CHAPTER SIX
I had a few minutes to ponder my idiocy while Ugly and Butch took me to see John Andrews. They let me sit in the back seat this time, which was awful big of them, though they only untied my ankles.
It’s not like I was going anywhere anyway. Without Kemia, I couldn’t create a big enough Pin Hole to be useful, and using my knife to cut myself free wasn’t going to help me much. Butch was driving, and he certainly wasn’t going slow. If I jumped from the car, all I’d get was a broken neck.
So I sat quietly, watching the night go past. I had no idea what time it was, but it couldn’t be far from dawn. I wondered if I’d live to see another sunrise. Then I remembered that I hated sunrises. They always happened much too early in the morning.
I’d been so goddamn stupid. Busting in on Peterson like that, trying to intimidate him into giving up the information that would get the cops off my back. If I’d stopped to think about it for one damn minute, I’d have been able to predict him flying off the handle like that. Peterson had been flighty and overly passionate back when I’d smuggled him to Earth, even more than most Vei. True, I’d expected a year on Earth to have mellowed him out a little, but that was just an excuse. In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising he’d got so upset.
I really did wish his niece hadn’t tasered me, though.
Oh well, I was way past worrying about that now. My only chance to survive was to talk my way out of the clutches of Bluegate’s worst gangster. And I wasn’t exactly a charmer.
My spirits picked up a little when Butch pulled the car up outside a strip club. I guess my life was kind of hanging in the balance, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still a man.
The building lay sprawled between some sort of factory and a run-down old porno store, but it had a nice little parking lot that was nearly full even at this hour. A pink neon sign told me the place was called The Dream Room. Kind of a tacky name, really. I expected a gangster’s club to have a bit more class.
Butch stepped out of the car and opened the back door. I tried to wriggle my way out, but he grew impatient and dragged me out by the front of my shirt.
“Thanks, friend,” I said, but he just grunted. Not much of a talker, that one.
Ugly had holstered his gun again, but I could see the outline of it under his jacket. He must have caught me looking, because he smirked at me and jerked his head toward the club entrance. “Move it.”
Butch shoved me to make sure I understood the instruction, and my heart rose in my throat as I walked. “Look, guys, it’s real nice that you remembered my birthday, but I’m not a big fan of strip clubs. I’m waiting for the right girl, you see.”
“Are you still talking?” Ugly glanced up at Butch. “If he opens his mouth again, rip out his tongue.”
Butch laughed, a deep, throaty noise. “Will do.”
I gulped, cartoon-style, and kept putting one foot in front of the other. At that minute, it was the only thing I could do.
Christ, I was fucked.
The bouncer on the door was human and almost as big as Butch. He nodded to my companions, gave me the quick once-over with his eyes, and let us pass without comment.
I could hear blaring music even before we passed through the foyer. I couldn’t believe they were still running at full steam at this time of the morning. Then again, I guess sex, like money, never sleeps. Ugly and Butch pushed me in front of them, through the dimly lit foyer and toward the saloon-style doors where I could see flashing colored lights and the tantalizing hint of a dancing woman’s flesh.
A small, spindly hand grabbed my arm. “Not in there, Tunneler.”
Ugly pointed to the corner of the foyer, where I could just make out the hint of a stairway leading up to a second level. I was about to say something about missing out on all the fun, but then I remembered Ugly’s earlier threat and decided to keep my mouth shut.
The upper floor was significantly less flashy than the club itself, being made mostly of polished wood floors and walls painted in muted colors. A couple of tasteful portraits attempted to brighten the place up, but I wasn’t in the mood to admire the artwork. The place had a certain kind of class, I guess, but the bass beat of the music pounding through the floor dampened the effect.
Ugly led the way to a pair of impressive oak double doors. John Andrews certainly liked to make a show. Ugly turned back to me, his hand on the doorknob, and smirked once more. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your life. Maybe your next one will go better, huh?”
I didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say. Roll back the curtains, gaze into the lights, hold for applause.
Let the performance begin.
Ugly threw open the door and a wave of raucous laughter washed out. I’d expected something like at the start of The Godfather, John Andrews sitting behind his desk, arms folded in front of him, while he quietly granted favors.
Instead, there was a goddamn casino.
Dozens of human and Vei men and women mingled around the high-vaulted room, dressed in outfits that would be more at home in 1920s New York and drinking out of champagne flutes and martini glasses. Most of them were well into middle age, but I spotted a few people my age or younger, and as usual it was difficult to tell the ages of the Vei.
