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“Maybe. But if not, I’ll think of it.”
The garage door opened and Topknot backed the vehicle out. They headed to Bosch’s Jeep in silence. Bosch was seething but tried not to show it. He was glad it would be one-on-one at the drop-off.
They turned onto the gravel service road, and Topknot parked next to Bosch’s car rather than behind it. He got out and walked around the front to look for the binoculars. Bosch got out slowly, intentionally exaggerating his physical distress, even though he did think that the punch to the stomach was going to require a trip to the ER.
Bosch reached the front of the SUV as Topknot approached with his binoculars in hand.
“Here you go, Pops,” he said. “Take ’em and don’t come back.”
Bosch took the binoculars and shoved them into his jacket pocket.
“Tell your partner he’s a cheap-shot artist,” he said. “A coward does what he did.”
Topknot took the insult the way Bosch hoped he would. He put out his chest, balled his fists, and stepped closer, ready to strike.
“You want another shot, old man?”
Bosch quickly raised his hands in surrender again. But this time he kept his fingers together and slightly cupped his hands. Topknot didn’t notice and took the move as a sign of submission. He started to relax.
“No,” Bosch said. “I don’t want — ”
In a sudden strike, he slapped his cupped hands against Topknot’s ears. The move compressed air and energy into the ear canals and rendered the much younger and bigger man momentarily disoriented. He stumbled back a step.
“Wait,” he said.
But Bosch didn’t. He moved into him, grabbed Topknot’s shoulders, and pulled him forward as he drove his brand-new titanium knee into his groin. Topknot doubled over with an air-expelling oomph. Bosch grabbed him by the belt and the knot of his hair and pivoted, sending him headfirst into the SUV’s metal grille.
Topknot went down. He didn’t move. Bosch stood over him for a long moment, catching his breath, then headed to his car. He opened the door and looked back at the man on the ground. He was starting to stir and groan.
“Tell your partner I hope to see him again,” he said.
He got in the car and backed down the gravel road to Mulholland.
20
DR. CHAUDRY SLID back the curtain and entered, carrying a clipboard. She pulled the curtain closed behind her. It did little to deaden the sounds of the busy ER. Somebody in one of the other curtained examination bays had been moaning in pain for the entire hour Bosch had been waiting.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” Dr. Chaudry said. “It’s a busy night.”
She spoke with a slight Indian accent. She had dark hair pulled back in a tight, all-business knot. She was short, which made her white doctor’s coat seem too long. There was a red bindi at the center of her forehead.
“How did the scan look?” Bosch asked.
“The good thing is the imaging shows no internal bleeding,” Dr. Chaudry said. “Your liver is undamaged. That’s very good news. But the ultrasound reveals that your spleen and your left kidney are bruised, and that’s the cause of the ongoing pain you are feeling.”
“Okay, what can I do about it?”
“Well, to start with, bed rest, hydration, and pain management. Obviously no strenuous activity in the abdominal area.”
“No sit-ups. Not a problem. I can do all this at home, right?”
“I’d prefer to keep you here a couple more hours for observation.”
“Doctor, I can see you’re busy, and I’m sure you need the bed, so I’ll head home if you don’t mind. Will I need a prescription for the pain meds?”
“No, over-the-counter is fine. Take Tylenol. No Advil — that’s ibuprofen — or Aleve. NSAIDs affect kidney function, and one of yours is already stressed.”
“NSAIDs?”
