A/N: Here's my first Christmas in July offering, set immediately after "Prodigy." This is for Annie, who requested an S1 adventure story with an evil villain and a minimum of fluff. I hope this fills the bill. I apologize for the lack of beta. I had scant internet access while abroad and away from home, so any typos are all my own fault.
Special Delivery with Jam Pony on Top
North Seattle, abandoned supermarket
Strav narrowed his eyes and glared at the fat fly droning lazily around his head.
"I hope you die a slow death," he grunted as the fly landed on the dish of clear liquid cooling on the counter.
"Bad luck for you." Strav smiled gleefully. The fly struggled for a moment, then lay still.
Strav was an average-sized man, with brown hair and brown eyes, quite non-descript in every way. At his old lab, he had hated being average, hated being ignored by everyone. But now, he supposed, being average made it easier to blend into the crowd.
He glanced around the run-down lab, a converted back room of an old supermarket. The vast banks of refrigerators had served as perfect storage units for his "works in progress," as he liked to call them. No one suspected he was running the lab from the market since the front of the store remained dark and empty. It was old and run-down, but at least it belonged to him.
Back at BioMarks, he hated playing second fiddle to his boss. To anyone who would listen, he complained constantly about being someone else's "Igor."
"The only Igor I'll ever be compared to is Igor Stravinsky," he muttered.
Of course, someone heard that and started calling him Strav. The name stuck.
"Now, I don't need those losers anymore," he thought to himself. "If they only knew. They'd be sorry they'd stayed with their sad little jobs and wished they'd come with me," Strav smiled to himself.
Strav packed the four tiny vials into padded tubes and put the four tubes into a larger plastic cylinder. He fitted the whole cylinder into a rubber sleeve and slid it into his bag. He flipped off the lights and slammed the door, leaving only the faint glow and the hum of the refrigerators behind him.
Outside the Steinlitz Hotel
Herbal, Sketchy and Original Cindy walked slowly away from the hotel, pushing their bikes. Max followed a few steps behind, still wearing the beige suit she had put on to be Rachel Glasser. Her friends tried to give her a little space, assuming she was tired. She wasn't tired though. Quite the opposite, she felt revved up, as though every hair were standing on end. Every nerve ending tingled. She had just gone crashing through a hotel window with Logan in her arms. She had just grabbed Jude and delivered him to Logan. It had all happened so fast.
A few minutes before, Max had stood next to the Aztek, her hands on the edge of the open window. Just as she had leaned in to talk to Bling, Logan had turned toward her, their faces almost touching. Logan had looked at her quizzically, his eyes searching. Realizing his hand lay on Max's, he drew it away slowly.
Max blinked and jutted out her chin a little.
"What? Cheer up, we got the kid."
"Yeah, I guess you did get the kid," Logan had smiled softly, suddenly seeming shy.
Logan had turned his attention to his old friend, Matt, standing next to the car.
"I won't forget this," he said, reaching out to grasp Matt's hand with his calloused one.
"As long as he's going to a good home," Matt had answered.
Then, they had driven off.
Why had Logan looked at her that way? Max had become accustomed to Logan "all business" attitude on missions but she hadn't expected that searching look. Maybe he thought she would be upset about seeing Lydecker. Maybe he knew that seeing Jude reminded her of her own childhood at Manticore. Logan couldn't have known that she was thinking about how every inch of her skin tingling after she got up from that bed in the Steinlitz. He couldn't have known that, could he?
"Hey Max," Original Cindy voice snapped her out back to the present. "It's not too late. We're going to the Slingshot to blow off some steam. You want to come? Take your mind off your little adventure? We can wait for you to change and get your bike."
"You go ahead. I want to go check on Kendra. I might catch up with you later."
Max watched Original Cindy, Sketchy and Herbal ride off slowly as she walked back to where her baby was parked around the corner.
