Anja’s annoyance showed through, but she didn’t say anything else. I doubted I had the energy to answer her anyway.
Somehow, despite their inadequate footwear, the Dragons were closing on us. But after an eternity, or maybe two, the end of the Tunnel appeared, a glimmering sheen just like the one we’d passed through. I’d never been so happy to get to Heaven before.
Anja was outpacing me by a long stretch. She paused at the end of the Tunnel and glanced back at me.
“Go!” I shouted.
She nodded and dived out of the Tunnel. She twisted and changed direction, then disappeared from my sight.
I threw a look behind me as my deadened legs carried me the last few yards. The three Silk Dragons were close enough for me to make out the rage in their eyes and the thin sheen of sweat that coated their faces.
I had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.
I exploded through the Tunnel exit at full speed, flying through the air even as gravity rearranged itself around me. Some instinctive part of me found the ground and got my feet pointing in the right direction before I hit, saving me from getting a face-full of rock but still resulting in me stumbling wildly for a few seconds before I got my balance.
Anja looked to have landed more gracefully. Her breath came heavy, but she stood upright on the rocky ground, illuminated by a green sky. Behind her, the edges of the rock dropped away into cloud. Skytown was aptly named.
“What are you still doing here?” I asked, panting. “Get going!” I pointed past her, to where clusters of spike-like buildings reached up to the sky. Each of them was mounted on a single rock as large as a city block, and each rock was floating suspended in space. Bridges linked the bits of land, shifting as they bobbed up and down. Even from here I could make out the crowds of Vei moving back and forth, and the din of Vei chatter drifted toward us.
Anja dug into her coat and pulled out the wad of cash she’d waved at me in the abandoned construction site. It looked pitiful now, compared with all the green the Silk Dragon had offered me, but it was still more than I earned most months.
She tossed it to me, and I turned the cash over in my hands. “This is more than my fee.”
“It is a bonus.”
A shout echoed from the Tunnel, sounding like it was coming from underwater. I met Anja’s eyes. “Beat it, lady.”
She looked troubled for a moment, but then the expression vanished. “Thank you, Mr Franco.” She turned and ran, her black coat flowing behind her and casting ever-changing shadows on the ground.
I turned back to face the Tunnel and listened to the approaching footsteps. I could close the Tunnel now. It’d be easy, just switch off the chaotic part of my brain, let the energy dissipate. Or I could turn and walk away until I was too far to keep it open. The Tunnel would wobble for a moment, protesting the moving mass still inside, and then it would crack closed with no more sound than a snapping rubber band.
I’d be safe, free to hang around for a bit, count my money, then go back to Earth when I felt ready.
There wouldn’t even be any screams as the three Silk Dragons died.
I probed the edges of the Tunnel with my mind. So easy. Like ripping off a band-aid. Sweat rolled down my cheek.
“Shit,” I said to myself, balling my hands into fists. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t have a triple murder on my conscience. What with the glow I was feeling from getting Anja to safety, I was beginning to think I was a big softie.
The clatter of footsteps came closer. I stuck my hands in my pocket and waited. The warm fuzzies in my stomach were at war with the butterflies, and I wasn’t sure who would win. I wiped my sweating palms on the inside of my jacket pockets and took a deep breath. Well, Miles, you’ve really done it this time. How are you gonna talk your way out of this one?
The dark-haired Silk Dragon came out first, swivelling up as gravity reoriented itself around her. The other two appeared a moment later. None of them were packing heat by the look of it; bringing guns into a place as unstable as Heaven was a good way to shoot your own foot off without even touching the trigger. Instead, the brunette’s friends each clasped a switchblade, looking like they were eager to use them. I gulped.
The dark-haired Dragon swung one long, graceful leg out. I was still registering the movement when her kick caught me on the chin and sent me falling back on my ass.
“Ow,” I said, rubbing my jaw. It felt like she’d nearly dislocated the thing.
