Jones Lost In Vegas

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-912850-09-9
Verlag: Clink Street Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 166 Seiten

John Smith is a man who solves problems, just don't try to stop him. He is in Las Vegas trying to track down a missing woman, which should be a simple job. But he soon discovers he is not welcome, and there are those who want to make sure he leaves the city fast, in one way or another.

Ian Jones lives in London with his family and has a passion for motorbikes and music. This is his first novel.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Jones, Ian

Leseproben

Chapter One
Ignoring the complaint from the Satnav John Smith parked the car several streets from his destination and got out. As he locked up and walked along the quiet roads he took in the area; nice houses, locked gates, quality cars parked on driveways with tidy gardens. Using the mental map he had stored in his brain he walked in a loop, eventually entering a street where the houses were even bigger, the cars were a lot more expensive and the tightly locked gates were electric. He wanted number eight, which was at the other end, he looked around, taking in the affluent surroundings and set off. Inside number eight, Richard Cromwell was uneasy. Sitting behind the huge mahogany desk in the study that he used as his office, the tension was getting the better of him. Relaxing comfortably in this room was how he normally spent his time, but today was different. The study was a large room, tastefully furnished and decorated and spotlessly clean. It was immaculate. His desk, which was as ever totally clear other than a telephone on the right hand side, was at the far end of the room in front of a set of patio doors which opened out onto a wide terrace leading to a pristine garden. Sitting on a low sofa to his right were his two sons Charles and James, and then in a chair by the door was Bruno his ‘assistant’ who looked passively at nothing. Richard checked his watch; it was time. He glanced at the door and then at Charles his eldest who shrugged and pointedly shrugged his skinny shoulders. Richard leaned forward with his elbows on the desk and rubbed his face with his hands. He looked over at Bruno who had a video monitor on a table next to him. He studied it and shook his head. Richard lowered his head, staring at the desktop. ‘We have no idea who this guy is,’ Charles told him, not for the first time, he had been saying the same thing repeatedly for the last few days. ‘I know Charles, but the recommendation is enough,’ Richard replied without looking at his son. ‘From Ross? You know what I think.’ ‘I’ve known Louis Ross for many years Charles. Longer than you’ve been alive even. And yes, I know perfectly well who is, what he is but in this particular matter I trust him.’ Charles tutted and sat back. ‘Well, where is he then? If this chap is so good. So reliable.’ Richard didn’t reply. He despised himself for it, and he knew there was something in what Charles was saying, but the decision had been made. This was becoming desperate, for him anyway. He had nowhere left to turn. Louis Ross was a money launderer, and ruthless with it. There had been a time when they could have been even described as friends but Ross had become such a major player that now they only talked when necessary. Ross had no qualms about taking any action to get what he wanted, and had a long list of enemies. But despite his best efforts to keep everything private word had got out about Richard’s problem and Ross had called, and offered advice, which had been accepted. He knew someone who could help. Someone who supplied services in the past. And it was a fact that Richard was becoming desperate, and he wasn’t used to feeling this way. Charles was now humming tunelessly. Richard looked at him sharply and he stopped, then sighed loudly. ‘Dad, you know we found nothing on this John Smith. Nothing at all. No record of him anywhere. I mean even the name is …’, James started speaking earnestly. The doorbell rang. John let go of the button and stepped back from the ridiculously shiny gloss black door. He had spotted the camera discretely positioned above him, but deliberately did not look at it. He had made his way up the street via the extensive green spaces between the houses and then emerged right at the gates which were already standing open and then he had walked coolly along the gravel drive past a Bentley and a Lamborghini and up the steps taking in the glorious surroundings. It was autumn, but despite the cool, fresh October air all he could smell was money. The door opened and a smartly dressed young Chinese woman answered. As he began to give his name she told him he was expected and closing the door sharply behind them ushered him into a spotless wide hallway with obligatory black and white floor tiles. He