The room was three times as wide across as my entire apartment. The carpet was velvet red, and the entire room was softly lit by six fake chandeliers. Several gaming tables were set up around the room, green lining covered in cards and dice. The room was alive with the cheerful clatter of chips and the victorious shouts of the winners.
The noise faltered a little when I stepped into the room. I must’ve been a sight; bound, bruised, my hair matted with dry blood. The room’s eyes turned toward me, the last of the noise dying away, and everyone went still.
I grinned at my audience. “Jesus. Strippers, gambling, this place has everything, doesn’t it?”
Butch punched me in the side. Several women let out short screams, the romantic notions of their gangster hosts apparently dampened. I toppled, the wind driven out of me again. Butch kindly grabbed me by the shoulder and kept me from falling, and the room went silent again.
“Leave.” The voice came from somewhere at the back of the room, but I couldn’t see who spoke.
No one moved.
“Go!” the voice boomed. The gamblers jumped, suddenly realizing they had all left their ovens on, and scrambled for the doorway. They gave me and my companions a wide berth as they slipped out the door, none of them meeting my eyes.
I didn’t give a damn. Beneath my fixed grin, my fear had acquired a layer of anger. The gangs weren’t the problem in Bluegate, not really. It was people like these. People who sucked up to the gangsters, trying to see what they could get out of them. It was all a bit of fun for them.
No. Focus, Miles. Now wasn’t the time to get on my high horse. I had more important things to worry about.
The last of the overdressed guests slipped past me and hurried down the stairs, high heels clacking on the wooden floors. There was a moment of silence, only broken by my wheezing breath and the sound of my heart beating in my ears. I’m not ashamed to admit my hands were trembling in their bonds.
Even though John Andrews’ picture had been on TV and in the newspaper a hundred times, I’d never really known what he looked like. It was a strange phenomenon that some Vei didn’t appear on camera well. The anti-immigration folks liked to claim it was because those Vei had retained some of Heaven’s instability inside themselves. Me, I just figured no one was willing to hang around Andrews long enough to get a clear shot.
But still, the Vei gangster was unmistakable, rising from behind the roulette table. He was tall for a Vei, taller than me, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. The tuxedo he wore was purest white, the bowtie hanging undone around his pale neck. The gold watch on his wrist glinted all the way across the room, and I had no doubt the purchase price could’ve saved a large village in Africa.
His face, well, that was the really creepy bit. Burne
d, wrinkled skin covered his left cheek, stretching down across the corner of his lips. His left eye was milky white, with no pupil, and when he opened his mouth I saw several teeth missing.
All in all, John Andrews was one scary-looking mother-fucker.
Andrews was so intimidating it took me a moment to realize he wasn’t alone. A woman sat at the roulette table beside him, dressed in a cocktail dress that she filled out in all the wrong ways. Her blond hair had been cropped close to her skull, giving her a stern appearance. I recognized her from the picture Detective Todd had showed me. Shirley O’Neil barely even looked at me as I stood there.
The Tunneler’s small black handbag sat on the table in front of her, and I could see the tip of a small glass bottle peeking out the top of it. Kemia. She had some with her. If I could get my hands on some…
No. There was no way I could get to it without winding up full of bullet holes. As much as it tempted me, I couldn’t rely on Tunneling to get me out of here. My one advantage was useless, and all I had left was my winning personality.
I started walking before Butch had a chance to give me another shove. I knew the drill by now. My legs seemed to be bending weirdly, like they were made of rubber, but they did their job and kept me upright. John Andrews watched me approach, his hands folded together in front of him, no expression on his face.
I stopped in front of the roulette table, fighting the urge to drop down and die right there. I was close enough now to see the silver earring in John Andrew’s right ear, a simple hoop—the only simple thing on him. He regarded me with his one working eye, never looking anywhere except my face, and slowly raised his hands.
“What is this?” The Vei accent was thick, not tempered by the fifteen or so years he must have lived on Earth. “Why do you bring me this man, here, of all places?”
I could sense Ugly tensing behind me. “He wouldn’t—”
“I do not care what he wouldn’t. I asked you to deal with this. Why is he alive?” Andrews spoke without anger in his voice, without anything at all in his voice. That only made it scarier. Vei weren’t supposed to be this calm.
“Don’t mind me,” I said. “Just thought I’d play some dice. Although, now I’m not liking my chances beating the house.” I nodded toward Shirley O’Neil, keeping my voice under control despite my fear. “Especially when you’ve got a pet Tunneler to help you beat the odds.”
Another of Butch’s blows took me in the side, harder this time.
