Several Months Later

Logan climbed the steps to his small apartment on the third floor. With his healing factor stretched thin from exhaustion, his muscles ached from working two full shifts back to back. He rolled his shoulders and stopped in front of his door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and pulled out his earnings from that day. The coins and dollars in his palm were a sad sight. It was hardly enough to last them a few days. He muttered a string of swears under his breath as he wearily rested his forehead against the door.

In the back of his mind, he knew he should've found a better place for Jack. The kid deserved better than the life he was giving him. The worst part, Logan thought, was that it was his own selfishness that had taken the boy down this road. He cared deeply for the kid, and the thought of letting him go and giving him to someone else felt like a knife through his heart.

Logan swallowed, stuffed the money back into his pocket, and opened the door.

Jack looked up from the book he was reading. "Logan!"

"Hey kid," he said as he forced a smile.

"Man, you look like shit."

His smile shifted into a scowl. "Language!"

"You're one to talk." He quipped as he sat up on the bed.

"Do as I say, Jack, not as I do." He replied as he shook his head and took his place on the tattered blankets on the floor. He laid back with a quiet grunt and closed his eyes. Despite the overwhelming exhaustion, he could feel the boy's scrutinizing stare.

"You're going to work yourself into the grave, Logan. Would you please let me help? I'm more than old enough to work in those factories. They hire just about anyone nowadays!"

"For the last time, you are not working in those factories!" He snarled. "And don't worry about me, you know I can't die."

With those words, the room went silent, the sounds of the awakening city outside only making the silence that fell between them louder. Logan was dead set against the idea of Jack working in a factory. He'd witnessed firsthand the horrors that happened along assembly lines. In the month he'd been working the line, he'd seen several workers either lose a limb or end their workday maimed. Logan couldn't stand the thought of the same thing happening to the boy. He would rather turn to unsavory work than allow even the possibility of Jack getting hurt, let alone forgoing schooling to earn a few extra bucks.

"You may not be able to die, but you can't keep living like this." Jack finally said.

He sighed and looked over at him. "I'm going to get you out of this dump one way or another."

"I know you will." With a wave of his hand, he pulled one of the blankets over Logan and resumed reading his book.

He only slept a few hours before rising to return to work. Jack had tried to convince him to rest, but it wasn't enough to break through Logan's unwavering determination and stubbornness. Instead, he managed to convince the boy that he was fine and would be back by a decent hour.

At least that had been the plan.

Leaving work at a reasonable time wasn't an issue as he had clocked out right on the dot. It was as he made his way back home, however, when he encountered an unexpected diversion.

The smell of fear mixed with blood was the first thing that had caught his attention. It had forced him to stop in his tracks, his keen sense of smell quickly identifying that the source of it was coming from an alley.

Logan cautiously followed the scent trail, and the scene he stumbled upon involved a man in his fifties and four other lanky men. The four of them towering around the gentleman, one pinning him against the brick wall of a building. Logan stayed in the shadows as he tried to piece together the context of the situation.

"You're awfully far from home, North Sider." One of them jeered.

"Yeah well, I thought I'd go out for a little stroll. Guess I strolled a little too far." The man replied. He had a thick Irish accent, and by now Logan had pieced together that the source of the metallic scent of blood came from his temple.

"Bullshit," another hissed.

"Look, I just transport the stuff! And I ain't about to steal any of your nasty rotgut!"

The insult earned the man a swift punch to his gut.

With a scowl, Logan decided that was his queue for him to intervene. "Call me crazy, but this fight doesn't seem fair to me."

Two of the men jumped upon noticing his presence and they quickly drew their pistols. Logan continued to close the distance between them and raised his hands.

"Easy, fellas."

"Who the hell are you?" One of them demanded.

"Nobody, really."

"Then get the fuck out of here already and mind your own damn business!"

"I'm not going anywhere." Time seemed to slow down for Logan at that moment. He knew the two men would open fire after hearing his threat. These men were predictable, and so he ducked before they could fire and lunged towards them. The thrill of the fight pounded in his veins as he threw precise, heavy punches. It'd been too long, and the animal within was hungry for a fight.