followed her as she moved to a door toward the rear of the house and knocked timidly. She stood back a respectful distance. The door was opened immediately by a big bear of a man who dismissed the woman and gestured him inside in one motion. John stopped and stood in the doorway eyeing the man who stood in front of him. Neither wore any expression. John was unable to see into the room because of the open door, so he waited, relaxed, his eyes never leaving the other man. Eventually he heard a quiet instruction from within the room and the big man smiled slightly and indicated to John to raise his arms. He did so and was searched thoroughly before being motioned inside. He heard the door close quietly behind him. Inside the room was dominated by a large desk at the opposite end, there were discrete bookshelves with a few books on one side and a sofa on the other. The room was clean and orderly, like a showroom. On the sofa sat two men in their mid twenties, both wearing trousers and open neck shirts, behind the desk a man in his sixties sat, smartly dressed in shirt and tie. All three men watched John closely as he crossed the room to the desk. ‘Mr Cromwell?’ he asked. Richard stood up smiling, and reached across to shake hands. ‘Yes, thank you so much for coming Mr Smith. Please, these are my sons, Charles and James.’ The three men all shook hands. ‘Please Mr Smith, take a seat,’ suggested Richard, gesturing to a leather armchair on the other side of the desk. John sat down and leant back. ‘Bruno can you arrange some tea and coffee please,’ Richard asked quietly dropping back into his chair. In the reflection of the glass doors behind the desk John saw the big man stand up and leave the room, returning a few seconds later and resuming his seat. ‘So Mr Smith, again thank you for coming to see me. I’m not sure if or how the situation was explained to you by Louis, or if you fully understand what it is that we would like you to do.’ ‘No, Louis didn’t tell me anything, just that I could be of service to you,’ John lied. In fact, Louis Ross had quite gleefully told John in detail the problem that Richard had, crowing that nothing like this would ever happen to him, but John knew Ross all too well and wanted to get the real facts before he made any decision, it had sounded like a relatively straightforward job but in his experience this was rarely the whole story. ‘I see, well I believe that is for the best. I have a problem which to be frank has completely taken over all our lives. The situation isn’t particularly complicated, but I want it dealt with and I would prefer it if it could be completed the way I would prefer.’ John nodded. He knew very little about Richard Cromwell, but he came over impressively. Well spoken, he had a quiet, assured manner and was impeccably dressed, cufflinks and tie pin gleaming, his hair freshly cut. Nobody spoke. Cromwell distractedly fiddled with his cufflinks and scratched his ear. There was a tap on the door, and in the reflection in the glass John watched Bruno open it and take a tray and then silently cross the room, placing it carefully on the desk before retreating. James stood and laid out the cups then looked enquiringly at John. ‘Coffee please,’ John replied. James efficiently dealt with everyone around the desk and sat down. Richard got up and opened the door to the garden behind him, filling the room with fresh air. He sat down again and after a glance at his sons began speaking. ‘Mr Smith, I …’ ‘John, please.’ ‘Fine, well John, firstly can I be assured of your absolute discretion? You do come highly recommended and your er … shall we say prudence is beyond question. But this is a very sensitive matter and could easily lead to serious implications. It is important that I … ah … retain a certain status. I know how this must sound given the circumstances, and I apologise. It is nonsensical to a certain extent, and I really am very sorry for bringing it up, but my son … well.’ He glanced at Charles who nodded slowly, frowning. John waved a hand. ‘Mr Cromwell, I work alone. Whatever is said to me stays with me. I don’t have anyone to tell anyway, even if I wanted to.’ Richard studied John carefully. He was younger than he had expected, probably just pushing forty. And he was smaller; he had imagined someone big, well-built to be in this line of work. John Smith was just a bit taller than average, maybe six feet, and wiry with cold blue eyes and close cropped hair. But there was something about him, something hard, something better avoided, reinforced by a strong South London accent. A strong, capable man. Louis Ross had nothing but praise for him, and in all the time he had known him Ross never had a good word to say about anyone. He made his choice. ‘Right, well I’m going to start at the beginning. So my first question is, do you have any idea what line of business I am...