Nobody Move (Angel City, Band 1) - Softcover

Elliott, Philip

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1775381358 ISBN 13: 9781775381358

Verlag: Into the Void, 2019

Inhaltsangabe

Winner: Best First Novel, CWC Awards for Excellence in Canadian Crime Writing "Screams cult classic" --Booklist Eddie Vegas made a terrible mistake. Now he has to pay the price. After a botched debt collection turned double murder, Eddie splits, desperate to avoid his employer, notorious L.A. crime boss Saul Benedict, and his men (and Eddie's ex-partners), Floyd and Sawyer, as well as the police. Soon he becomes entangled with the clever and beautiful Dakota, a Native American woman fresh in the City of Angels to find her missing friend--someone Eddie might know something about. Meanwhile in Texas, ex-assassin Rufus, seeking vengeance for his murdered brother, takes up his beloved daggers one final time and begins the long drive to L.A. When the bodies begin to mount, Detective Alison Lockley's hunt for the killer becomes increasingly urgent. As paths cross, confusion ensues, and no one's entirely sure who's after who. But one thing is clear: They're not all getting out of this alive.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Philip Elliott writes about desperate characters on the fringes of society and the systems that swallow them. He is a novelist and screenwriter, a Crime Writers Canada Award of Excellence winner, and a Shamus Award finalist. His third novel, epic thriller American Fury, is forthcoming in 2027 with No Exit Press.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Nobody Move

An Angel City Novel

By Philip Elliott

Into The Void

Copyright © 2019 Philip Elliott
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-77538-135-8

CHAPTER 1

City of Angels

Something was off. Everything was off. Eddie could feel it. Felt it ever since he woke up this morning, in fact, that sense of something, everything, being ... off. Not that anything had been right to begin with. Fucking season was off, that was for sure. Summer in L.A. and rained every day for the past two weeks. When Saul had called his cell right as he'd sat down with some shitty Chinese takeout for a relaxing night of shitty TV and said "Eddie, I need you to make a house call. Floyd will pick you up in thirty" and Eddie said, "What, right now? What the guy do, shit on your lawn?" and Saul didn't even answer, just hung up, Eddie knew that something was off about the whole thing and his sense of foreboding with him since breakfast had been very fucking apt indeed. Now, walking through a hallway toward the guy's condo, about to wave a gun around and threaten murder, the sensation had only increased.

"We just putting the fear into him," Floyd said. "Owes big. Boss said Bill always pays, but he late and we gotta scare his ass."

"Why such short notice?" Eddie said.

"Bill made a surprise visit to town, that's why. I watched a movie with the wife last night. No Country for Old Men. You seen it?"

"Nah."

"Watch that shit. There's a hitman, looks like the devil if the devil was a cowboy. Cold motherfucker. Don't even use a normal gun. Instead uses a cattle gun. A fuckin' cattle gun. Carries around a tank of gas."

They reached Bill's door and faced each other.

"Sounds inconvenient," Eddie said. "The gas tank."

"Point is, this hitman has a thing for fate. Flips a coin and makes you choose if you gonna live or die. And that's it. That's the only chance you got with this nigga. He don't care about money, and he don't care about what you have to say. He flips that coin, you live or you die."

"Sounds fair."

"Fair? What's fair about killing a motherfucker?"

"Not that part, the coin toss. Everyone gets an equal chance."

"Yeah, but you can't buy your way out of it with this man, or reason with him."

"So he's got principles," Eddie said.

"You think there's people like that?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"The man don't make sense. Who don't want money?"

"You probably wouldn't make sense to him."

"So, you think there's badass killer cowboys walking around, flipping coins and bustin' caps?"

"There's every kind of person in this world."

Floyd faced the door. "I ever meet a motherfucker like that, I got some questions. You ready?"

Eddie nodded.

Floyd pounded on the door.

It opened to a fat Texan in a silken dressing gown, his hairy chest exposed, a gold chain dangling over it.

"You must be Bill," Floyd said.

"Who the fuck are you?" Bill said through his handle-bar mustache.