Outside a warehouse, south Puget Sound
Traffic was a bitch. And even though bike messengers could jump the side walks, rush hour for the cars usually meant rush hour for pedestrians too. It was a long way to the harbor. The streetlights illuminated the rider's bright green jacket which read "Speedy Street Messengers." He shouldn't have stopped at the 'Shot. He glanced at his watch, pedaling furiously. Ten minutes to get there. If he cut through the shipping yard, he might still make it. He skidded around the corner, dodging under a stray piece of chain link fence. He rounded the next corner, but didn't see the metal grate in the fading light. His front tire caught in the grate, spilling him onto the pavement. Scarcely skipping a beat, he tore open his courier bag to check on its precious contents. With shaking hands he lifted out the rubberized cylinder to inspect it. It seemed intact. He placed it gently back into the bag. He rubbed his fingers together. They were wet.
The bag dropped from his hands.
Jam Pony Messenger Service
Max pulled into Jam Pony, late as usual.
"Hey Boo, we missed you at the Slingshot," said Original Cindy as she fell into step with Max.
"Sorry, I just ended up going home after I found Kendra," replied Max, opening her locker.
The usual chatter among the riders seemed oddly subdued. Sketchy and Herbal huddled around the lockers, talking quietly.
"What's up?" asked Max, looking around at the hushed riders.
"Something went down over by the docks last night. Found a dead boy and a bike. Same boy doin' the wheelie thing with us over at the 'Shot last night," Original Cindy went on.
"Was he one of ours?" asked Max.
"Nope. Worked for Speedy's. Don't even know why that boy'd go there at that hour. He wasn't on the clock, unless he was working extra."
"Listen, you degenerates! You're not getting paid for the talking, you know. Next round's up," Normal's voice cut through the conversation.
"Max, Sketchy, Herbal… and you," he glared at Original Cindy, "Bip, bip, bip!"
Abandoned supermarket, North Seattle
Across town, Strav watched the news in disgust. Why did that stupid messenger boy have to be so clumsy? Now, his client would have to wait another day for his shipment to arrive. To Strav, the boy's death had meant nothing, except that his product might garner some unwanted publicity. Still, when his clients saw that the product was undetectable, untraceable, they might be willing to pay a little bit more. Perhaps it was a lucky break for him after all.
At BioMarks, Strav had realized the potential of the mysterious chemical right away. After the Pulse, the government had secretly begun funding development of biological weapons again. The department's records were hidden away with other shadow projects like a little-known one called Manticore. However, even this shadow organization had dismissed Strav's invention stating that it was too unstable and useless for large scale use.
Strav kept his notes and planned his defection. He referred to his chemical as the "Post-It glue" of the bio warfare world. Back in the 90's, someone had invented a glue that didn't stick well and peeled off right away. Rather than dismissing the idea, the company had put the glue on small pieces of paper, thus launching an industry of temporary stick-on notes that had littered people's phones, desks, and books for nearly a decade.
Strav liked to think that his little toxin was an, as yet undiscovered, Post-It Glue. Of course, it would never be a household name. But, if he could make a fortune on it, what did it matter if there were one more or one fewer messenger boys in the world?
Fogle Towers, Seattle
Across town, in Fogle Towers, Logan still sat at the computer. He and Bling had stayed up most of the night trying to secure a safe home for Jude. Max had come by for a few minutes while he had been ordering a new chair, but then she had gone off to work. Finally, the arrangements had been made and Bling had taken Jude to his new family. The apartment was quiet.
Logan had slept only a few hours, but it was late morning and his brain refused to sleep any longer. Brewing himself an extravagantly large cup of coffee, he brought his breakfast back to the workroom. His fried egg on toast stared unblinkingly up at him as he tuned the screens to various news sites and scanned the headlines.
"Hot Weather is Store for the Weekend", "Gasoline Riots Extend Into Second Week"", Body Found Near Docks Identified", and "May 25th's Darius Goes Down in Steinlitz Showdown," and "Genetic Conference Cut Short."
The part he'd played at the Steinlitz hardly seemed real. Since the shooting, he had hardly ventured out to meet with any informants face to face, only meeting Matt occasionally. Otherwise, he had stayed out of the action, setting up remote video interviews or sending Max.
But the hostage situation at the Steinlitz had been different. Bling seemed to understand too. He hadn't questioned Logan's decision to drive over to the hotel or to offer himself to Darius in exchange for the hostages. It had all happened so fast.
