Dying For LA

by Ian Jones

  When he was twenty-two he bade an emotional farewell to his aunt and his cousin and took an apartment close to Chelsea Village and went to work on Wall Street. He was a natural, numbers were his thing. He made his first million within three years, and grew from there. Happily he bought a beautiful house for his aunt in New Jersey and when he was twenty-eight started up his own trading fund, which took off immediately. By the time he was forty-five he was married with three children and was in the top hundred richest people in the USA.

  He never, ever discussed his past. But he never forgot where he came from. He continued to strive, investing, manipulating, all the time. It took him nearly twenty years of trying, but finally, got a US passport.

  They moved out to LA when his wife decided she wanted out of the rat race, find some sun and a beach and he agreed, so bought a big house across the other side of the country right on the ocean in Malibu. He didn’t need to work, but he couldn’t just do nothing, so bought into a cable network TV station called LA Plus, that was short of finances and a future. He moved them into new offices, brought in some people and built it up, brick by brick.

  He became president simply because his fellow shareholders believed it would be easier for everyone if he had something to do. He accepted the position, having never done anything remotely similar in the past, but he had the Midas touch, suddenly the channel was profitable and even winning awards. Everybody at the station, in fact everyone in the industry knew he didn’t have to work, that he could probably afford to practically buy the city if he wanted, but they listened to him, and if he got involved, then you took it seriously.

  Sammy was nervous of him, like most people. She didn’t know him at all and had spent very little time in his company, but had listened to all the stories from the team; rags to riches, who cared if they were true or false at least they all had jobs. He was short and plump, and sat there in tatty jeans wearing an old Billabong t-shirt, his hairy fingers playing with a stack of sheets of paper in front of him.

  Behind them the footage from the previous night had finished playing on the wall-mounted TV screens, and was frozen with Sammy standing outside the bar where the major had been murdered; the location of the second terrorist action.

  The big news was getting bigger, and so far, they were out in front.

  ‘It’s great work Sammy, you got to be very happy Frank,’ Blanic said, knowing full well Moran had a big problem with her appointment at the station, nothing escaped him.

  Moran pursed his lips and nodded.

  ‘The thing is, nobody likes news like this. Nobody wants these animals on their doorstep, it’s the worst news for the city and everyone in it. But we are handling it real well, we’re on the ground, we’re not sensationalising anything, it’s great reporting, and that’s down to you Sammy,’ Blanic continued, and clapped his hands loudly.

  Sammy blushed.

  ‘Thank you, Costas.’

  ‘Now, I got the numbers before we sat down. Incredible. From where we were, it’s night and day. So we need to keep it moving, we’ve got to make sure that we are moving this along all the time. I’m listening to ideas.’

  Sammy looked at Simon, who wielded a laptop and started clicking buttons. The picture of John Smith appeared.

  ‘I caught hold of this guy after the Metro attack. He was down on the platform when it happened, a British guy,’ explained Sammy.

  Simon pressed another key.

  ‘Yeah. I 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.’

  Blanic watched the British man talking and staring into the camera, eyes ice cold, and couldn’t help shivering inside, he believed what he was hearing.

  ‘Ok,’ he said slowly.

  Sammy gave him a winning smile, but she was feeling the pressure.

  ‘Please, bear with me. Now the LAPD sent us some CCTV footage they got from last night at Steel’s, they are appealing for witnesses to come forward, they already found the car. And Simon was going through it so we can put something together, run it as part of the show, and look what he saw.

  Even Moran was interested now. The screen changed, a grainy shot of a street, Hollywood Boulevard visible at the top of the screen running left to right. Steel’s was on the right, there were a bunch of men standing outside smoking. Then a fast forward, and an early model Toyota Corolla came into view and pulled up on the opposite side of the road close to the junction with the boulevard. Time clock showed 23:07. Another fast forward to 23:13 and a man got out the car, head down, wearing a dark jacket and a beanie, no sign of his face and disappeared into Steel’s. Fast forward to 23:38 and he emerged from the bar and got back into the Toyota. At the same time two men left a building on the corner at the top and crossed the street walking diagonally down toward the camera.

  One of them was John Smith. He walked past with the other, an older man and disappeared.

  Next up 23:43 and two men get out of the Toyota walking fast, and enter Steel’s, running out again less than a minute later. Then the off-duty cop appears at the top coming down the street, gun drawn, one of the men, with long hair flying starts shooting, then gets hit and falls down, meanwhile the other jumps in the Toyota which disappears.

  Blanic looks at Sammy in amazement.

  ‘So, you think he is involved? What do the LAPD think?’

  Sammy took a deep breath.