The four men went down easily, and part of him was disappointed that it wasn't more of a challenge. He adjusted his leather jacket and turned to the man who was gaping at the sight of four unconscious men.

"Are you alright?" Logan asked.

The question snapped the man out of his daze and he quickly nodded. "Yes, well, thanks to you of course!"

"Don't mention it," Logan replied as he helped the man to his feet.

"And to whom do I owe my life to?"

"Name's Logan,"

The man cocked an eyebrow. "Just Logan, eh?"

"And you are?" He prompted, ignoring the question.

"Martin Byrne," he said as his grey eyes looked him over.

Logan's eyebrows pulled together, unsure of what to make of his scrutinizing gaze. "What?"

"Forgive me for prying, but are you by chance looking for employment?"

"Excuse me?" The question was a strange one, but he knew what the gentleman was getting at.

"Come to think of it, let's talk about this elsewhere. My car's just down the street." He said as he exited the alley and waved for Logan to follow.

He wanted to blame morbid curiosity as to why he followed, but he was the farthest thing from oblivious as to what was happening.

"Now how do I know you're not gonna put a bullet through my skull or something?" He asked.

"Well, I've let you come this far unscathed, haven't I?" Martin grinned as he opened his car door. "But seriously, do I really look like I could harm ya? I could barely handle myself back there with those damn South Siders."

"You don't need the looks if you've got a firearm." Logan countered as he folded his arms across his chest.

He shrugged. "Perhaps, yet here we are still chit-chatting!"

He had him there. Logan sighed as he reluctantly stepped into the car and with that, they were off driving to who knows where. As Martin drove, he kept an eye on the street names and tall buildings that they passed. From the looks of it, they were driving towards the Near North Side close to Lake Shore Drive.

Logan glanced over at Martin who had lit a cigarette. "Why did you ask if I'm employed?"

"Well, I'm sure you've puzzled together what I do by now, and if you've been keeping up with the papers, you know that O'Banion's been offed. Everyone's on edge, but the bootlegging is our biggest profit, and it must go on. And, as you saw back there, I could use some help from someone like you."

"Someone like me, huh?" He scoffed. "I've pieced most of it together, but what exactly do you do?"

"I transport, mostly. That and I keep an ear out for jobs that seem both reliable and profitable."

Logan thought it over as he stared out the window, his hand absentmindedly stroking his stubbled chin. It was definitely illegal, but he didn't have much of a choice. Most of his money was quickly running out and he would be back at square one by the end of the week.

At least bootlegging wasn't the worst thing out there.

Martin eyed him as he remained silent and took a long drag on his cigarette. "Are you a married man, boyo?"

"No, sir."

"You got any family? This gig is illegal at best and dangerous."

He hesitated. Jack certainly wouldn't approve. The Densmores had raised him with a proper moral compass while he himself was morally gray. Yet this was his chance to make a better life for the boy, and despite his better judgment, he found he couldn't pass it up. "I'm in."

"Fantastic! You'll have to be approved by Mr. Weiss first. He's the brains of the operation now, and everyone's rightfully paranoid. He'll want to make sure you're not some kind of rat."

Martin parked beside what looked like a flower shop and they both exited the car. Logan studied the building, pausing to identify exits in case he was walking into a trap. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I'll do the talking unless he directly asks you a question."

"Sure, whatever makes the man happy," Logan replied.

Martin led him inside and past a few bodyguards. He was impressed that the inside was a functioning flower shop. It was the last thing he'd expected to see as a gang's front. He followed Martin to a room in the back that had two more men guarding the door. They recognized the Irishman but tensed and placed a hand on their pistols when they saw Logan. Martin reassured them he could be trusted for the time being and they entered the room.

Inside, was a man who could only be Hymie Weiss. He had the resemblance of a hawk, and his steely eyes had a dark storm brewing behind them. The man hadn't said a word, but Logan could tell he was out for blood and a force to be reckoned with. He could smell it on him, and he had been in that same storm himself years ago.

