Bosch walked to the window and split the blinds with a finger. He could only see the two cars that were already in the lot when they arrived. Whoever had just driven into the lot had apparently turned around and then driven out. He turned back to check on Banks, then took his jacket off and threw it on the bed, exposing the pistol holstered on his hip. He sat back down across from Banks.

“Okay, where were we? Right, the choice. You have a choice to make tonight, Reggie. The immediate choice is whether to speak to me or not. But that decision has great implications for you. It’s really a choice between spending the rest of your life in prison, or ameliorating your situation with your cooperation. You know what ameliorate means? It means ‘make better.’”

Banks shook his head, but not to say no. It was more of an I-can’t-believe-what-is-happening-to-me shake of the head.

“Now I’m going to take the gag off, and if you try to yell out again, then . . . well, then there are going to be consequences. But before I do that, I want you to concentrate on what I tell you here for the next few minutes because I want you to really understand the position you’re in. You understand?”

Banks dutifully nodded and even tried to voice his agreement through the gag, but it came out as an unintelligible sound.

“Good,” Bosch said. “Here’s the deal. You are part of a conspiracy that has lasted more than twenty years. It is a conspiracy that started on a boat called the Saudi Princess and it has lasted until this very moment.”

Bosch watched Banks’s eyes grow large and fearful as he processed what was said. There was now a growing look of terror in them.

“You’re either going to prison for a very long time or you are going to cooperate and help us break open the conspiracy. If you cooperate, then you have a shot at some leniency, a chance to avoid spending the rest of your life in a prison. Can I take the gag away now?”

Banks nodded vigorously. Bosch reached across the table and roughly pulled the towel off his head.

“There,” he said.

Bosch and Banks stared at each other for a long moment. Then Banks spoke with unadulterated desperation in his voice.

“Please, mister, I don’t know what the hell you are talking about with conspiracies and shit. I sell tractors. You know that. You saw me, man. That’s what I do. If you want to ask me questions about a John—”

Bosch slammed his palm down hard on the table.

“Enough!”