Stocks and Bonds was a storefront bail bond agency across from the Hollywood station on Wilcox. Bosch had heard they were looking for a skip tracer, preferably female because a good portion of the bail jumpers out of Hollywood station were prostitutes and a female tracer stood a better chance of running them down. He had gone over and talked to the owner, Charlie Scott, about it and he had agreed to consider Eleanor for the job. Bosch was honest about her background, both good and bad. Former FBI agent on the plus side, convicted felon being the minus. Scott said he didn’t believe the criminal record would be a problem — the position did not require a state private investigator’s license, which Eleanor could not qualify for with a record. The problem was that he liked his tracers to be armed — especially a woman — when they went looking for bail jumpers. Bosch didn’t share the concern. He knew that most skip tracers were unlicensed to carry weapons but did so anyway. The true art of the craft, though, was never to get close enough to your quarry to make having or not having a weapon a question. The best tracers located their quarry from a safe distance and then called the cops in to make the pickup.

“Don’t talk to him, Harry. I think he was just trying to do you a favor but reality hit him between when he told you to send me in and when I arrived. Just let it go.”

“But you’d be good at that.”

“That’s beside the point.”

Bosch stood up.

“I’ve got to get ready.”

He went into the bedroom and stripped off his clothes, took another shower and then dressed in a fresh suit. Eleanor was in the same position on the couch when he came back out to the living room.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said, not looking at her. “We’ve got a lot to do. Plus the bureau’s coming in tomorrow.”

“The bureau?”

“Civil rights. The chief made the call.”

“He thinks it will keep things calm down south.”

“He hopes.”

“Do you have a name of who is coming over?”

“Not really. There was an assistant SAC at the press conference today.”

“What was his name?”

“Gilbert Spencer. But I doubt he’ll be involved anymore.”

Eleanor shook her head.

“He’s after my time. He probably just came for the show.”

“Yeah. He’s supposed to send a team over tomorrow morning.”

“Good luck.”

He looked at her and nodded.

“I don’t have the number yet. If you need me just use the pager.”

“Okay, Harry.”

He stood there for a few moments before finally asking her what he wanted to ask all along.

“Are you going to go back?”

She looked back out through the doors.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Eleanor . . .”

“Harry, you have your addiction. I have mine.”