Logan Lucky
"Logan Loyal"
by llnbooks
I wanted to write this a couple of years ago, but schoolwork kept me too busy. Picks up where the movie "Logan Lucky" left off, because every time I get to the end of the movie, I want to know what happened next (it was a shame that Adam Driver and Hillary Swank only got one scene together). I also wanted to explore some of Clyde's backstory, which the movie didn't do. Plus, I just wanted to see if I could apply Jimmy's list of rules for robbing the speedway to the sequel. This is what I came up with.
Note: Do they live in West Virginia? Do they live in North Carolina? I've seen it debated. But, since Jimmy passes a sign reading "Welcome to West Virginia" on his way home from work at the start of the movie and since Sadie is entered in the "Pretty Miss West Virginia" beauty pageant, I'm going with West Virginia.
Rated T mostly for moderate language, one scene that's a little smutty, and some violent war-related imagery. Clyde/Sarah pairing, obviously. Disclaimer: I don't own "Logan Lucky" or its characters, Universal Pictures does.
I
STEP ONE: DECIDE TO CATCH A THIEF
STEP TWO: HAVE A PLAN
She'd intended for the first mission to be purely reconnaissance. She already had read case files full of facts to prepare herself. Her suspect would be bartending at the Duck Tape Bar & Lounge. He would be very tall, dark-haired, brown eyes, and would be sporting a brand new prosthetic left forearm recently issued to him by the Department of Veterans' Affairs.
The fact that he was missing part of his arm did not make him less of a threat. Anyone who had survived two combat tours deep in the heart of Iraq knew how to take care of himself. If he got it into his head that she was a threat, she was going to miss the sidearm that her clingy red dress never would have concealed from the soldier's trained eyes.
Fortunately, Special Agent Sarah Grayson hadn't walked into the Duck Tape Bar & Lounge to arrest Clyde Logan…not just yet…so there was no cause for him to believe she was a threat.
She depended on facts and reason in her line of work, but she depended on her own observations and intuition to carry her beyond the limited aide of impersonal facts in myriad case files. For instance, a file of facts could tell her that he'd lost part of his arm to a roadside bomb in Mosul a little over seven years ago (seven years, two months, and twelve days ago to be precise, and she was rather inclined to be precise with her work).
Facts also could not tell her that he apparently had a sense of humor about his prosthetic arm situation. To discover that, she'd had to physically drive to West Virginia, walk into the Duck Tape bar, and see that Logan's previous prosthetic device (a clunky piece of work that reminded her vaguely of the arm of a store mannequin) was now displayed on a table in the bar, brandishing a beer bottle with its plastic-looking fingers.
He has a sense of humor. Dark and somewhat morbid humor, but that was okay. She could use that information.
Sarah had spotted him right away, but he hadn't given her more than a cursory glance when she'd entered the lounge. That was disappointing, considering she'd worn a little red dress that flattered her curves and made her stand out in the dim light of the lounge for the express purpose of attracting Logan's attention. He'd given her a friendly greeting, poured the José Cuervo Especial that she ordered, and gone back to talking with the small knot of people on the other side of the rectangular bar.
She recognized three people in the group: Clyde's brother and sister, Jimmy and Mellie Logan, and the recently paroled demolitions expert, Percival Josiah ("Joe") Bang. A second woman with short, dark hair was sitting close Jimmy Logan. The looks the two of them were exchanging made it obvious that the two of them were involved.
At least two of them were suspected accomplices in the robbery of the Charlotte Motor Speedway. There was just one tiny problem: Sarah Grayson had been completely and utterly unable to prove their guilt.
So far…Sarah hadn't closed over one hundred cases during her stint with the Federal Bureau of Investigation by being the sort of person who gave up easily. Her instructors at Quantico had described her as having "inexhaustible patience" and "a relentless nature that borders on the obsessive". She'd accepted with pride what had been intended as words of caution.
She watched as Clyde Logan talked with his family and friends. He began pouring shots and passing them around to the lounge's patrons, momentarily forgetting to include Sarah as she waited in her spot on the other side of the bar. Belatedly, he spied the woman and hurried back with a quick apology: "Oh, shoot, sorry about that. Another Especial for the lady?"
"Yeah, I missed out on the toast." Sarah offered him a smile as he hurriedly grabbed a fresh shot glass from the shelf and poured her drink. Her gaze was drawn briefly to the silver band around his right ring finger, noting its horseshoe shape. For good luck. He's superstitious. It wasn't unexpected that someone who had been in combat would cling to good luck charms or religious totems. There was another, genuine horseshoe hanging above the doorframe at the bar's entrance; Sarah had seen it when she'd walked in.
She added: "You know they say it's bad luck to toast with an empty glass."
He raised an eyebrow, as if the comment had surprised him. "They do say that."
"It's also bad luck to toast alone, so why don't you pour yourself one on me-so you don't jinx me?" she offered.
This time, he smiled. Considering the fact that she hadn't seen his deadpan facial expression change the entire time she'd been at the bar, she regarded it as a small victory. Sarah also did not miss his sidelong glance as he pulled another glass from the shelf and poured a drink for himself. Logan was sizing her up now. She had his attention. It was time to see if she could spark his interest.
"I would've remembered if you'd ever been in the bar before. You just passing through?" he asked.
"Yeah, passing through…but I'm hoping to stay awhile."
Logan raised his glass. "Well, then, here's to staying awhile."
