Dying For LA Ian Jones (the ebook reader .txt) 📖

up to us. It wasn’t in any of the bags, there was nothing. It was a bust, right? I told Max to keep looking then me and Sal hustled back to the van and waited.’

‘So where are the others?’

‘I don’t know Yann. I have no fucking idea. We were sitting there and like in minutes the place is filling with cops, all running in the station. It was crazy how quick they were there. Then we moved out the way, we could see the doors but nobody came out. So we bailed, there was no choice.’

‘Lot of witnesses Rico. There’s a guy who says he is going to hunt you down, he’s on the TV.’

‘What? Who? What guy?’

‘I have no idea Rico, but it’s what he said.’

Rico snorted.

‘Right. Let him try. I’ll deal with him.’

Voorhees pursed his lips.

‘Rico, we are being paid to do something. We are very expensive to hire. There is lots of planning. This is our first job together am I right? And what happens? Five of you go out, and two come back. Lot of money has been spent but I am down three men and I don’t have what they need. I’ve got to explain this. I have to make the phone call. Tell me Rico, what do I say?’

Rico shrugged, he wanted to be able to say something in his own defence but nothing would come to mind. This had not been his fuck up, whatever the fat man said. He needed a distraction, then remembered Voorhees was always going on about being connected.

‘But you can find out right Yann? I mean, what happened to the others. You can find out.’

Voorhees picked up a cellphone from the desk. It looked impossibly tiny in his vast paw. He dropped it and spun it around on the table top.

‘No doubt I will get a call Rico. Leave me in peace. I need to make some arrangements.’

It was a short journey, once they got clear of the scene they were pulling up in the police precinct car park within five minutes. Macker got out first and opened the door for John who climbed out and then stood looking around. This was obviously a police parking area, but it was practically deserted. He guessed everyone would be down at the Metro station. Rose joined him and led the way over to the building. Both policemen seemed awkward, embarrassed. Rose punched in a code and the door buzzed open. They walked into a rectangular room with a squared off section of bars down on the right with a couple of sorry looking individuals sitting inside and nothing else there other than a high desk at the back. John looked at Rose quizzically.

‘I’m real sorry John. We gotta book you. It ain’t our choice, but orders is orders.’

John froze. Macker stood looking at the floor. Rose held his hands out; gesturing toward the desk.

‘Book me for what?’ John asked.

‘We just gotta book you in. Get you checked over. Truman wants to talk to you. We’re at the bottom of the food chain here. We just do what we get told,’ Rose replied, visibly bothered by what he had been told to do.

‘Fuck this,’ Macker growled and walked over to the desk. A tall sergeant moved over to talk to him. Macker’s body language was clear; it wasn’t just he wasn’t happy, he was very angry. The sergeant calmed him down as best he could, looking over at John the whole time. Rose sighed loudly and then took John over.

John Smith stood in front of the desk, pissed off. His head hurt. He looked over at the cage.

‘Drunk tank,’ Rose told him. ‘Don’t worry, you ain’t going in there.’

The sergeant smiled at him ruefully, and Rose passed over John’s passport. The sergeant nodded his thanks and began typing on a keyboard. He also looked awkward with the situation now that Macker had spoken to him.

‘So, if I’m being booked, what’s the charge?’ John asked.

The sergeant looked at him earnestly.

‘There is no charge Mr Smith. As far as I can see we only need to talk to you regarding the terrorist incident you … er … witnessed. So we’re just going to look after you here until Captain Truman gets back. He gives the orders, he wants you booked in. I’m sure you will be on your way real soon. I’m sorry, you need to empty your pockets.’

He shrugged. Macker tutted loudly.

John shook his head and did as he was asked. A few hundred dollars and the key card for his hotel room. The sergeant swept them carefully into a plastic bag along with the passport and printed John Smith and the date and time on the label then sealed the bag.

To John’s left was a barred steel gate. The sergeant pressed a button under the desk and it clicked open.

‘This way Mr Smith. You two stay out here,’ the sergeant said with a look at Rose and Macker, and then guided John through the gate and pulled it closed behind them. There was a steep set of steps going down and then a double right turn so they ended up under where they started. Now they were in a long room, cells on either side. Simple bars and gates. Most were empty. They walked down to the end where there was a cell with a partition wall to the rest in its row and it had a toilet with a sink set in the top of the cistern. John looked at the sergeant.

‘VIP?’ he asked.

The sergeant grinned uncomfortably.

‘Yeah, we get the occasional Hollywood someone or other in here, usually a DUI. We have to keep them comfortable.’

He turned and looked up at a camera set high on the wall and the gate to the cell opened. John walked in and sat down on the low bunk. He stared up at the sergeant.

‘Mr Smith, I am real sorry about this. Way I hear it, you deserve a medal not all this bullshit.