“This is why you are here? To insult my business practices? Perhaps I will let Shirley turn you into something more agreeable. Replace your brain with that of a nice little puppy, maybe.”
“No. I wanted to talk to you about something else.” My ingenious plan to avoid becoming fish-food definitely seemed stupid now. “You know, before I get killed.”
Andrews’ expression didn’t change. He made his way around the table, removing the one barrier between him and me, and I fought the urge to bolt.
“You know who I am,” he said. “I see it. You are afraid. That is good, you should be afraid. But you stand proud. I admire that in a man.” He continued to move forward, until he was less than a foot away from me. “Unfortunately, you have upset my guests by coming here, and that upsets me.” He glanced at Ugly and spoke in Vei. “String him up in the basement, and pray to the Eight I don’t string you up as well.” He turned away.
“Wait,” I said in Vei. Andrews stopped and slowly turned back. I licked my lips, suddenly realizing my mouth was dry as a stone. “I thought maybe we can help each other.”
His appraisal of me seemed to shift slightly. Not many humans knew the Vei tongue, especially not ones who weren’t employed as ambassadors or consuls. I doubted even O’Neil did. His eye narrowed a fraction. “Help? What help do I need?”
“I hear there’s a new drug coming soon. The cops think you’re behind it, but me, I’m not so sure. I think you’ve been left out in the cold on this one. I think you’re scared.”
I expected him to snarl, to shout, but instead he grinned, showing me all his missing teeth. I shivered. The snarl would have been better.
He turned his grin to Ugly and Butch and spoke in English again. “Did you hear this man? He thinks I’m scared.” He returned his gaze to me, the grin widening manically. “This is a strange way to beg for your life, Mr…”
“Franco,” O’Neil offered.
“Mr. Franco.” John Andrews glanced back at the Tunneler. “You know this man?”
She shrugged. “Not personally. He is a no-name Tunneler.”
“And now the police’s new lapdog.” Andrews let his smile fade. “I do not get scared by dreamers who think they can take my business out from under me with no more than a shiny new drug.”
“Well in that case, I suppose you don’t want my help getting that shiny new drug out of your competitors’ hands?”
It was a complete bluff. He had a straight flush, and I was holding a hand of Jokers. But it stopped him, and that was something. My hopes soared for a second, then started to crash back down as he opened his mouth and shook his head.
“John?” The woman’s voice came from behind me. It interrupted Andrews before he could speak, and he closed his mouth. His eyelid fluttered, an expression that was either ecstasy or annoyance. Possibly both. Vei were strange like that.
I turned carefully, not eager to put my back to the gangster. The woman was human, slim, and young. Her red hair was drawn up into a ponytail, and she wore a high-necked dress and comfortable-looking sandals.
John Andrews brushed past me and held out his arms to the woman. “Caterina, you shouldn’t be here.”
She accepted his embrace, but stared over his shoulder at the rest of us. “I woke up early and you hadn’t come home. What’s going on here?”
Andrews broke away from her, taking in the way she watched me. No doubt I looked pretty horrifying, and I wondered if I scared her. She’d probably seen worse. That was what happened when you kept gangster company, I suppose.
Andrews grinned at me again, though it was a more normal expression this time. “My wife, you interest her. She likes pretty things. Maybe she thinks you’re a pretty thing?” He laughed, but Caterina kept her eyes on me. A flash of something—fear?—passed across her face, and then it was gone. I didn’t let myself respond. Instead, I settled for pleading with my eyes. Get me out of here, lady.
Interspecies marriages were rare, but not unheard of. This one surprised me, though. She’d somehow managed to keep out of the media spotlight. I hadn’t even known Andrews was married.
Andrews made a shooing motion with his hands. “We have business to attend to. Go wait in my office. I will be there soon.”
She didn’t move. “What sort of business?”
“It is nothing. The usual. This man is a Tunneler who has been poking his nose where it does not belong.” She frowned, but he put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “You know the nature of my work. I do not wish you to see this. Go to my office.”
She stared into his eyes, and I could swear his expression softened. Maybe the big bad gangster had a heart somewhere in there after all. What kind of screwed up relationship was this?
With one final glance at me, Caterina turned away and strode down the hallway. I watched her go, feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. So much for my telepathic cries for help.
Andrews sighed and pulled the doors to the casino shut after her, then faced me again.
“Well, Mr. Franco, I believe you were saying something.”
I screwed up my eyes, trying to get my thoughts together. “A deal. You don’t want Chroma on the streets under someone else’s control. Will it be the Gravediggers who cut you down? The Silk Dragons?”