"The Angel of Mercy." Floyd shoved Bill into the apartment. Bill slipped on the tile and fell onto his ass, a pale testicle flopping out of his boxer shorts. "Or the Angel of Vengeance. Depends whose door I'm knocking on."

Eddie couldn't help smirking. The man should be on the stage.

Floyd stepped forward as Bill crawled backwards through the kitchen toward the living area. An aquarium built into the wall on the right cast a shimmer across his face, a dozen neon fish swimming in circles inside it like a gang of simpletons.

"God sent us here, Bill," Floyd said. "He ain't happy with you."

"What are you talking —"

"What city we in right now, Bill?"

"Los Angeles."

"And who's god round here?"

Realization dawned on Bill's face. "I'll get the money," he said, pulling himself onto the sofa. "That's what I'm here for, in L.A. Collecting a payout. I just need a couple more days."

"Oh, you'll get the money? Well shit, why didn't you say so? You hear that Eddie? It's all good, nigga's gonna get the money, our work here is done."

Floyd took a step away from Bill and spun, fist raised. The blow hit hard: Bill slid off the sofa, little moans spilling out of him.

"Listen to me you redneck motherfucker and listen good," Floyd said, "'cause if I have to repeat myself, I'll fuck up the other side of your face too. You ever try take a piss with two eyes swollen up like balloons, Bill? You can't see the toilet, you're hitting the floor, the walls, the fuckin' ceiling. It ain't fun."

Floyd paused, relaxing his shoulders. "I can't leave here empty-handed, Bill."

"I don't have the money right now, but I can get it tomorrow."

"Didn't I just warn you about making me repeat myself?" Floyd sighed, and pulled his pistol out of the waist of his blue suit. Bill shivered like a canary.

That sense of foreboding came over Eddie again. He could feel himself getting paranoid, thinking what if it meant something terrible, grim reaper with a bony hand on your shoulder, all that shit. It wasn't the thought of dying that scared him — when you've been breaking into people's homes and moving product and waving guns around every day for two years the idea of death becomes about as scary as a dinner party with strangers — it was the thought of this being all he ever amounted to: Eddie Vegas? Yeah, I remember him. Low life criminal, right? Used to work for Saul Benedict, run around pretending to be a thug? Oh, he's dead? Fuck 'im, he had it coming.

Floyd said, "You know, Bill, it's been a long time since I killed somebody for the first time." Observing the gun in his hand, looking sad and contemplative. More theatrics. "The shit just don't bother me no more. I can shoot a nigga and walk straight into McDonald's, get some fries and a Coke, enjoy myself. But that don't mean I like killing people. It's a pain in the ass, Bill, to be straight with you, disposing of the body, cleaning the place, checking the newspapers ..."

Eddie watched Bill. If any more blood left his cheeks the man would collapse.

"But at the same time," Floyd continued, "sometimes the best option is to get rid of the problem, remove it from your life, 'cause it just ain't worth the headache."

A female voice drifted from somewhere to the right, so quiet Eddie might have imagined it. He frowned. No, there it was again; almost inaudible, but there.

"Hey, Floyd, you hear that?"

Floyd looked back at him. "Hear what?"

"Listen."

Floyd cocked his head. His eyes narrowed.

"You got someone in here with you, Bill?" he said.

Bill shook his head.

"Watch him," Floyd said. "I'll check it out."

Floyd moved toward the closed door to the right of the living area. Eddie took his pistol out of his jeans and pointed it at Bill.

Floyd opened the door and the woman's voice spilled into the room like a song. She was moaning vigorously, without a doubt being fucked in there.

"What in the hell ..." Floyd said, staring into the room openmouthed.

When Eddie faced Bill again the fucker was up and running at him, a wild determination in his eyes and the dressing gown flapping madly behind him.

"Fuck," Eddie said, and before he could make a decision, before he could even think about it, his finger tightened around the trigger. Bill's head flung backwards and his body followed, thumping against the floor. He lay sprawled on his back, blood dribbling out of the hole in his skull where an eye had been seconds before.

A moment of silence.

Floyd said, "You best have a good explanation for that."

Eddie just looked at...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Into the Void
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2019
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1775381358
• ISBN 13: 9781775381358
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 262
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: GPSR Kontakt; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland