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

‘No problem,’ John told him quietly.

‘Sir, do you have any identification on you?’

John walked over to where the first woman was lying, now being worked on by paramedics. His blood-soaked jacket was lying discarded on the floor, he dug into the inside pocket and handed over his passport. Rose took it gratefully, flicked quickly through it and then pushed it into his breast pocket.

Officer Macker, who had been speechlessly staring at him spoke to first time.

‘Jesus. You got their weapon and you turned it on them. I never heard nothing like that. In my mind, that makes you Superman. Sir.’

John shook his head.

The drunk, who was shuffling along behind them, called over as they led John down the platform, his voice shrill.

‘I’ve seen some things in my life. Terrible fucking things make a man weep. But this man. You look after this man. He is a fucking hero. He saved all of us. You hear me!!! A fucking hero!!!’

John grimaced and Macker patted him heavily on the shoulder as they ascended the escalator, then went around the corner and back up to street level.

Upstairs was a hive of activity. All that could be seen was a sea of flashing red and blue lights. There were TV crews already at the location and people being held back by a police cordon. Rose and Macker led John over to one side and he sat down heavily on the floor, suddenly very tired.

Macker looked closely at the wound on John’s head.

‘That’s going to need sutures. I’ll get a medic. Can I get you a drink, some water?’

‘Please,’ John replied gratefully and the officer moved away, returning with a paramedic and a plastic bottle, unscrewing the cap as he passed it over. John drank deeply.

The medic worked on John’s head.

‘It’s deep, but there’s not a lot of flesh here. Just thin skin and thick bone. That’s why it always bleeds a lot and looks bad,’ he commented conversationally as he worked.

Macker stiffened and nodded to Rose. Two men were walking toward them, both with a distinct air of authority. One was tall, late fifties maybe, smartly dressed with a bewildered look on his face as he turned his head from side to side while he walked. In front of him was another man, a few years younger, short and stocky with a red face and a tie done up tight around his neck. He was wearing an LAPD vest over his shirt and carried a radio. He stopped close to the stairs and looked around, and then walked quickly over to where John was sitting. Macker moved over to meet him but he was pushed brusquely aside.

‘You the man?’ he barked at John, then looked at Rose. ‘Is this the man?’

‘Yes sir. This is the man. John Smith sir. He saved nearly everyone in the station. Sir.’

The man looked stonily back at him and then down at John again.

‘Mr Smith? My name is Captain Truman. I’m sure you appreciate that we have a lot of questions. There has been a terrorist incident and we need to ensure the safety of the vicinity and let the public know the situation. We can’t speak here for obvious reasons, so I am going to get you taken down to the precinct. I will get there as soon as I can. Meantime, please don’t talk to anyone.’

With that he glared at Rose and pulled him away barking instructions to him and then swept away down the stairs. Rose walked back over looking very uneasy and sat down silently next to John. For a few minutes they watched all the activity, the people from the platform were now slowly being led out of the station into the media circus, flashlights popping and a scrum at the cordon.

With a heavy sigh Rose stood up.

‘Come on John, we need to get you out of here,’ he said quietly.

John stood up and with Macker and Rose flanking him they headed out of the station. Immediately there was a surge forward and reporters with microphones held out began shouting to him. There was a flurry of bright blinding flashlights. John allowed himself to be steered through, police officers pushing back the crowd for them. The area was packed with people. They barged their way toward the line of police cars and as they got near a woman burst forcefully through, a man trailing behind and holding up a camera, a light shining.

‘Hey, no,’ Rose said and turned to face her but the woman was determined and pushed past holding a microphone.

‘How bad was it, did you see anyone getting killed? Have you got anything to say to these people?’ she asked loudly, the camera fixed on John.

He turned and held out his hands to Rose and Macker, and then looked at the camera.

‘Yeah. I’ve got something to say. I’m going to find the arseholes that were responsible for this. And I’m going to make them pay, whoever and wherever they are. That’s a promise.’

The woman looked back dumbfounded, probably speechless for the first time in her life.

Rose guided John into the back of a patrol car and slammed the door closed, and the two officers got in the front and with Macker driving eased through the crowd and were away.

Chapter Two

Yann Voorhees watched the footage from the scene at the Metro station on the TV and pressed the pause button on the TIVO remote when he heard a sound and the door opening into the apartment. Voorhees turned his head slowly and eyed the two men walking in, Rico in front. Behind him Sal nervously closed the door, staying back, out of the way.

Rico walked into the small room, which was an exact square with no windows, an unmade bed and the TV in it. The apartment was their temporary base, or so they had been told, but they had been there more than four months already. He glanced warily at Voorhees who was looking at him appraisingly.

Yann Voorhees was huge. Literally. He