Dying For LA by Ian Jones (best adventure books to read TXT) 📗

to be my patch,’ Keane told him. ‘Back in the day, I was a detective here for twelve years and then came back again later as the chief.’

‘You’re the chief here? I didn’t realise,’ John replied.

‘No, I took a sideways move about five years ago. I’m based in Long Beach now, but I guess that’s why I thought it would be good to set up over here. This place is full of people coming and going, nobody notices a new face.’

John nodded.

‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Now I think the same thing.’

Keane looked at him shrewdly.

‘You can look after yourself, right?’ he asked.

‘Not sure what you mean.’

‘You know exactly what I mean. If it starts getting rough, you don’t hide away. You get stuck in. It’s written all over you.’

John touched the dressing on his head.

‘I suppose so, but no more than anyone else.’

‘I ain’t sure about that I got to say. Well, I got an idea of someone we can go see. This guy knows what’s going on, he ain’t someone I trust, not at all, he is an evil motherfucker but he’s always got an ear to the ground. Mostly because he is a sly son of a bitch who walks a fine line, always changing sides. But he could be useful. He’s got slices of this and that all over the city and knows a lot of people, good and bad.’

‘OK. Is he local?’

‘Yeah, not far. Down near the ocean.’

They left the bar and walked along the street, the turned down another that led straight onto the beach, the sea was right there, in front of them. Keane stopped outside a bar that looked tiny from the front, just a door and a small window. Inside, it was long and thin, with the bar on the left. There were a few people in there. As John walked across the floor a woman uncurled herself from a stool and went over to him, but then she saw Keane and stopped with a scowl.

‘Not tonight Candy, we ain’t buying,’ he told her, and she went back to her seat.

Keane led the way across to a doorway at the back, with a short narrow staircase leading steeply down.

‘Mind your head,’ he said, and went down the steps.

At the bottom, it was dark, and there was another door, which looked like an afterthought. It all looked very suspicious in John’s view, but Keane didn’t bother to take out his gun, he just pushed hard and walked straight into the room beyond, with John close behind.

Inside was a small room, with nothing in it but a desk and a two-seat sofa. One wall was covered in stacked cardboard boxes, and there was another small door in the far corner. Sitting at the desk was a squat, wide man in a suit with black hair gelled flat and a big square chin. Two other men were sitting on the sofa, one white and completely covered in tattoos and the other a lanky Mexican. The man behind the desk jumped up.

‘What the FUCK?’ he roared and heaved the desk over and grabbed at Keane’s shirt front. The Mexican also leapt up and took a swing at John. Distracted by what was happening with Keane, John managed to duck and the blow landed on the top of his head, immediately he surged forward, grabbing the Mexican by the throat with his left hand and battering him hard in the face with his right, three, four punches, all solid blows, the Mexican flailing around ineffectively.

The Mexican fell to the floor and John whirled to face Tattoos.

But the man was standing up and smiling, hands raised. He glanced at John then nodded across the room.

Keane had his assailant in a headlock and ran toward the rear wall driving the man’s face hard straight into it. He let the man go and pushed him over with his foot. John looked at Tattoos who was doing nothing, still smiling; no threat, and then turned to Keane, confused.

Keane had a hold of the man’s collar and hauled him up, then dropped him into his seat.

The man looked around and scowled.

‘Thanks for your fucking help Louie,’ he spat at the tattooed man, blood running from his nose and dripping off his chin.

‘Fuck that. Did you see what he did to Paolo? No fucking way, I like my face,’ Louie replied and sat back down on the sofa again, grinning, unconcerned.

The Mexican was sitting up, head bowed.

‘I can’t fucking believe you would just bust in here like this Keane, you fuck,’ the man in the suit said. His cheek was also swelling and his right eye starting to close.

‘John, this is Billy Wheeler, commonly known as Billy Whizz, cos he does everything fast. Right Billy?’

‘Fuck you.’

‘That’s not very nice. Me and Billy’s dad go way back, John. But you ain’t quite there yet Billy, are you?’

‘Fuck you,’ Billy said again, slowly.

‘He’s a witty guy, right?’

With an effort Keane righted the desk and pushed it back so Billy was effectively trapped against the wall behind, then leaned forward.

‘Now Billy, I need your help with something. We got some shit going down in this town, you will have heard all about the terrorist attack on the Metro. Well I’m the man been sent to hunt them down, so what do you know?’

Keane turned and sat half on the desk, looking down at Billy, who shrugged, easing the desk away from himself.

‘I don’t know nothing. I’m not involved in any of that shit, you know that.’

‘Sure, yeah I know that. But you do know a lot of things, and I thought maybe you can help us out.’

‘Seriously Mr Keane, I never heard nothing. I don’t know shit.’

‘OK. So how about you?’

Keane turned his head and looked at Tattoos.

‘Me? I haven’t heard nothing neither. That shit took us all by surprise.’

Nobody said anything, Billy Whizz sat looking around uncomfortably. Keane produced the bio picture of Rico Perez and laid it on the desk.

‘You need to keep