Logan ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the headlines again.
Something in the third story, about the body, caught his eye. He zoomed in on a portion of the image. The photo showed a body in a green uniform sprawled on the pavement. One hand clutched a Class II Sector Pass, the type used by bicycle messengers. But it was the container that lay on the ground next to him that attracted Logan's attention.
Where had he seen it before? He scrolled quickly through images from Eyes Only's current investigations.
There it was.
Fingers moving quickly over the keyboard, he pulled up other images from police footage and local maps. Images flew by for the next half hour until Logan leaned back in his chair, satisfied.
He picked up his headset and dialed Matt Sung's private line.
"Sung, here."
"Hey, it's Logan. You know that body found by the docks this morning? I think it's connected to this biological weapons dealer I've been tracking."
"Bio weapons? That's for the feds."
"I don't think so. This isn't your usual weapon. This guy was on the feds watch list as an assistant, but he seems to have struck out on his own. Someone in Seattle has been selling some sort of chemical that kills on contact. Actually, it might even be the vapor that kills. I'm not even sure how it works because it doesn't seem to leave any trace at all. It's no WMD, it's more of an assassin weapon, I'd say. It disappears so quickly that it only kills the first person it contacts.
"What makes you think the bike messenger has anything to do with it?"
"The tabloid photo showed the messenger with his bag and a white plastic container. I saw the same transport containers when I was searching around 142nd Street for this guy. It would make sense that he uses bike messengers to deliver his product since the amounts would be tiny. A small container could hold the material and still have enough room for some coolant, a decoy, or whatever. The material might also need a fast transport if it was sensitive to temperature or anything."
"Well, my guys definitely couldn't find any trace of a poison on the body and I don't have any other leads. If you give me the location and I'll go check it out myself. I'll give you a call when I get there."
Logan leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. He would wait.
He heard the whir of the elevator doors opening. For a second, he thought Max might have come for a visit, but she had said she was working this morning. It was quiet again.
The adrenalin rush from the previous night's adventures had kept him going for a long time. Now, it was finally catching up with him. He tossed the cold, forgotten breakfast in the trash and closed his eyes. Yesterday morning seemed so long ago. You would think that his swan dive off the roof would have erased all other thoughts, but he kept thinking about Max standing at the door yesterday.
"You know what, Max. I'm having a hard enough time dealing with the here and now. You want to go listen to whatever pie in the sky Dr. Feel Good's hustling be my guest. Just leave me out of it, okay?
"Okay. I was just..."
"Just don't!" he interrupted brusquely, ushering her out.
"I'll call you if I can swing the conference thing," he finished, holding the door open for her.
He had been too full of his own feelings yesterday, but remembering now, he saw her so clearly. Her eyes went wide, her face showing a hurt that he almost never saw. Then, in the moment, it was gone, her mouth set in determined defense. Only the eyes still showed as deep, brown wells. His heart had ached as he shut the door behind her.
It wasn't Max's fault. She hadn't known why he had been upset yesterday morning. She hadn't seen him fall. He fell all the time. In fact, Bling dumped him on the ground regularly so that he could practice getting back in the chair. With Bling, he argued the mechanics of climbing back into the chair like he was discussing a tennis backhand, but with Max it was different. Logan had tried hard never to let her see him struggle. That first night that she had returned to him after the shooting, he had made it clear that he did not want her pity.
"The universe is right on schedule. Everything happens the way it's supposed to."
He didn't want her pity, now or ever.
If he could have explained things to her yesterday, maybe it would have opened things up for them. He just needed someone to understand, someone other than Bling. But he had been too proud. Instead, he had snapped at her about the good doctor. And the moment had been lost.
When Logan had plummeted off the roof and Max had leaped down to save him, their timing had been perfect. Otherwise, their timing generally sucked.
"Hey, Logan, are you still there?" Matt's voice crackled in the headset.
Logan woke up with a start. He had stretched out on the couch while Matt's team had made its way to the address Logan had sent, but now he was wide awake. Sitting up, he readjusted his earpiece as Matt continued.
