The Man Who Crossed Worlds (Miles Franco #1)

Chapter Twenty

I must’ve been feeling suicidal, because an hour later I found myself parked on the side of the road, munching on a sandwich I’d bought from a gas station and picking out the more sickly-looking pieces of chicken. It tasted like it’d been sitting inside the cabinet for a month, and from the interesting-looking spots on the bread I wouldn’t be surprised if it had. I choked down the last of it and grabbed a handful of Doritos from the packet in the passenger seat.

I was careful not to get crumbs all over the inside of Desmond’s car, mainly because I didn’t put it past Rob to kill me for something like that. The food I’d picked up from the gas station didn’t exactly make a well-rounded breakfast, but it filled the gnawing hole in my stomach. That was about all I could hope for right now.

The rain was still coming down outside, hammering on the car roof like machine-gun fire from the gods. To cover the sound I switched on the radio while I took a sip of Coke.

The newsreader’s voice came hissing through the static, and I turned up the volume. “…report that gang violence is up across Bluegate, but the police have no comment at this time. In a related story, Tunneler and murder suspect Miles Franco is still on the run this morning after allegedly beating an underworld chemist to death. Franco is also being sought for questioning over the murder of Lance Peterson, a Vei with known gang ties.”

I choked on my drink and had a coughing fit. Christ, Peterson was dead as well? Todd was tying up all the loose ends. The son of a bitch better have left the little Vei girl alone. Even if she had tasered me, she sure as hell didn’t deserve to get rubbed out.

The radio continued its monotone condemnation. “Franco is considered extremely dangerous, and police are advising the public not to approach him. A dedicated website has been established with further information. Police are urging anyone with information of Franco’s whereabouts to call the tip hotline at—”

I switched off the radio and rested my head on the steering wheel. I really didn’t understand today’s music.

I was starting to doze off when I caught a glimpse of red hair and an umbrella being opened across the street from me. I sat up, peering through the windscreen, and watched the figure cross the parking lot.

The pink neon lights above John Andrews’ strip club were a beacon through the heavy rain. Even in Bluegate there were classier strip clubs those girls could be working at, but something told me it was the promise of more than cash that kept them in the claws of the drug lord.

Staking out Andrews’ club probably wasn’t the best way to avoid getting shot, but it gave me a prime chance to get the ear of the gangster. And so far, it looked like it was paying off.

Caterina Andrews stopped outside her car, fumbled with her keys, and climbed inside, closing her umbrella at the same time. The blue sedan rumbled to life and the headlights flicked on. I started Desmond’s car as well. Talking directly to John Andrews would get me nothing but a hole in the ground. But maybe I could convince his wife to talk some sense into him.

Caterina’s sedan pulled out onto the road, and I followed. I stayed a little way back, doing my best not to attract her attention. I couldn’t afford for her to get spooked, especially if she’d seen my mug on the morning news. Tailing her would’ve been easier if the traffic was heavier and there were more cars to put between me and her, but I’d have to make do.

She drove carefully through the rain, making her way east toward the suburbs. The streets got cleaner and safer-looking the further we drove, or maybe the seediness was just kept under wraps. I’d never lived out in the suburbs, but I’d dealt with plenty of people who had. I soon found out you don’t stay that clean without trampling on the people lying in the mud.