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

There was nothing more to see in the apartment so they left, and followed Casiano back to the police station, but now John had the feeling that they definitely weren’t wasting their time.

Chapter Twenty-One

He entered the car park through the vehicle entrance and followed the ramps up through the levels. It would have been easier to have just walked in through the hotel but as usual Ryan Gallagher had no idea who he might bump into, he wasn’t a popular figure among security in the strip hotels anyway. It was busy; cars parked in long lines and he was careful to stay as much in the shadows as he could, Caesars was a hotel in particular he had to stay well away from and he was decidedly uncomfortable just being in the car park. He made it up to the fourth floor, there were a lot more empty spaces here. He walked away from the ramp, looking for Tibor. He was justifiably nervous, he’d been skating on very thin ice for a long time, and had been getting away with it purely by staying out of the way, but now he was in the open. He swallowed hard, what if this was just a trick?

He stopped dead. He couldn’t believe this had just occurred to him. He farted wetly. He realised he was literally about to shit himself.

Fuck, what was he thinking? He’d walked all the fucking way here and now was in a car park on his own with Tibor for company.

He was dead. He was so fucking stupid. He deserved everything he got.

He turned, ready to run and then headlights blindingly flicked across at him. He jumped, and peered over. Low-slung sportscar; one man sitting in the driver’s seat, arm hanging out the window. He walked forward cautiously. No choice at all now. Nowhere to go. Greasy cold sweat dripped down his back. He approached the car at an angle, reasoning he could see better and spotted the spiderweb tattoos on the arm.

Tibor.

But he looked to be on his own.

‘Hey!’ Gallagher called out, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

Tibor was watching him, a half-smile on his face. As soon as Gallagher got close Tibor leaned out the window, raised his arm and pointed across the car park, back the way that Gallagher had just come. Gallagher stopped and looked over his shoulder, confused, what the fuck now?

‘Go talk to the Russian,’ Tibor told him.

‘What?’

But Tibor said nothing else, just pointed, so Gallagher warily turned and walked back, past the ramp, staring into the gloom and then he could just make out a man leaning against a car, right where there was hardly any light at all, impossible to see him clearly from this distance so with growing dread he continued on, every step toward his inevitable doom.

The man didn’t move at all, just continued to lazily smoke a cigarette, looking at nothing. Gallagher stopped ten feet away and coughed nervously. The man bent down and picked up a small sports bag from the floor next to him and threw it across so it landed heavily at Gallagher’s feet.

‘Look inside,’ the man said, in clipped, precise English.

So Gallagher did, and squatted down. Inside was a handgun, fat, boxy, he didn’t recognise the make but he could see it had a silencer, and also an envelope and a single piece of paper. He looked up at the man, who flicked the cigarette butt away and walked over, then crouched opposite him and smiled.

The man was big, solid, with a bald head that gleamed in the half light. His teeth were sharp and broken, and he had heavy scarring around the right side of his face and head, he was wearing all black; leather jacket, jeans. Close up he smelled of Old Spice.

‘This is what you do,’ the man told him, reaching into the bag, removing the sheet of paper and opening it out. ‘Is simple. These are four people. You kill them. Is five thousand. Each. Where the people are is written next to them, we knows only two for sure so far but soon will know all, so we will send you message, understood?’

Kill people?????? What the fuck?

‘But …’

‘No buts. Tibor tells me you will do this. Now understand. To me, is nothing. I just need this done. If you don’t want to do it then OK, I find someone else. Plenty people. And Tibor will most likely hurt you bad you anyway. So, I don’t care.’

The man stared back at him, it felt like it went straight through, and Gallagher felt a chill running deep down his spine.

‘But, I never killed anyone! I never even fired a gun!’ he stammered.

The man picked up the gun.

‘Is simple.’ He pointed to the rear of the gun. ‘Is safety catch. You click here, is off. Then just point the gun and pull trigger. So make sure you close. Is full of shells, don’t use them all on first one!’

The man laughed, showing more broken teeth.

‘There is spare magazine in the bag. After, you dump this gun and disappear. Tibor says give you some cash now. He say you owe him money. I pay it already. So, you owe me I think. There is one thousand in the envelope, is all clear?’

Five thousand Tibor had said. But there was actually twenty being laid out in front of him. Plus the debt was paid, and Tibor was one of the worst to owe money to, that was for sure. Gallagher had been avoiding him for months, longer. And he could do this. He looked at the sheet of paper carefully. Four photographs, taken without them knowing. Three men and a woman. He didn’t know any of them, and there were no names anyway. Just a hotel written next to the black man and the woman, nothing for the other two. How hard could it be? Bang, bang, bang, bang. Twenty thousand richer. That’s debts paid, the