"Logan, I'm standing in the alley behind a couple of old restaurants, a convenience store and a supermarket. We could probably search the whole block in a couple of hours, but there are so many ways out that we can't cover 'em all with the small team I've got right now. Can you give me something to narrow it down?" Matt voice came through clearer now.
"Yeah, give me a second." Logan pulled the laptop on the coffee table towards him and brought up the notes he had been reviewing.
"I see a narrow alley with loading bays on either side, nothing distinguishing," Matt continued. "They all look abandoned. If anyone's using these buildings, he's going out of his way to hide it."
Logan scrolled down his old notes, trying to picture that day.
"My notes just end after the fourth building. Is that it?" Logan asked.
"No, it keeps going all way to the end of the block."
It had been hot that day, a sweltering summer day two months ago. Logan had only returned to Eyes Only work three weeks before and he had been trying to chase down a few leads himself.
"Matt, look around. Do you see anything on the ground?"
"Yeah, I just stepped over a bunch of six or eight inch plastic, or PVC, pipes. Actually, I think their some kind of heavy duty hoses, twenty or so. They look like they haven't been used in ages either. Why?"
That was why Logan's notes had ended there. He remembered now. Popping his front wheels over first, he had gotten past the first couple of pipes, but the rest had been piled up, heavy and immovable. Bling would have wanted him to clamber over somehow, but only a couple of weeks out of rehab, he had given up and gone home, disgusted with the whole thing.
"Wait, Matt, I don't know why I didn't think about it before. The hoses, where do they lead? If you're going to convert an old building into a lab, you can use a generator for power, but you can't make your own water."
"Hold on, the hoses look like they lead to the supermarket. And the coupling looks new. It's just the pipe that looks old. We're going in. I'll keep you posted."
Jam Pony Messenger Service
Herbal, Max, Sketchy and Original Cindy picked up their boxes and packages from Normal's desk.
"Absolutely no Slingshot!" came Normal's screech. "The clients don't pay the big bucks to have their packages slammed around and run over. One of these days, I'm going over there myself to catch all of you and you'll all be looking for work."
"When pigs fly," muttered Herbal.
"What was that, Mister?"
"I said, 'We'll TRY,'" Herbal yelled.
They all grabbed bikes, courier bags, and water bottles, making their way towards the door.
"Hey, Cindy! Where ya headed? I'm going over to Financial"
"I've got this huge poster or whatever. I swear I hate these big flat ones, Max"
"You only got that little lab pack, Sketch?"
"Yeah. Oh, all right, don't give me that look. I'll flip you for it."
"We'll all flip for it."
"Hey," Normal voice cut through. "Quit switching packages. How am I supposed to know who to yell at if it doesn't get there on time?"
"Exactly!" came four voices at once.
142nd Ave area, North Seattle
Matt's voice came back on the line.
"You were right. The supermarket storage area's been outfitted with distillation equipment and the refrigeration units are in use too. No one's here, but there's no sign he's been tipped off. Just looks like he stepped out for a minute. He's got a whole bulletin board of newspaper clippings and printouts about this company, BioMarks. Hold on, I'm sending you some shots of the work table and notes."
"Give me a second, Matt."
Logan steadied the skittish chair Bling had borrowed for him. With no brakes, the chair needed his full attention for transfers, but it was very light and fast.
"Okay, Matt, I'm here." Logan swung around, heading for the workroom.
"Logan, I'm going to have a quick look around. Then, we're going to clear out and see if we can't catch him when he comes back.
Logan scrolled down the quick photos Matt had sent. He paused at the appointment book.
"Matt, it looks like our guy did just step out."
"I see it Logan. He was planning to drop off a shipment at another messenger service today, a place called Jam Pony. Hey, weren't you talking to some Jam Pony folks last night at the Steinlitz? If they don't know how dangerous this stuff is, they might get into trouble."
"Matt, I gotta go."
"All right, I'll call if I …"
Logan disconnected before Matt had time for another word.