"Mr. Weiss, I'd like you to meet Logan," Martin said as he gestured to him.

Hymie's cold, penetrating stare shifted to Logan. "Who are you, really?"

"I'm just a Canuck looking for work."

His eyes narrowed. "Keep talking."

"Well," Logan started, "I fought in the Great War, made my way to Nebraska to work as a ranch hand, and then moved here when the crops went bad." The only truthful statement in that sentence was that he'd fought in a war. This man didn't need to know about New York or Indiana.

"Have you ever done anything illegal?"

Logan shrugged. "I've killed a few men outside of war. Weren't right, but I'd do it again."

Weiss looked over at Martin. "Do you trust this man?"

"He saved my life and I damn well trust him with it. If he proves otherwise, I'll just shoot him. Right boyo?" He asked with a friendly clap on his back.

"Seems fair," Logan grinned.

Weiss scrutinized him with his piercing eyes before looking over at Martin. "Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"As sure as death and taxes,"

Hymie finally nodded his approval and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The two of them left without another word and stepped into Martin's car.

"You'll have to forgive Weiss' brusqueness. He hasn't been the same since O'Banion was killed." Martin said as he started the coach sedan. "Dean was his closest friend and mentor."

"I understand,"

"So where do you live, my friend?" He asked as he shifted and pulled out onto the street.

"Belmont Gardens,"

Martin nodded and headed west from where they were. It was only a twenty-minute drive, and Logan stopped him as the apartment building came into view. The Irishman parked and squinted at the building. "This is the dump you're living in?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "It's better than living on the streets, isn't it?"

"Well, you might as well be on the streets living in that shit hole!"

"At least it's a roof over our heads." He muttered.

"What do you mean, 'our'?" Martin asked.

He mentally cursed himself for the slip. "I share the unit with a roommate."

Martin wasn't convinced, but Logan was glad he didn't press further. "I'll see you in the mornin', Logan. Get some rest."

He nodded and exited the car. When he arrived at his door, he checked his pocket watch and sighed. It was nearly eleven at night and far past the time frame he had given Jack. Logan only hoped he hadn't worried the boy with his absence. Tucking the pocket watch away and taking a deep breath, he opened the door and quietly stepped inside.

Jack jolted upright at the sound of the door opening, and before Logan could greet him, he found himself thrown against the wall. He grunted as he landed on the hardwood floor with a loud thud. "Easy, Jack! It's me!"

The fear in his wide eyes faded and he hurried over to Logan's side. "I'm so sorry! I thought someone had—"

"Hey, slow down. Don't worry about it. Better to be safe than sorry, right?" He said as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, there's nothing you can do to hurt me."

Jack reluctantly nodded, inspecting him regardless. "You're home late."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, I got caught up helping someone who was being robbed and held at gunpoint."

"I started to think something had happened to you."

Hearing the tremble in his voice, Logan pulled him into a hug. "Nothing's happening to me, alright? You're stuck with me until you decide otherwise, you hear?"

"Good,"

He smiled to himself. Despite their tight situation with money, he was content having only the boy at his side. Logan couldn't care less about money. All he cared about was Jack's wellbeing. "You should go back to sleep. You've got school tomorrow."

"You're the reason I woke up in the first place!" He quipped as he returned to his bed. Logan simply rolled his eyes before getting settled himself.


The morning sunlight spilling through the curtain onto his face awoke him. Judging by the soft, warm light that filled the room, it was still early. He stretched as he sat up before swapping his clothes for clean ones. Jack wasn't too far behind him as he got ready for the day. Both of them were early risers, and Logan always enjoyed having his company in the morning. Only a few words were shared at times, but he appreciated his presence nonetheless.

Logan smoothed his hair and pulled back the curtain to scan the street. Sure enough, he found Martin waiting beside his car. He said goodbye to Jack and descended the stairs before exiting the building.

Martin greeted him with a smile. "Ah, Logan! Best of the mornin' to you!"

"Mornin'," he replied, "what do you have planned for today?"

"Just a quick drop-off, something easy to get you used to the way we run things."

