Trunk Music - Michael Connelly [69]
“You want a smoke?”
“Don’t play the good guy with me. Just tell me what’s what.”
Bosch shrugged off the rebuke and got up. He moved behind Goshen and took his keys out again. This time he unlocked one of the cuffs. Goshen brought his hands up and began rubbing the wrists to get circulation going. He noticed the length of hair on the table and slapped it onto the floor.
“Let me tell you something, Mr. L.A. I’ve been to a place where it doesn’t matter what they do to you, where nothing can hurt you. I’ve been there and back.”
“Everybody’s been to Disneyland, so what?”
“I’m not talking about fuckin’ Disneyland, asshole. I spent three years in the penta down in Chihuahua. They didn’t break me then, you aren’t going to do it now.”
“Let me tell you something then. In my life I’ve killed a lot of people. Just wanted you to know that up front. Time comes again, there won’t be any hesitation. None. This isn’t about good guy cops and bad guy cops, Goshen. That’s the movies. The movies where the bad guys have ponytails, I guess. But this is real life. You are nothing to me but meat. And I’m gonna put you down. That’s a given. It’s just up to you how hard and how far you want to go down.”
Goshen thought a moment.
“All right, so now we know each other. Talk to me. And I’ll take that smoke now.”
Bosch put his cigarettes and matches on the table. Goshen got one out and lit it. Bosch waited until he was done.
“I gotta advise you first. You know the routine.”
Bosch opened the piece of paper Iverson had left and read Goshen his rights. He then had the man sign his name on it.
“This is being taped, isn’t it?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay then, what’ve you got?”
“Your fingerprints were on Tony Aliso’s body. The gun we found behind the toilet will be going back to L.A. today. The prints are good to have, real good. But if the bullets they pick out of Tony’s gourd match that gun, then it’s all over. I don’t care what kind of alibi you line up or what your explanation will be or if your lawyer’s Johnny fucking Cochran, you won’t just be meat, you’ll be one hundred percent grade A dead meat.”
“That gun ain’t mine. It’s a plant, goddamn it. You know it and I know it. And it’s not going to fly, Bosch.”
Bosch looked at him a moment and felt his face getting hot.
“You’re saying I put that there?”
“I’m saying I watched the O.J. show. Cops out here are no different. I’m saying I don’t know if it was you or Iverson or whoever, but that gun’s a fuckin’ plant, goddammit. That’s what I’m saying.”
Bosch traced a finger along the top of the table, waiting for the anger to dissipate to the point where he could control his voice.
“You hang on to that bullshit story, Goshen, and you’ll go far with it. You’ll go about ten years and then they’ll strap you down and stick a needle in your arm. At least it’s not the gas chamber anymore. They make it easy on you guys now.”
Bosch leaned back but there wasn’t a lot of room. The back of the chair hit the wall. He took out the Chap Stick and reapplied it.
“We own you now, Goshen. All you have left is one small window of opportunity. Call it a little piece of destiny still in your grasp.”
“And what window’s that?”
“You know what window, you know what I’m talking about. Guy like you doesn’t move an inch without the okay. Give us the guy you worked the hit with and the guy who told you to put Tony in the trunk. You don’t make a deal and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.”
Goshen let out his breath and shook his head.
“Look, I did not do this. I did not!”
Bosch didn’t expect him to say anything different. It wasn’t that easy. He had to wear him down. He leaned across the table conspiratorially.
“Listen, I’m going to tell you something so that you know that I’m not bullshitting you. Maybe save some time, so you can decide where to go from here.”
“Go ahead, but it’s not going to change anything.”
“Anthony Aliso was wearing a black leather jacket Friday night. Remember that? One with the two-inch lapels. It —”
“You’re wasting your —”
“You grabbed him there, Goshen. Just like this.”