She grabbed me by my tie and jerked me forward, snarling. “Where is she?”
“She’s out at the moment. Can I take a message?”
She tagged me with her fist this time, sending my teeth rattling around my head. It took a few moments for my vision to clear. When it did, I found her hissing at the other two. “Split up. Find her. She can’t be far.”
The two of them gave me venomous looks and raced off across different bridges, neither of them the one Anja had taken. Despite the lightning shooting through my jaw, I found a grin stretching my cheeks.
“You think this is funny?” she said. “You’re going to pay if I don’t find her. You know how much that bitch cost me?”
“Can’t your dignity take one little runaway? She’s not gonna talk to the cops, you should know that.”
She frowned, her snarl fading. “What the fuck are you talking about, Franco?”
“You killed her brother, you got your money. You made your point. Hell, I bet you’re reputation’s even still intact. Consider it a win and go home.”
She stared at me for a few moments. Her perfectly-shaped eyebrows drifted down low over her eyes, then a slow smile spread across her face. “That’s what she told you?”
“Yeah,” I said. Something in her tone gave me pause. “Why?”
She threw back her head and laughed a mirthless laugh. Her fists tightened on my jacket. “You stupid fucking sap. We didn’t kill anyone. She ripped us off.”
“What?”
“She came in playing sweet and innocent, saying she had to buy a whole lot of Ink for her boss, or something. She was willing to pay cash up front, so I didn’t ask questions. Gave her what she wanted with a bulk-buy discount.”
It didn’t make sense. And yet, the grim smile playing on her face stopped me from casting away her claims entirely. “What did she get, then?”
“Half a million in Ink.”
My eyes must’ve bugged right out of my head. I tried to speak, but my throat had other plans.
She grinned at me and rocked back on her haunches. “Yeah. But your sweet Vei wasn’t entirely honest with us. You see, she paid us in phony bills.”
Counterfeit. No, the Dragon was playing with me. She had to be.
Aw, hell.
I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out the wad of money Anja had given me. At first glance it looked like normal cash, all in twenties. But come to think of it, something about the color was off.
“No,” I said, as if denying it would make a difference. The dark-haired woman simply watched as I flicked through the notes, comparing the serial numbers on each one.
They were all the same.
I pictured Anja’s big black coat, the way it rattled ever so slightly when it ran. The way she never once took it off. A coat more than big enough to hold a few hundred vials of Ink.
“Fuck me a rainbow,” I whispered. How was that for a get rich quick scheme? Sell your ill-gotten Ink, turn your dirty money into clean bills, and let some idiot Tunneler take the fall. I’d admire her if I didn’t want to rip her head off.
The Dragon leaned down over me again. “I have half a million in cash that I can’t do a thing with. The cops will jump on us if we try to launder it. That leaves me in a bind, as I’m sure you understand.”
“Tough break,” I said, thinking more about my own poor wallet. The cost of the Kemia alone…
“Yes, yes it is,” she said. “You’ve cost me a lot of money, pretty.”
My heart sank somewhere around my knees. I didn
’t like where this was going. “Hey, we’ve both been played, how about we call it a—”
She loomed over me, her lips peeling back over her teeth.
I sighed. “Will you take a check?”
THE END
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I was sitting in a boring lecture—biology, I think—doodling misshapen stick figures in the corner of my paper, when the first hint of Miles Franco came to me.
He didn’t have a name then, of course, or even an occupation. It was just an image and a feeling. A common man and yet an unusual man, as Raymond Chandler once said. He wore a suit and tie, and yet he was not dressed up. His hair was a mess, his shirt was untucked, and he didn’t have many friends, but you knew he was a good man, even if you couldn’t tell exactly how.
I couldn’t tell you where he came from. Maybe he was inspired by the dozens of pulp heroes that I’d read about or seen on TV or the movies. He was the sort of guy his world needed, even if I didn’t yet know what that world was.
