Ferreting Out the Truth
By L.J. Hamlin
Ryan doesn’t like the look of the bar to which he’s been directed. It isn’t his usual place or a bar he’s passed by in his time living in L.A. The bar is in the warehouse district, and he’s gotten a taxi as close as he could, then walks the rest of the way, clutching his apartment keys in his pocket in case this is a set up.
Ryan guesses that, when asked where you can meet a kind of criminal, you’re not going to be told to meet him in a well-lit Starbucks. The bar looks kind of grubby, but Ryan takes a breath and goes to the entrance. There isn’t a line outside or anyone guarding the door, so Ryan walks inside. It’s nowhere near as bad as he had imagined, no blood on the walls or dust on the floor.
There’s a stage where someone’s playing guitar, p
