Dying For LA by Ian Jones (top fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

March was not long now, and he would have to travel two days before.

He wondered if there was time. He hoped so.

He knew his options were limited now.

There was a light tap on his office door and one of his assistants walked in, bowing as he did so. He passed a sheet of paper over to Yin and then left again, bowing and closing the door quietly.

Yin read it and sighed.

As if he didn’t have enough to do, he decided.

He picked up the phone.

***

In Moscow Colonel General Rostov sat in the back of his car watching the cold and wet streets glide by. Snow piled in high heaps everywhere. He had been to lunch at the Kremlin, which had eventually ended four hours later. Lots of the old men at the ministry eating way too much, getting drunk and morose and talking about the good old days. Rostov was young for his rank, just fifty-five. A tall, good-looking man with neat grey hair. He had been glad to make polite excuses and get away, and had been collected swiftly.

The building of the Ministry of Defence loomed into view. He leaned forward and tapped his driver on the shoulder.

‘It’s late, I won’t go to the office now,’ he said.

The driver nodded and turned at the next junction, heading north. It would be an hour and a half before Rostov got home. He settled back and dug out his mobile phone, checking his upcoming appointments.

March 3rd jumped out at him.

He had a call to make, things were not going as planned and Rostov was used to everything always going his way.

***

Sammy eventually found somewhere to park and walked back toward the bar. This wasn’t an area of Los Angeles she had ever been in before, and it was a marked contrast to Downtown, where she spent most of her time when she wasn’t at work or home.

MacArthur Park was beaten; tatty and tired, lines of discount shops, lots of people standing around, street corners all busy. All in all, it wasn’t the most comfortable place she had ever been in.

‘You’re a long way from Indianapolis,’ she told herself.

She pulled herself upright and marched forward, staring straight ahead, not meeting anyone’s eye. It might be the middle of the afternoon but she knew all too well the crime statistics in some areas of the city.

The bar was an ugly, rundown rectangle on the corner of a block, plain grey painted walls and black window frames, the Flanagan’s name on the sign above the door now read ‘Flana ans’.

She walked in, inside it was gloomy and shabby. There were several drinkers sitting at the long bar, all male, and no doubt there for the duration. She had been told exactly where to go once she was there so she walked across and headed out through a door at the end of a short passage which had grim looking toilets on either side. Now she was in a foul-smelling covered outside area, which had a small bar in the back corner. Jimmy Frost was sitting at the end, exactly where she had been told he would be.

She moved a stool and sat down next to him and smiled.

Frost looked at her, taking in the short red dress, slender, shapely legs and the buttons undone at her chest. Sammy had taken advice and made sure her cleavage was on display beforehand. Let him see the goods, she had been told. Nothing she wasn’t used to.

Now, she leaned forward, resting her breasts on her folded arms, just to reinforce the view.

Frost leered, and smiled, showing yellow-stained teeth. He took a drag of his cigarette and then had a long drink, without taking his eyes off her.

Maybe he would find a use for that Viagra he had bought after all. He’d had it long enough.

‘Hello Jimmy,’ Sammy said.

Frost raised his wild eyebrows. This really was his lucky day. There was no way this broad was a hooker, and she looked real familiar too.

‘Hey,’ he said.

She stuck out her hand, still keeping everything on display.

‘I’m Sammy King,’ she told him.

Sammy King? Shit. He knew who she was now.

‘Ah. Ms King. And what brings you down here?’

‘I came to see you Jimmy.’

This could only mean she wanted something. Jimmy was a drunk and a long way from what he had once been, and he knew all too well what he looked like. Stick thin, with a pot belly and what hair he had left all over the place. But if she wanted something, and really wanted it, he could turn it to his advantage. She was a looker alright, and there were worse ways to spend an afternoon. Well, five minutes of an afternoon in his experience, although it would be a great five minutes. But he had to play it cool.

Sammy was exuding confidence, but inside feeling pretty sick. When it had been suggested she go and find Jimmy Frost all the women had offered advice, as had the men, but both sides different. Now, sitting there, trying to look alluring she was wishing desperately she was wearing jeans and a jumper. She was used to being ogled by men, and often used it to her advantage but this guy was drooling over every inch of her, practically salivating. Simon had been concerned and offered to come with her, she wished she had accepted it now. Jimmy Frost was an ugly, unpleasant individual. Sammy was here because she was looking for the British guy from last night, she had asked Chief Brady a direct question about him and she had immediately seen the effect; Brady had instantly become evasive, he looked nervous. She had tried the usual tricks but nothing worked, Brady changed the subject time and again then off camera insisted he had nothing to say. Afterwards she had gone to the team and asked them the best way to get something from the police, and everyone had said the same thing. Jimmy Frost.

So she was here now,