  ‘Right, here’s the thing. You saw my interview with Chief Brady, right? So, I ask him about witnesses, and survivors from the station, and about the British guy I spoke to. And he gets real evasive, changes the subject. Just won’t answer. So, I think OK, ask him after. And I did, but he was even worse, ended up getting shitty with me for even talking about him. Straight away I think I need to speak to this British man, everyone agreed. Now, last night Simon worked on the footage for the show and spotted him, and told me to take a good look. So, I get Brady on the phone, and straight off I realise that it’s news to him. He is all “You’re wrong, you’re wrong, leave it to us, just stay the hell away from this” and I can’t get nothing out of him. Now yesterday I went to see Jimmy Frost to see if he can get any information for me, I haven’t heard back yet. I don’t know what this guy’s part in all this is, but something is going on. For sure, this is not at all as it seems. I think this is big news, and the PD are covering it up. So there is a story here for sure. And I want to get there first.’

  Blanic nodded, then smiled.

  ‘This is very good. This is real journalism, you are doing great work. I am impressed Sammy, and Simon, and I want to thank you for your work. I’m sure Frank feels the same. I mean this is big. Real news. Whatever you need, I want to know.’

  Chapter Twelve

  It had been a bad night, and it didn’t take long for Rico to realise that the day was likely to be even worse. He and Sal had followed everything to the letter; dumped the car, and then made it back in the most circuitous route possible. It had taken them well over two hours, finally getting back about half past two in the morning. Voorhees had been waiting, dutifully they checked in their unused weapons and had handed over the briefcase then reported exactly what had occurred.

  Voorhees said nothing at all about Karl Weiss being shot, in fact he had barely spoken, he just walked into the office with the briefcase and closed the door. Rico and Sal had looked at each other then sat in the kitchen with a beer. All they could do was discuss what had happened in low voices and keep an eye on the door.

  Weiss had been jumpy the whole time, right from when they set off in the car. Because there had been so little information Rico and Sal had to make plans as they drove while Weiss sat in the back hopping around and fidgeting with the Walther Voorhees had given him. They reached the bar and Rico had appealed to Weiss to just calm the fuck down. Then Sal walked across and went inside and had a beer, checking the place out. He came back and explained exactly where the target was sitting
, the locations of everyone else inside along with exits and the camera locations he had seen. Rico listened then explained carefully how it would play; repeating it several times and then when the time was right got out the car with Weiss who was still acting like a child and they went inside. This part went near enough to plan, the basic idea had been to do a quick scout of the room first in case anything had changed then confront the major but Weiss instantly produced the gun and pulled the trigger, so in the immediate panic and confusion Rico grabbed the briefcase and they got out fast. Outside the bar things rapidly got worse. As soon as they were heading quickly towards the car Weiss had suddenly started letting out loud whoops and parading along the street waving the gun around. A security guard appeared, and then Weiss just started shooting. There was no need at all, the guard was more than forty feet away, the car was close by, they were free and clear. But Weiss kept on shooting, emptying the clip, hitting nothing but buildings and the guard dropped him with a single shot. Rico didn’t hang around just piled in the Toyota and Sal got the fuck out of there.

  They had explained this carefully to Voorhees, with no response. He didn’t say a word, just disappeared with the briefcase.

  Afterward they sat pensively in the kitchen wondering what the hell was going to happen now.

  After some time Voorhees had come out of the office and stood in the entrance.

  ‘Nothing in the briefcase. Practically empty. So, not what we are looking for. It’s not there. Go to bed.’

  Then he disappeared, his bedroom door slammed shut.

  Sal and Rico had done as they were told, but neither could sleep. With no windows, it was impossible to tell whether it was morning but in the end they drifted off, to be woken shortly afterward by Voorhees kicking them awake.

  ‘Get up. We got to talk.’

  He stomped out the room into the office, and wearily the two men climbed out their sleeping bags and pulled on jeans. Once dressed they walked through, to once again stand in front of the desk while Voorhees glowered up at them from his chair. He didn’t say anything at first, Rico took a quick look around. Nothing had changed in the room. This could be difficult now. Neither he or Sal were armed, they didn’t have weapons of any sort. These were handed out by Voorhees from one of three large, locked trunks before any action. So he could have anything hidden in the ridiculous voluminous gown that he always wore, maybe even have a bazooka in there. And there was nothing in the office that Rico could see that would be of use if Voorhees decided he wanted some payback for whatever it was they were being blamed for.

  His stomach sank further, and he knew Sal felt the same.

  Voorhees sat back in his chair, and looked at them balefully.

  ‘This is so fucked up. We’re in a mess. It seems like everything is always going to shit. You can’t do nothing right, you’ve lost four soldiers. I am getting crap like you would not believe.’

  Rico said nothing, just looked back.

  What could he say? It was clear that everything was to be laid at their door.

  But it was Sal that surprised all of them, even himself. Quiet, emotionless Sal, who never said a word, never questioned, who always did what he was told.

  He stepped back and crossed his arms, then stared down at Voorhees belligerently.

