“I pulled up there and the place was swarming. Multiracial, multiage, people who had just lost it. They cleaned that place out in about fifteen minutes. I mean, everything. When they were done I walked in there and there was nothing left. They even stole the manikins. Absolutely nothing but the hangers left on the floor and the chrome display racks . . . and the thing is, all it had been was underwear. Four cops get off for beating the shit out of Rodney King on video and people respond by going nuts and stealing underwear. It was so surreal that that’s what comes into my head when people bring up the riots. I remember walking around in that empty store.”

“It didn’t matter what they took. They were acting out frustrations. It’s like the Thigh-Masters. That father and son didn’t care what they took. The important thing was that they took something, that in some way they made a statement. They had no use for those things but by taking them they were showing The Man. That’s the lesson the father taught his son.”

“It still doesn’t make — ”

Bosch’s phone rang and he opened it. It was Eleanor.

“You winning?” he asked.

He said it with a happy inflection and then immediately realized he had said it in such a way so that his passenger might not surmise what was really going on with his marriage. At once he felt embarrassed and guilty that he would even let what Entrenkin thought or interpreted enter into his relationship with Eleanor.

“Not yet. I just got here.”

“Eleanor, I want you to go home.”

“Harry, we’re not going to talk about this now. I — ”

“No, I’m not talking about all of that. I think the city . . . have you watched the news?”

“No. I’ve been coming here.”

“Well, it doesn’t look good. The media’s lighting the match, Eleanor. And if something happens and the city goes, you’re not in a good place to be.”

Bosch took a furtive glance at Entrenkin. He knew he was acting out white paranoia in front of her. Hollywood Park was in Inglewood, a primarily black community. He wanted Eleanor back at their home in the hills where it was safe.

“Harry, I think you’re being paranoid. I’ll be fine.”

“Eleanor, why take the — ”

“Harry, I have to go. They’re holding my chair. I’ll call you later.”

She hung up then and Bosch said good-bye to a dead line. He dropped the phone onto his lap.

“For what it’s worth,” Entrenkin said, “I think you’re being paranoid.”

“That’s what she said.”

“I’ll tell you right now there are as many blacks as whites, maybe even more, who don’t want to see it happen again. Give them the benefit of the doubt, Detective.”

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”