Logan nodded and both of them were about to step into the car when he heard his name called. He turned and then looked up when he heard his name again. It was Jack calling his name from the window of their apartment.

"Do you think you'll be back earlier today?" He asked.

Logan hesitated. He could feel Martin's gaze on his back and the hairs on his neck stood on end.

"I'm hoping." He replied nonchalantly despite the dread that was growing in the pit of his stomach.

Jack nodded, said goodbye, and closed the window.

Both men were silent as they entered the car, and Logan knew there would be no getting out of this one. There was no doubt he would be questioned about the interaction, especially after yesterday's conversation. Yet Martin continued to drive in a silence that could only be described as painful. It was killing Logan, and he tried his best to not fidget in his seat. When Martin broke the silence after what seemed like an eternity, it was nothing but sweet relief to him.

"Quite a roommate you've got there." He commented dryly.

"Listen, I—"

"You said you weren't a family man."

"I actually didn't," Logan said flatly.

Martin hit the steering wheel and muttered under his breath. "For fuck's sake, Logan! Have you even considered what might happen to the boy if this job killed you?"

"Worse things will happen to him if I don't start earning money! I can handle this."

"Look, from what I've gathered you're the only person that boy has. You need to be careful." He stressed.

Logan sighed. "I know,"

Martine eyed him before turning left onto another street. "So, what's your son's name?"

"His name's Jack, and he isn't mine."

"Then what happened to his parents?"

"They passed away from pneumonia several years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He shrugged. "That's the way it is sometimes."

"I suppose you're right, but it's still a shame."

Eventually, they arrived at what Logan presumed to be a small club. While its size was nothing notable, the sign above its entrance dwarfed the building. He almost found the sight comical. The place screamed speakeasy yet was still running. Martin switched the car off and reached into the backseat before throwing a tarp off some crates.

"You grab one crate, and I'll grab the other." He instructed.

Logan nodded, stepped out of the car, and took one crate from the back seat. After Martin removed the other, he followed him to the side entrance of the building where a man wearing a vest and bowtie opened the door.

"Come in, quickly. There've been a few cops sniffing about this week." He said as he waved them in.

"I wonder why," Logan remarked. Martin managed to elbow him in the side despite the load he was carrying, and they were led to a dingy storage room towards the back of the building.

"Can I offer you boys anything to drink at a steep discount?" The man asked, handing Martin the cash that was owed for the liquor. Martin counted the cash, handed a portion of it to Logan, and looked up at the man and he tucked the rest of it away into his breast pocket.

"I think we've got time for one, Ernest." He replied.

He nodded and gestured for them to follow him to another room within the building. There was a counter that lined one wall where booze of all kinds was stacked. Between those sitting at the barstools and others sitting at tables, there were at least fifteen to twenty people enjoying a drink or two. Logan eyed them, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in a room that only had space to comfortably fit ten people. Other than Martin, he didn't trust a single person there. He followed the Irishman closely and took a seat beside him at the counter.

"So, what will it be?" Ernest asked.

"I'll take a beer. How 'bout you, Logan?"

Logan's attention was pulled back to the bartender. While he was already on edge, there was something about the man behind the counter he didn't like. He didn't like most people, but there was a shifty look to this one.

"Just a whiskey,"

"I didn't know you were a whiskey man!" Martin scoffed.

"I prefer the stronger stuff."

Ernest handed them their drinks and Logan took a swig of whiskey from his glass as Martin did the same with his beer. It was watered down and unpleasant, but at least he could still taste the alcohol. Martin, however, felt differently about the matter. Logan could tell by the scowl on his face. The Irishman's mood had turned sour and Logan watched as he lifted the glass to his nose for a sniff. Logan watched him before sliding his glass over.

"Here, take mine." He said.

Martin shook his head. "That's not the issue here. What's rustling my feathers is the fact we sold them perfectly good alcohol, and this is what we get? A half-assed thanks?"

By now the bartender was more than just eavesdropping. With eyebrows drawn, he stalked over to where they were sitting. "Don't like it? Then leave, I've got better things to do than listen to some cat-lick, mick complain!"