O’Neil let out a little noise, something that might almost have been a giggle. Andrews ran a tongue over his teeth. “You offer me protection from the scary gangs? Me?”
“Chroma hits the streets, that’s bad for you. Bad for me, too. I don’t m
uch like you, and I know you sure as hell aren’t fond of me, but maybe we can form a working relationship.”
My heart twisted as I said it, even though I had zero intention of following through. Even the thought of making a deal with this man made me sick.
By the smile spreading over Andrews’ face, it didn’t look like I’d have long to feel guilty.
“You know nothing,” he said slowly. “I see it in your eyes. You have no idea who Doctor Dee is working for, do you? When Peterson called me, ranting and raving like a mad person, I thought you were a threat. A pity for you.”
He lifted his hands in front of my face. For a moment, I had the strangest idea that he was going to squeeze my cheeks like on overly affectionate old lady.
But then I realized his fingers were changing.
I watched in shock, heart hammering, as his fingers grew longer, longer. In less than a second they were as long as his forearm, slender and jointed in too many places. Butch held me tight as cruel claws emerged from the tips of Andrews’ fingers, stretching toward me. Aw, hell.
“Good-bye, Mr. Franco,” he said, pressing the claws against my throat. “It has been a pleasure.”
My cell phone rang.
The sound of it nearly sent me jumping out of my skin, and it seemed to have scared Ugly as well. He’d got his pistol halfway out from under his jacket, and was staring at my jacket pocket like he was contemplating putting a bullet in it.
I sucked in a breath and twisted to look at John Andrews’ hands, but they were normal Vei hands again, as if nothing had ever happened. Christ. That shouldn’t have been possible.
I recovered myself, trying to control my breathing, and nodded toward my pocket. “Do you mind?”
Ugly glanced at Andrews, who frowned, then nodded. He returned his hands to his side, and I tried not to stare at them. Ugly reached into my pocket, flipped open the aging phone, and pressed it to my ear.
“Miles here,” I said.
“Mr. Franco.” It took me a second, then I recognized Detective Reed’s voice. She sounded pissed. “Where the hell are you?”
“Hi Vivian. I’m at John Andrew’s strip club. If I don’t call you in an hour—”
Butch’s hand clamped over my mouth, and Ugly ripped the phone away. Andrews stepped up to me, sharp teeth inches from my face. “That was very foolish, Tunneler.”
I twisted my head away from Butch’s hand, and he released me. “It’s the cops. They want to talk to you.”
Andrews stared at the phone like it was a loaded gun. I could still hear Vivian squawking. Andrews took the phone from Ugly and pressed it against my face. “You will tell them you are safe.”
I kept my mouth shut. Detective Reed’s call had rattled him more than I would’ve expected it to, but I wasn’t complaining. Hell, maybe he was just afraid to find cops sniffing around his business for once. Most of the force was in his pocket, and the rest were too scared to do their jobs. Whatever else they were, Detectives Reed and Todd had giant brass balls.
Something dark burned in Andrew’s remaining eye. For a moment I thought he might kill me there, and to hell with the police, but he brought the phone back to his ear and said, “He will call you back.”
He snapped the phone shut and tucked it into the side pocket of my jacket. “This is not over, Mr. Franco.” He clicked his fingers, and Butch shoved me toward the door. I walked, obedient, on a high. O’Neil watched me, still seated, her expression blank. I met her eyes, but saw nothing there.
Ugly opened the door for me and let me through. I was getting out alive. Sweet Jesus, I was still breathing.
“Wait,” John Andrews said. My heart plummeted. “Mr. Franco has upset me this night. Make him hurt before he leaves.”
They took me out to the parking lot and beat me like a goddamn bongo drum. It was still dark out, and I crawled in the puddles, soaking wet with rain, while they kicked me again and again in the gut. A couple of times I thought I was going to pass out, but then one asshole or other would deliver a blow that sent fire up my back, shocking me back to reality. I think the bouncer might have joined in the fun for a bit.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, the blows stopped. I lay on the ground, unable to stop coughing, blood in my mouth. My vision was blurred, but I could make out Ugly bending down in front of me, smoking another cigarette despite the pouring rain.
“Never call me a lumpfish again.” He reached into my pocket, found my knife, and held it up. “Try cutting yourself free without this, asshole.”
I groaned into the concrete, pain coursing through every inch of my skin, and tried not to think about how badly I’d failed.
The Man Who Crossed Worlds (Miles Franco #1) Page 6