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

surely be enough to pin at least Pinsky down, and hopefully others whoever and wherever they were but what they didn’t know was how long it would take and how long they actually had before something else happened. There could be any number involved anywhere in the city and once they found whatever it is they were after they would probably disappear.

The biggest issue for John was he kept coming back to Keane, and the man’s refusal so far to admit anything or to talk. He would have been through this many times before, from the other side of the table. He would know all the tricks and have seen delaying and avoidance tactics over and over. The only ace they were holding was keeping him isolated and unable to contact anyone, but he was holding out so far. John couldn’t help wondering if this would last, everything was taking too long. He could feel his brain slowing, becoming bogged down. There were too many uncertainties, and it felt like he was totally reliant on things he had no control over.

He turned and left the room, crossing the corridor to knock on Reed’s door, who opened it looking out blearily as if he had been asleep.

‘Come on,’ John said, ‘there’s someone we can talk to. I think you might enjoy this.’

They went downstairs, and as they crossed the lobby one of the receptionists hurried across from behind the counter. John remembered her from when they had checked in, and smiled. She had gone very gooey over Tom Reed, lots of smiling and attention. If Reed had noticed he hadn’t said or done anything; maybe he was used to attention like this from women. Probably, he was handsome in a clean-cut way and was of course, absolutely massive. She was young, early twenties, pretty and skinny with a mass of light brown hair. She ignored John completely, asking Reed if his room was ok, did he need anything, could she sort out dinner for him? Reed thanked her politely then they left the hotel. John led the way back up to the wide four-lane road, and then started back toward the Ocean Vista but keeping on the shore side. There were several turnings off and he checked each one carefully, before heading down and then stopping outside a dark, narrow shop front.

Reed looked closely.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a bar,’ John replied and pushed open the door. Inside it felt even smaller than last time with Reed next to him but he made his way to the back ignoring the looks from the few customers and then down the steep stairs. At the bottom he paused and then knocked hard on the door.

‘Fuck off!’ was the immediate response from inside.

Reed chuckled and then shoulder barged the door so it crashed open and John stepped back into Billy Wheeler’s office again. Billy was sitting on the sofa with a blonde woman who was hastily rearranging her clothes.

‘Hello again Billy,’ John said amiably as he stepped to one side to allow the woman to rush from the room.

‘Fuck do you want?’ Wheeler replied, eyes fixed on Reed who was stooped down in the low office.

‘Well, we need to have a talk. And it would be best if you didn’t start fucking us around. My friend Tom is getting a bit fed up of people doing that.’

Wheeler stood up, and then sat straight back down again.

‘Talk? I guess so. What the fuck we got to talk about?’

‘Ron Keane,’ Reed replied.

‘Keane? That motherfucker. I knew he was going to cause me shit, I fucking knew it. That asshole has been after me for years, he was the same with my dad. Well fuck him.’

‘I was kinda hoping you’d say that,’ John replied.

‘What the fuck do you need?’ Wheeler was just resigned to whatever was going to happen.

‘I need you tell me what he asked you about the gun.’

Wheeler confirmed what they already knew, and John couldn’t see the point in any violence so they left the bar and walked back up the four-lane to sit at the counter by a long window in the petrol station opposite the hotel. They were drinking, or trying to, stewed coffee that tasted like it had been brewed in the 1980s. John watched the activity on the forecourt outside, and saw a red BMW convertible pull up and an attractive woman step up to the pump and produce a credit card. She looked vaguely familiar.

I wish, he thought to himself.

He saw her insert the card, push some buttons, frown, repeat the process, frown again and put the card away then turn to walk over toward where they were sitting.

She was really cute, perfect.

She glanced over at the window as she approached, then glanced again, eyes wide.

She’s spotted Tom, though John, smiling inwardly. He hadn’t believed his eyes either when he first saw him.

She was standing still staring in, and John suddenly realised it was at him. Not Tom. He looked behind, but there was nobody there. She recovered, and hastened to the door, pulling it open and then she was standing next to him, still staring.

‘You’re … you’re John Smith!’ she said breathlessly.

He looked at her, and smiled. He knew hardly anybody in Los Angeles. Maybe this was his lucky day. He didn’t get many.

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

‘I’m Samantha King. Sammy. And yes, we have met.’

John shook his head, still smiling.

‘I’m sorry, I think I would have remembered.’

Sammy tilted her head to one side, which made her look even prettier.

‘Outside the Metro station. I was the woman who asked you if you had anything to say. I present news and current affairs for LA Plus.’

John stopped smiling. He recalled the crush outside the station, the press, the crowds and the police vehicles everywhere, and the camera in his face. The determined woman with the microphone, he hadn’t taken a lot of notice but this could easily be her.

‘Right. Yes, ok,’ he said shortly. ‘Nice to see