants. He pulled out the wallet and walked to the floor lamp, where he opened it and studied the driver’s license in the red glow. He felt Edgar come up behind him and look over his shoulder.