The Man Who Crossed Worlds (Miles Franco #1)

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.