Before Logan could insult Ernest in kind, Martin threw his beer onto his face. "That'll teach ya to watch your manners! Don't expect us to be selling any more to you! Good day,"

Logan hid his smirk by slamming what was left of his drink down before following his friend. As they walked across the tiled floor, a patron grabbed Martin by his collar and forced him against the wall.

"Do you really think you can disrespect Ernest like that and get away with it?" He spat as he raised a fist.

Logan snarled and stepped between them, one hand steadying Martin and the other forcing the stranger several steps back with a shove. "Keep your hands to yourself if you want to keep them!"

The patron caught himself from falling using the counter and glared at him. "Just who do you think you are?"

"Someone you don't want to mess with, bub."

That was enough to send the man over the edge. His face flushed red and he lunged forward with fists raised. Logan was ready for him and as soon as he was close enough, he punched him in the gut before landing a blow to his temple. The impact knocked him out cold and the stranger crumpled to the ground. Logan stared at the man who was lying still on the floor, the skin on his temple now broken and bleeding. By now everyone was watching with either amusement, shock, or apathy. He was about to walk out when he felt arms wrap tightly around his neck from behind. Without hesitation, Logan jabbed the man hard in the ribs with his elbow. The man's hold on his neck loosened as he swore, and Logan elbowed him again the gut, ducked out from under his arms, and threw him to the ground. He breathed heavily as he stared at the other patrons, daring them out of their seats. However, they had all learned from the other two men and not one of them accepted his challenge. Satisfied, Logan and Martin left the establishment and stepped into their car.

"That was grand! You were fantastic in there!" Martin said as he pulled the choke and switched the engine on. "Thank you, Logan, for having my back. You truly are a lifesaver."

"Anytime, Marty," he replied.

"My other partner was like you. He didn't care who or what he was fighting as long as he was protecting his own."

Logan's hands stilled while fixing his collar and he studied Martin. "What happened to him?"

"One day the job we took was a setup. He was shot through the heart, God rest his soul."

He scratched the back of his head and mulled over the new information. "When did he pass?"

"Earlier this year," he sighed, "that's why I keep trying to get through that thick head of yours that this job ain't easy, and sometimes shit happens."

"Listen, don't you worry about me. I can take and deal a lot of damage."

"If you say so,"

They drove back to the apartment and Martin parked alongside the curb. Logan looked up at the building, his thoughts wandering elsewhere. What Martin had said yesterday wasn't far from the truth. The place was far from an ideal abode. The landlord a crook and refused to maintain the place, making the units far less than ideal. He and Jack would have to find somewhere else to stay eventually, but the city wasn't cheap, and neither was land.

Martin examined him as he stayed lost in thought, and it was the clearing of his throat that interrupted Logan's musings. "If I may, Logan, there are other options besides that dump."

"I know, but I can't afford them. Not at the moment, anyway."

"What if I told you I had a spare bedroom available for free in my house?"

The offer pulled Logan's attention away from the brick building and his blue eyes settled on Martin's. Was he joking? "A spare room for free?"

"Sure! It's the least I can do for you and that boy of yours."

Logan was speechless. The last time he'd encountered such kindness had been with Clara years ago. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!"

"I don't know what to say, thank you."

"Your thanks is good enough." He said.

He nodded and glanced at the building again. "Jack should be home from school shortly. Do you mind if we wait inside?"

"Not at all!" Martin replied as they exited the car. They climbed the steps until they reached the third floor and entered the unit. Martin let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the small living space.

"How long have you managed to live in this shithole?" He asked, a grin taking over his features.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Since April,"

"You've lived here for seven months?" He exclaimed before pointing to the blankets on the floor. "Is that where you sleep?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Logan huffed.

Martin eyed him in disbelief. "Well, that explains the bloody tired look you always have in your eyes."

"The kid needs sleep more than I do. I don't like sleeping for long periods of time anyway."

"Suit yourself, but there's two twin beds in my spare room, so there'll be no more sleeping on the floor for you!"

