Trunk Music - Michael Connelly [56]
“Let me see some ID.”
The man got up and approached Bosch, pulling a wallet from his inside coat pocket and putting a bored look on his face. He opened the wallet, flashing the badge and ID card.
“Iverson. From Metro. Captain Felton sent me.”
“What’s so important that Felton had to send somebody to break into my room?”
“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&E man were the same person. It didn’t seem so.
“What’s this guy