Fogle Towers, Seattle
Stuffing his laptop into the bag that already hung on the back of his chair, he grabbed his keys and made his way towards the elevator. He punched in Max's pager number as he pulled out of the garage and waited for it to pick up before punching in his own number.
Logan tried desperately to push his uneasiness aside. Falling out of his chair yesterday. Getting stuck in that alley during the investigation. Getting thrown off the Steinlitz. What was he doing, rushing off on another Eyes Only rescue mission by himself?
Logan's cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and relief flooded him.
"Max, is that you?"
"Are you high? Of course it's me. Didn't you just page me?"
"Max, I don't have a lot of time to explain. Are you at Jam Pony?"
"Just left. Why?"
"You know that body found by the docks? He was a bike messenger delivering some high-grade bio toxin prototype and it leaked and killed him. Matt thinks that Jam Pony got another shipment of the same stuff today. I need you to go back to Jam Pony to see if that package's come in yet. It's a square white, padded container, about 12 –inch square with a clear, grey cover…"
"Original Cindy and the guys just left with that package. I doubled back to answer your page."
"Max, who has it? Where's it going?"
"I don't know. They were swapping the packages around when I left, but I'm pretty sure they were planning to go to the Slingshot before they delivered anything. I couldn't find a phone, so I came all the way back to JP. They're at least 15 minutes ahead of me now."
"You've got to catch them. If one of them goes flying off that jump, it could crack the container. They can't touch the stuff. I think I'm only a few blocks from there. I'll meet you there."
Pulling a U-turn up onto the curb, Logan turned the big SUV around and streaked down a side alley, then turned to head uphill.
Top of The Slingshot, Seattle
The four vials filled with clear, colorless liquid bounced along in the padded container, nestled in the courier bag.
"Watch and learn from the master, I'm gonna show you guys a new move?"
"Sketch, does that include the move where you end up on your head?"
"Very funny. I think I'll stick with going for the distance."
The three of them pulled up to the top of the hill known as the Slingshot. The Slingshot was simply the latest in a long line of bike messenger hangouts. The slope hadn't been known as anythingexcept a long ass-whupping hill to them until about a month ago. Then, someone had cut a hole in the chain link fence that surrounded the old construction site halfway down the hill. The building inside was to have been a new library, but the only part that had been built before the Pulse hit was the fountain. The fountain consisted of an 8-foot retaining wall above the building site. A thick concrete wall of the same height jutted out perpendicular to the retainer. The water had flowed out of a hole in the retaining wall, along a trench along the top edge of the perpendicular wall, then down a sloping trough into a wide fan-shaped basin.
Starting at the top of the hill, a rider would shoot down the Slingshot at top speed, zip through the opening in the fence, guide the speeding bike along the foot-wide trench on the wall, then fly down the chute into the basin. If she hit the fan-shaped basin just right, the force from the chute would sling the rider a good 20-feet or so into the air before landing in the dirt lot at the bottom of the hill.
Hence the name.
Of course, a lot could also go wrong, including falling off the side of the 8-foot wall, but the quest for a perfect "sling" provided hours of cheap entertainment… and bike messenger riders were nothing if not cheap.
One of the drawbacks of the Slingshot, was that the first part of downhill crossed a blind intersection. However, this only meant that a group of other riders had to be stationed at this intersection to watch out for cars and give the "all clear" when it was safe for the next rider to start down hill. Car drivers in the area hated it, but the riders loved hanging out and shouting encouragement to the other riders at the top.
It was a clear and cool night and the top of the Slingshot was crowded. Herbal, Cindy and Sketchy joined the others milling around near the top, waiting for "take-off."
Logan skidded around a corner and urged the Aztek up the hill. He was pretty sure that the top of the Slingshot was right around the corner. Max had invited him several times to watch her there, but he had always made up some excuse. He had passed some road repair equipment as the street narrowed, but now the road came abruptly to an end where a deep ditch ran across it. He slammed on the brakes. So close. He could just see the riders clustered at the top
Logan pulled over and reached for his chair. Sliding quickly down, he turned and headed towards the group of riders. In the dark, he could almost make out Max's friends, Herbal and Sketchy, but where was Cindy?
