The Man Who Crossed Worlds (Miles Franco #1)

Chapter Ten

For once I was on the other side of the interrogation table, and it made a refreshing change. This table was just Spencer’s kitchen table—far less impressive than the interview room at the police station—but I was still enjoying myself. Let someone else see what it felt like.

“Why’d you run, Mr. Davies?” Vivian had given up all pretense of not being a cop as soon as we sat down around the tiny square table. For a place that let in no natural light, the kitchen was cozy, I guess, though it had a strange smell to it. I kept glancing toward his kitchen refrigerator, wondering if he kept his chemicals next to his lettuce.

Spencer, for his part, was a wreck. Not from the crash; he’d come out of that with no more than the scratch on his head. But his eyes flicked around the room constantly, and he tapped out an agitated rhythm on the table. He ran a long tongue across his shark-like teeth and twisted in his chair. He looked old, older even than he usually did.

“Mr. Davies,” Vivian repeated.

“You know how much danger I’m putting myself in if I say anything?”

“You’re in danger from me if you don’t talk,” I said.

His eyes stopped on me for a moment, before continuing their surveillance of the room. “Stop pretending to be tough, Franco. You can’t pull it off.”

I’d been beaten half to hell, and he didn’t think I was tough. Typical. I tried to loom over the table, but it didn’t really work from a sitting position, so I settled for scowling instead. Spencer didn’t take any notice.

“Look at me, Mr. Davies,” Vivian said. “Am I tough enough for you? Or would you like me to take you downtown and introduce you to some of the guys we’ve got locked up in holding? In fact, I think we’ve got a gang enforcer in there right now. You could make a new friend.”

Spencer’s face paled further—something I didn’t know was possible—and ceased sweeping the room with his eyes, though his fingers continued to fidget. “All right, all right.”

“Why did you run?”

He tapped his fingers on the table a few more times. Jesus, he was scared. Did I really want to hear what he had to say?

“I’ve been getting visits,” he said.

Vivian leaned forward. “Visits? From who?”

“I don’t know. First one came yesterday afternoon, when I was just getting out of the lab. All sorts of banging on my door, not the right knock. I was going to leave it, but it didn’t stop. I finally checked it out, and they started right in with the threats before I’d even let them inside.”

“Man? Woman?”

“Both. Two men, one Vei and one human. The human was big and fat. And there was a human woman with them. Don’t recall her name, but something about her face seemed familiar. A Tunneler, I think.”

That could be Shirley O’Neil and John Andrews’ men. No matter what Andrews claimed, the bastard was caught up in this somehow.

“Okay,” Vivian said, studying Spencer’s face, “and why did they threaten you?”

“They wanted information, same as you. But they weren’t quite as nice about asking for it.” He shot me a look that could have melted steel. “Though I note that none of them destroyed any cars to get to me.”

Being the bigger man, I chose to ignore that jab. Vivian pulled a notebook from some hidden pocket and was scribbling notes in handwriting that would have required a team of cryptographers to decipher. “Did they tell you who they worked for? And did you give them what they wanted?”