The Man Who Crossed Worlds (Miles Franco #1)

Chapter Nine

“You know, you really don’t have to come with me,” I said. “I’m capable of buying Kemia on my own.”

Vivian leaned against the steering wheel and threw me a look. “For the last time, Miles, if you’re spending my bloody money, I’m coming with you. Last time we left you alone you sent half the city’s lowlife scrambling to battle stations. You’re like a toddler with a machine gun.”

I put a hand to my chest. “You know, words hurt, Vivian.”

If she was about Tania’s age, she would have rolled her eyes—I could tell she was fighting the urge. As it was, she settled for a more cop-like scowl and peered out the window at the buildings across the street.

The neighborhood looked worse than it really was. It was typical inner-city Bluegate: scores of identical, gray, four-story apartments crammed together in blocks. The footpaths outside were scattered with homeless Vei sitting on broken-down cardboard boxes and huddled in torn sleeping bags. Both Vei and humans lived in this area, but the Vei seemed to cop the worst of the poverty here.

Many of the buildings’ windows had been broken at some point or other and patched up with sheets of plywood. Still, the gang presence here wasn’t too strong. Most of the residents were too poor to buy drugs, and it was hard to run a protection racket when no one had anything to protect. That was why my chemist had set up shop here.

“Well if we’re going to do this, let’s do it,” I said, throwing open the door of Vivian’s car. It was a nice little hatchback, navy blue with a minimum of dings. It stood out here, but it could’ve been worse. She could’ve brought a squad car.

A cold breeze cut down the street, and I buttoned up my suit jacket. It was still a little damp from the downpour, but it kept the worst of the cold out. Barely even winter and already the few trees on the street had been stripped of their leaves. I swore it was getting colder every year.

Vivian got out of the car as well, locked it, and strode to me, her eyes moving up and down the street. Her posture was eerily perfect. It was like watching a Barbie doll walk. A Barbie doll who could kick my ass.

“Christ,” I whispered. “Stop being such a cop.”

She stopped searching the street for threats and fixed me with a glare instead.

I pointed to her jacket. “Your gun’s poking out.”

I strolled across the street before she could reply. She caught up with me on the opposite side of the road, outside a building that looked just the same as all the others, right in the middle of the block. One set of stairs led up to the front door, while another set disappeared below street level to a dark green door with four locks that were all much too expensive to belong to someone who lived on this street.

Vivian peered down the stairs at the door, then threw one more suspicious glance around the street as if she expected someone to jump us. Hell, she was more agitated than me, and I was the one who’d spent all night getting guns shoved in his face.

“This is stupid,” she said. “I can get you Kemia from the station. The sanctioned Tunnelers have a dispensary—”

“I know about their dispensary. I’m not using that crap. It’s weak as rat piss. Spencer Davies is the best chemist in the city. All the freelancers use his Kemia.”

She still looked dubious. “If he’s so good, why does he operate out of a hole in the ground?”

I shrugged. “Holes make Spencer feel safe. Come on, and for the love of God play nice. If you spook him and he doesn’t want to deal with me anymore, I’m screwed.”