Herbal readied himself at the top of the hill. Another rider below signaled that the way was clear for takeoff.
Logan looked up to see Herbal start down. He shouted to Herbal to stop, but someone had brought a portable stereo and there way no way anyone could hear him over the throbbing bass.
Herbal raced down the 'Shot. He came barreling down the hill. His final jump was respectable and he landed upright, earning him a smattering of applause. He turned his bike around to head back up to the top. Another rider, following behind, tried the full fledged "fling" and landed in a pileup at the bottom. Sketchy was next.
Logan made slow progress over the steep, cracked pavement. He looked around for Max. He shouted at Sketchy vainly. It was so steep that each push of his arms seemed to move him only a few inches. He took in great gulps of the cold, night air, gritted his teeth, and kept going.
Now, in the fading light, he could see the white and grey container strapped to the outside of the courier bag on Sketchy's bike. Logan was still half a block over and half a block below the start point. Logan grabbed his rims and hauled them forward with all the strength he could muster to cut across to the course. He was on even ground now and the chair leaped forward. He tried to stay low to keep from tumbling out and pumped his arms harder and faster. Directly in front of him, he saw the small cluster of riders watching the traffic for the riders above.
The riders below gave the okay and Sketchy started slowly down. Logan spun his wheels twice more, then flashed by the riders at the intersection. Logan brought his arms up to shield his face at the last moment as his chair barreled into Sketchy's bike just as it began to pick up speed.
Sketchy and Logan slammed to the ground in a tangle of wheels and limbs. Logan's gloved hand grabbed the white container and flung it away from both of them.
"Cindy! No!" Max's voice rang out.
Logan looked up just in time to see Original Cindy starting down the course. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Max accelerate past him, leap from her own bike, and tackle Original Cindy into the bushes beside the road.
"Hey, what the hell is wrong with you people? Are you complete lunatics?" came Original Cindy's voice from inside the bushes.
"I was just getting ready for the greatest shred any of you has ever seen?" said Sketchy, slowly getting to his feet and limping over to his overturned bike.
"You AND your boyfriend are both insane," said Original Cindy, flinging aside her bike and brushing herself off.
"We're not like that/he's not my boyfriend," said Logan and Max simultaneously.
Max ad libbed, "Uh, the client just wanted his package back. He changed his mind. Normal sent us up here to get it,"
"What? Well, why didn't you just say so? I've got the goods. Don't worry," said Original Cindy.
She straightened up and reached a hand down the front of her shirt.
"Original Cindy figured these looked important, so she didn't want them to come to no harm," she said, pulling four small vials out of her cleavage.
She placed them, intact, into Max's hand.
"The way Original Cindy's love life has been going lately, there ain't no safer place than in there. You know what I mean?"
Epilogue
Original Cindy inspected her bike carefully. Sketchy flung his bag over his shoulder and accepted Logan's offer of fifty bucks to fix his bent pedal.
Matt called to say that they had caught the bad guy, apparently a guy known as "Strav." "
"He hasn't said too much yet, but I expect he's going to be pretty upset when Eyes Only blows the whistle on his little operation and makes his secret product obsolete with the publicity," Matt added before hanging up.
For the second time in two days, Original Cindy, Sketchy and Herbal rode off, leaving Max and Logan behind.
"The stuff might have gotten on you or Sketchy when you slammed into him, you know," said Max.
"I just didn't want him opening up a broken package at the bottom of the hill. Besides, I didn't have a lot of time to come up with a better plan. What was your excuse?" Logan smiled back.
The four vials safely stowed back in their container, Max pushed Logan's chair back to him and sat down on the curb. Logan's face felt hot as he steadied his chair against a low wall. Carefully, he lined up his feet and his knees. Then, leaning forward, he pushed his hips up and onto the seat on the first try.
"Very impressive, you know," Max voice was steady.
"What? The 'climbing back into my wheelchair' or the 'useless tackling of your friend?'"
"You didn't know it was useless at the time," Max said quietly. "Anyway, thanks, Logan."
Max squeezed Logan's hand. He turned to head back to the car. Max walked alongside, leaving her hand still resting lightly on his arm.