Logan chuckled to himself and began to gather their things. He heard Jack coming and turned as the door opened. The boy stopped in his tracks and his eyes flicked between Martin and Logan as he tried to grasp what was going on.

"Who's this?" he asked tentatively.

"Martin is a friend from work. He has a spare bedroom he's going to let us use at no cost." Logan replied.

Jack's mouth fell open. "Really?"

"Absolutely! Logan has saved my life more than once, so it's the least I can do." Martin said.

A broad smile stretched across Jack's face and he eagerly began helping gather and take down their belongings.

Martin's house wasn't too far from their apartment. It took ten minutes tops before they pulled up to a quaint bungalow house off West Addison Street. In the front, there were a few stairs that led up to a small porch. Five bay windows wrapped around the front of the building and the lawn, Logan noticed, was meticulously taken care of. After grabbing their things, they entered the house where Martin gave them a brief tour. It was a charming place with little touches that made it feel like home, and Logan was surprised by how spacious the house felt despite it being hardly a thousand square feet.

"It's nice." He said when they had finished seeing the house.

Martin chuckled. "Hopefully not too nice for your low standards!"

Logan simply shook his head and ignored the comment while Jack laughed.

"Jack, have you ever tried your hand at cooking?" Martin asked.

"No, sir."

"Come on, I'll show you a thing or two."

Logan leaned against the wall as he watched them stroll to the kitchen. For the umpteenth time, he was beside himself as his eyes took in his surroundings. This was too good to be true. He'd only known Martin for two days, yet he oddly trusted the man with his life and the trust seemed to be mutual. He didn't even know where to begin with the house. It was a much-needed lift out of the life they had been living, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd finally found his luck after years of trials and tragedy. However, Logan didn't want to know the answer. His luck was rotten, and he feared that all the good he'd stumbled upon would turn to dust.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, hoping with all his strength that his fear wouldn't be realized.

It wasn't until an hour later when the smell of a homecooked meal was heavy in the air that he joined Jack and Martin in the kitchen.

"Look who decided to join us, Jack!" Martin jested.

Logan ignored the comment. "What are you all cooking?"

"Just a stew, nothing too fancy."

"It smells wonderful,"

"Thank you, Logan. Jack did most of the work." He said.

His eyes flicked to Jack as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Did you now?"

"Sure did!" Jack beamed.

"Well look at you!" Logan said as he ruffled his hair.

"Jack, why don't you help set up the table?" Martin suggested. He waited for Jack to enter the dining room before speaking again. "You don't come across as being a gentle man, but you've got quite a soft spot there for the kiddo."

Logan wasn't sure where the comment had come from but decided to bite anyway. "A lot has happened to him for a boy his age."

"Forgive me for making such bold assumptions, but it seems like you know what that's like."

"I do," he said as he crossed his arms, "and?"

Martin shrugged, unphased by his sudden bristly demeanor. "And nothing, I think it's good for him to have someone who understands, is all. He admires you like most boys would admire a good father."

Logan looked him up and down with narrowed eyes before lowering his guard again, unsure of what to make of the observation. Martin, however, carried on as if the interaction never happened and handed Logan a bowl. He filled it with enough stew for Jack and gave it to the boy as he reentered the kitchen. Martin and Logan then helped themselves and sat down to enjoy the meal together.

Martin pulled out a pack of cards after the dishes had been put away and taught Logan and Jack how to play Forty-Fives. As he dealt the cards for the fourth round, he eyed Logan through the smoke from his cigarette. The man had his elbows on the table with one hand propping up his head as he stared at his cards through half-lidded eyes.

"I think it's about time you called it a night, boyo."

Logan frowned as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm fine,"

Martin let out a gust of laughter and nearly lost his cigarette. "Like hell you are!"

"He's right," Jack added as he collected Logan's cards, "you should really get some sleep."

He muttered under his breath but complied and rose from his seat. Bidding them goodnight, he trudged to their room. He discarded his shirt and collapsed onto the bed, too exhausted to pull the covers over himself.