And yet, I put him and his story aside. Why? Because it wasn’t serious enough. I was doing a course about poetry related to medicine and illness at the time, and my pretentious tendencies were in full swing. Never mind that when I went home I’d read comics about costumed superheroes or pop B horror flicks into my DVD player. No, I was going to learn to be a great writer, and I was going to write Literature with a capital L.
But no matter what I did, those trashy sci fi and fantasy elements kept creeping into every story I wrote. And Miles Franco, among other characters, kept developing in my head.
There was no epiphany that made things clear to me, no light bulb going on above my head. But as I began exploring online and started to come into contact with more and more geeks and nerds and people like me, I realized that I’d been going about this all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with great literature. It can be beautiful, life-changing. Some of my favorite books are literary fiction.
But it’s not what I want to write.
I want to write things that are ridiculous and fun. I want to write about fast-talking wiseguys and worlds that are a dream-like reflection of our own. I want to write about smartass characters who get the crap kicked out of them and keep on coming.
I want to tell stories that are awesome. And I want to tell them to those of you who know that a really gut-punchingly true story can’t be constrained by reality. So I went deep inside myself and let Miles Franco out of his cage.
This isn’t the freelance Tunneler’s last adventure. On the contrary; his story is just beginning. If there’s one thing Miles knows, it’s how to get himself into trouble. And I can’t wait to see if he can get himself out again.
I want to personally thank you for reading THE MAN WHO COULDN’T BE BOUGHT. I know that each and every one of you lead busy lives, and it means so much that you took time out of your day to read about this dirt-poor Tunneler and his adventures.
I’d love to hear what you thought of this short story. You’ll find my email address below, along with links for you to connect with me on Twitter or Facebook. I do my best to respond to every email or message I get, so please feel free to get in touch.
And if you want more of Miles, then fear not. Read on, and you’ll find an excerpt from the first full-length Miles Franco novel, THE MAN WHO CROSSED WORLDS. I hope you enjoy it.
Stay classy, everyone.
Chris Strange
Read on for a sample of THE MAN WHO CROSSED WORLDS
CHAPTER ONE
“Contrary to statements made by some commentators, the Tunneler’s role is not merely one of transport. He is the ambassador of all humankind…If the Tunneler is to succeed, he must be charismatic, moral, and above all, lawful.”
Interdimensional Ethics: A Guide for Tunnelers, 2nd ed.
There weren’t many things that scared me. Well, all right, a hell of a lot of things scared me. In my line of work it came with the territory, same with dismal pay and unsavory customers. But only one thing made me so nervous you could use my forehead as a swimming pool.
Beautiful women.
They looked innocent enough, sure, all warm and soft. And if you were lucky, maybe one of them would cuddle up to you real nice, purring like a kitten, and you’d think you were finally being rewarded for all those good things you did in your life.
Of course, it was around that time you realized you’d done no good things in your life, there was no way you deserved this, and before you could scream she would reach into your chest, pluck your heart out, and neatly rip it in two.
So when Detective Vivian Reed sashayed into the interrogation room on those long legs, wearing a slender pantsuit that gave me a pretty good idea how impressive all her curves were, my heart dropped somewhere into my intestines.
She let the thick manila folder drop to the table, sending a resounding bang echoing through the interrogation room. Through supreme force of will I managed to avoid flinching, instead making a show of picking the dirt from under my fingernails.
The room didn’t do much to inspire confidence. It was dark as a coffin and even less friendly. A video camera on a tripod sat in the corner of the room, switched off, while a dull fluorescent light bulb hung above my head. I could feel the heat radiating off it. It wasn’t the only thing making me sweat.
Detective Reed put her hands on the table and leaned over me, her face set in a look that suggested I was a mauled rat brought in by her dogs. Which I supposed, in a way, I had been. She had the sort of slender face you felt you should have to pay to look at, and dark hair trimmed into a neat bob cut. Her dark skin was cast into shadow, but her eyes glinted as she fixed me with a look.