  ‘Yeah Yann, we’re in a mess. Look where the fuck we are living. Nearly four fucking months. When we set up here, you said it was temporary, not for long, blah blah blah. And yeah, things have gone wrong. We did nothing in all that time, and we didn’t know what the fuck was going on, you never tell us nothing. Then we get the call on the station, and you know what? We did what we said, exactly as you told us. We checked it out, we knew where everything was. And we followed the plan, me and Rico, we followed the fucking plan, man. Soon as Pol and Sung were on the platform we went back out, check the street, that’s what you said and what we did. And we have no fucking idea what went on down there. Nobody is saying nothing, but we know they got killed. And that fucking Karl yesterday? You said he was an asshole, and he was. Don’t fucking call him a soldier. He was jumping about in the back of the car on the way to Hollywood like a kid going to Disneyland. Again, me and Rico did exactly what was in the script. I checked the bar out, and then we made a plan. We knew what to do, we covered everything. We knew all the people inside, where everyone was, and what the target was doing and who he was with. Weiss, he was a fucking asshole Yann. From start to finish. He said nothing when we put the plan together in the car, he was just fucking around with the gun he had then he went in with Rico and doesn’t follow what we decided, just starts pulling the trigger. Which was the same in the end I guess, we got the briefcase. But he decided to go all Wyatt Earp in the street, and gets taken out by a security dude. But by nothing more than luck we got away, and we did everything right after.

  He dug in his pocket and took out a black metal tube and threw it on the desk. It rolled across and came to a rest against Voorhees’ gut.

  ‘By the way, he took the silencer off the Walther. I found it in the car when I checked it over before we dumped it. So the whole of Hollywood probably heard the fucking shot. So, hey Yann, don’t start giving us the usual shit. Yeah, we’re down four guys. But me and Rico are still here, and what the fuck does that tell you Yann, eh? Maybe, just maybe, it’s because we do it right.’

  Mentally Rico clapped his hands together in his head. He looked at Sal with new respect. Voorhees was also looking at him, pink mouth open.

  ‘Leave me,’ he said finally, and gratefully Rico and Sal got the hell out and went for breakfast.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They were all back in the diner within an hour. Keane had more information on the shooting the previous night. They ordered coffee and made themselves comfortable.

  ‘Before we start, we got the ballistic reports on the AKs from the Metro station, which is to say, there ain’t much at all. No serial numbers, all filed off, nothing new there. All late 1960s models. The guns were well used, but so far no trace anywhere with the usual parties if they have seen any action in the US before. They believe the guns were fully loaded before the attack.’

  Everyone nodded.

  ‘Right, to last night. I spoke to the cop who was working the security shift. He was out on the boulevard when he heard the shot, and came around the corner. He saw two men running in the road and told them to stop. One was yelling and holding a gun then started shooting. Wild he said, bullets spraying all over, so he took him out. It’s how we train; the guy was a danger to the public. Can’t criticise him at all, he’s got enough trouble explaining his second job. Nothing he could do about the car making off, there were civilians around and he couldn’t risk a shot. We got some footage from the street and also the bar camera.’

  He laid down some photographs. Usual black and white, showing the street. Two men, running. One wearing a dark jacket done right up, with a beanie hat, his head down. The other man was pulling his hat off, showing long, light hair, and holding out a gun. Inside the bar the two men could be seen, now both wearing beanie hats. One very careful to keep his head down, while the other man with the long hair didn’t seem to care.

  Keane produced a tablet and opened up a video, again from inside the bar. All is calm, then the door flies open and the two men come in. The long-haired guy is moving fast, holding a gun then shoots, hitting a man who is sitting between two others. The other man grabs a briefcase and then they leave. Total time less than ten seconds.

  Keane played the recording a couple of times then looked up.

  ‘So the guy who did the shooting is the one in the morgue. He is one Karl Weiss, age twenty-nine, lived in Tucson, and got a long record alright. He held up a liquor store in Phoenix two nights ago. Real chatty apparently, told the clerk he needed to raise a train fare. We’re checking the stations now, see if we can find a trace on when he got into town.’

  ‘So this Karl Weiss is part of 1-Too?’ Warner asked disbelievingly.

  ‘We’re starting
to have a rethink here,’ Judy told them. ‘We’re going back through what we know and now we think it’s likely that they operate in cells, and then recruit. Previously we believed that they were an army, fluid, going where they were needed. They probably got contacts who can find them people. Could be they do it when needed. This guy has a long record like Ron says, but nothing like this. Mostly second-rate assault and robbery with violence. No connection at all.’

  ‘Major Hayter was in the bar with an army colleague, a Captain James Bryant, and also another man, one David Anthony Mays, and we know him. We have both of them in for questioning,’ Keane explained, putting the tablet away.

  ‘Who’s this Mays?’ John asked.

  ‘He’s a bookmaker. Ex-army, but a good few years ago now. Lot of shady shit with him, but nothing concrete.’

  ‘So maybe the hit was on him?’ Warner asked.

  ‘It could be I guess, but they took the major’s briefcase. And we got the connection to Deanna of course.’

  ‘True.’

  John looked at the photographs again and tapped the man with the head down.

  ‘You know, we need to check these further. Can we get any extra detail on these photos? I reckon this is the same man we saw around the van by the Metro station.’

  Keane took a long look.