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“North Hollywood. A warehouse I have access to.”
“What warehouse? Where?”
“It’s on San Fernando Road. A block east of Sheldon Street.”
“I need the exact address.”
“I don’t know it. It’s got a sign out front, says ‘B and D Brakes.’ They made brake pads in there.”
“And how do you have access?”
“The guy was a customer. He borrowed money and couldn’t pay it back. We took it over.”
Bosch remembered that loan-sharking was one of the criminal enterprises ascribed to the Spolu.
“How do I get in?”
“There’s a garage opener back in the van at the house.”
“What exactly is in the warehouse?”
“Everything. The rockets, the missiles, everything.”
“And what’s going to happen when I open the garage? You have it rigged like the container at the port?”
“It’s not rigged, Bosch, and neither was the port. That’s not on me. Those guys did something in there that set it off. Those missiles were supposed to help take out Putin’s fleet, not blow up here.”
“Get your story straight, Novak. You said before they were going to Putin.”
“What I said before is that you don’t know shit and this proves it. You think — ”
“All I know is that I can’t trust you. So this is what I’m going to do.”
Bosch pulled two more zip ties out of the bundle, made another loop, and bound Novak’s ankles. He pulled two more out and connected them into a three-foot length, then moved back to Novak and connected the tab from his neck loop to the leash he had created. The end of each zip tie had a hole in the plastic so it could be screwed into place when used to bundle wires and cables. Bosch hooked the end of the leash onto an exposed nail that had been driven through one of the risers on the underside of the stairs.
“What are you doing?” Novak asked.
“You try to leave and you’re going to pull that loop tighter around your neck and cut off your air,” Bosch said.
“You can’t leave me like that.”
“Yes, I can, and I’m going to. So don’t fall asleep. You fall over and that’ll do the trick too.”
“Come on, Bosch. I’m not going to run. You got my feet and hands tied. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know you’re not. But if I get blown up opening that garage, you’re going to have to stay awake for about two weeks.”
“You sick fuck. You like doing this to people.”
“No, Stokely, I only like doing it to you. One bully to another.”
Bosch pushed the duffel bag toward the door of the hollow. He started crawling that way.
“Bosch, please,” Novak said. “Just take me with you. I’ll show you the missiles and you call in the FBI. You don’t need to do all of this. This is crazy.”
Bosch could see genuine fear in Novak’s eyes. It made him flash on the question Carmen Hinojos had asked: Was the king of the bedwetters a bedwetter himself? In that moment, he felt a fleeting sense of sympathy for Novak, but just as quickly he pushed it aside.
“Maybe it’s crazy,” Bosch said. “But I like the idea of you worrying whether anybody is going to get here before you choke yourself to death.”