“Mr. Franco,” she said, while I busied myself staring at the way her lips moved, “We’ve got some questions for you.”
It was the standard cop line. What it really meant was: “We know what you did, or we want you to think we do, and by God you’re going to tell us or you’ll be facing the hurting end of our boots.”
I swallowed. The folder she’d dropped onto the table between us had my name on it, Miles Franco, in clean black text on a white label. I couldn’t work out for the life of me how it was so thick.
A page had spilled out, showing a mug shot of me from when I was about thirteen, after an alleged theft that was almost entirely not my fault. I looked a lot more pimply in the picture than I did now, but I still had the same narrow face and the mop of dark, curly, maddeningly uncontrollable hair.
Sweat pooled in the armpits of my shirt, but I tried to play it straight. “Vivian—”
“Detective Reed.”
I shrugged as if the difference was unimportant. “I’ve been asked many questions by your fine police department over the years. But I can’t say I’ve ever come out of a Tunnel with that many officers pointing guns at me before.”
She didn’t speak. Instead, she pulled out the chair opposite and calmly sat down. Tenting her fingers, she stared at me like a lioness about to pounce. Hell, she could probably smell my fear. Since I’d been working when they hauled me in here, I was still in my old suit, and now the tie around my neck felt a hell of a lot like a noose.
“Mr. Franco, I’d advise you to take this seriously.”
I decided to do as she said. Sometimes I was smart enough to know when being a smartass would get me in trouble. The cops in Bluegate weren’t particularly worried about things like ethics. Most of them were on the take, and the rest thought police brutality was a legitimate way to extract a confession. So I sat back in my chair, resisted the urge to wipe my forehead, and forced a smile onto my face.
Detective Reed opened the folder and flicked through the pages. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been arrested for smuggling Vei, is it?”
“Vei? Those weren’t Vei. Just a few souvenirs I picked up.” All right, so I wasn’t totally done with being a smartass.
She continued to page through the folder. “All these arrests, but no serious charges. You live a charmed life, Mr. Franco.�
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“What can I say? Lady Luck must have my number.”
“Not this time.” She jabbed at the table with her finger. “This time, Mr. Franco, we have you dead to rights.”
She was right, of course. It’d been a lousy damn job from start to finish. The client was the acquaintance of someone I’d helped out a few years back, a Vei woman who’d come practically begging me to bring her family to Earth. She claimed she didn’t have much money, and I was feeling stupid and generous, so I did the job pro bono. Maybe she’d spread the word, I figured, drum up more business for me. God knew I’d had barely a handful of paying jobs in the last two months. Plus, it wasn’t supposed to be difficult job; all I’d have to do was go there, pick the family up, and bring them back.
As it turned out, they weren’t the kind-hearted immigrant Vei family my client had made them out to be. It took me two days to track the entire family down. One of them took me for a human con-man and tried to stove my head in before I could calm him down. Another of them, a little girl, alternated between clinging to my leg and trying to run away.
I should’ve known. Vei were flighty and unpredictable at the best of times, and I’d never tried to transport that many of them before. I was so exhausted I could barely keep the Tunnel open on the way back, and when we finally emerged into the damp basement of my apartment building, I found half the goddamn Bluegate PD aiming pistols and shotguns at me.
As evenings went, that wasn’t one of my favorites.
There were legal ways of bringing Vei to Earth, but my way wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t a bad guy, or at least I didn’t think I was. Tunnelers took on all sorts of jobs, not all of them nice. Some smuggled booze and Ink and guns, but not me. I stuck with Vei and the occasional easily-hauled exotic metal or chemical that would’ve faced a hefty levy going through Customs.
Anyway, there wouldn’t be any need for the likes of me if it didn’t take a bribe the size of Bluegate itself to get through Immigration. Only a few were rich enough to pay that, and none of them made their money saving baby seals or caring for orphans.
The Man Who Couldn't Be Bought (A Miles Franco Short Story) Page 3