wasn’t old. But he was a son of a bitch. Nyquist had to put his badge against the door before Sevryn would open the door. “We’re closed,” Sevryn said. “And I’m out of everything.” Nyquist pushed his way in. The deli was small. It had four tables near the window up front, a display cabinet that was now empty, and a rotating holographic display that still showed slices of various sausages and lunch meats. The place smelled faintly of coffee, rye bread, and cheese. “I know you’re closed,” Nyquist said, thinking Sevryn’s statements were a little odd. “Well, I’m not giving leftovers to the department,” Sevryn said, shaking his head as he closed the door. He didn’t move, though, remaining near the entrance. “My business is down since the Peyti Crisis. I can’t afford to give away stuff.” Nyquist let out a small breath. Someone in the police department was extorting food from Sevryn? Nyquist would look into that. But first, he wanted to talk about Zhu. “I’m not here about food,”