Sarah flashed him a broad smile before downing her own shot. She was pleased when he wasn't in any hurry to move away from her. "What are we celebrating?"
"You are new around here, aren't you?" he asked. The question had caught him off-guard. His facial expression didn't change, but Sarah caught the an almost imperceptible shift in his stance. It was a small town where everyone knew everyone, so she guessed that any resident would have known the answer. "We're celebrating the new owner of the Duck Tape Lounge."
Sarah had known that also. She'd traced every dollar that the Logan family had spent since the robbery, trying to no avail to connect it back to the robbery. She doubted very much Logan was going to admit to that, but she took a shot: "Congratulations. That must have set you back a few dollars."
Clyde shook his head. "Nah. Ol' Hubert was wanting to get out from under here, retire, and buy a houseboat up on Cheat Lake, so he gave me a good deal. Gave him the down payment from my service pay and spent five years working off the rest."
"Man with a plan. I respect that." She tapped her shot glass and he refilled it. So far, based on what she'd learned in her investigation, everything he was telling her was the truth. Sarah wondered just how forthcoming Logan was willing to be. She thumbed the edge of the glass, trying to disguise the next question as flirting. "I was here about four months ago when I applied for this route. I didn't see you…I would have remembered."
"I was out of town at the time." As she expected, he didn't confess to being in prison any more than admitting to the robbery. Sarah was amazed that he'd tried to be as candid as possible. She wondered if he was trying to make a good impression on her or was ashamed of the truth. The man had an honest streak buried somewhere beneath his criminal inclinations. Logan quickly changed the subject. "We aren't exactly central to anything around here. You got family in the area or is this another business trip?"
Sarah recited her cover story: "Business. I'm a representative with Cooper-Tyme Pharmaceuticals up in Virginia. I visit local hospitals to meet with patients who can't afford medications, see what I can do to qualify them for our discount programs."
"Then you probably know Sylvia." He inclined his head, indicating the lady with the short brown hair who was sitting with Jimmy Logan. "She runs a mobile clinic for folks who can't pay for medical care."
Shit. What were the odds of that? Sarah covered quickly: "Can't say I do, but I just picked up their entire Highway 60 route, so I'm sure I'll be crossing her path. I guess you'll be seeing more of me."
"Well, in that case, welcome to West Virginia, Miss-?"
"Sarah Butler." She offered her hand to shake, and he did so.
"Nice to meet you, Sarah Butler. Clyde Logan."
He released his grip, but Sarah kept hold of his hand, brushing her thumb across his horseshoe ring. "Just so I'm clear, this ring doesn't mean you're spoken for, does it?"
If that mop of black hair wasn't covering his ears, Sarah would have seen them flush red.
He started to answer when Jimmy Logan interrupted the moment by flopping down on the barstool beside Sarah's. "Clyde! "Squirrel offered to let us borrow the cabin up at Cheat Lake next week-for the whole week. I thought I'd grab Sylvia and Sadie and we could all do a fishing trip-slash-houseboat warming party for Hubert. We can head out Sunday afternoon. Mellie's game and-"
It took a few seconds for him to notice that Clyde was giving him that special look, silently telegraphing that his brother would unleash seven kinds of hell if Jimmy didn't make himself scare. That was when Jimmy saw the bombshell in the red dress who was holding Clyde's good hand. She was giving Jimmy a look that verified he was interrupting them. In case they weren't being clear, Clyde gave the smallest wave with his prosthetic arm.
"…we can talk about it later." Jimmy worked at hiding his amusement, but obliged. He headed back to join Sylvia, Mellie, and Joe.
"What'd he say?" Sylvia asked.
Jimmy took a swig of his beer. "I got the move-along sign from a prosthetic hand. I took that as a 'no'. If he's gonna be like that, he can find his own damn ride home."
Clyde had his back to his siblings and their respective companions. He knew them well enough to know the answer before he asked Sarah: "Are they all staring?"
"They are." Mellie was glaring suspiciously at her; Jimmy waved once, wearing a smirk that bespoke intentions to give his little brother grief later He said something that made Sylvia slap him lightly in the back of his head. Sarah tried to hide a smile. "Family, I take it?"
"Depends on whether he comes back or not." His joke was so deadpan that she nearly took him seriously.
She had not broken eye contact, nor had she released his hand. Sarah reminded him: "You didn't answer my question."
It took a second for him to recall what she'd asked before Hurricane Jimmy had blown through. "No, I'm not married. Almost once, but no."
"Glad to hear it."
"And you?" he asked.
"Not anymore. He ran off to Bermuda with our dog groomer six years ago." It was close enough to the truth to still be painful. With her free hand, she finished off her drink, not caring to dwell on her ex and his twenty-something foot model.
Clyde squeezed her hand. "Sounds like he's an idiot."
Sarah tried not to be pleased; she wasn't about to let flattery throw off her game. "It's all right. Dog bit her in the ass when they were leaving at least." He didn't laugh outright, but Sarah could see the glint of amusement in his eyes. A taciturn man, she surmised. That meant it was going to take some work earning his trust.
A customer started waving for Clyde's attention (not very subtly, as he drew stares from everyone in the bar). Sarah glanced at the skinny, tattooed millennial who had clearly had a few too many drinks already. When Clyde failed to notice him, the kid shouted: "Logan! I need a damn drink!"
Sarah maintained her smile, though she was ready to tear her hair out. She was never going to keep Logan's attention with all these interruptions. She reluctantly let go of his hand. "To be continued."
"Hold that thought, I'll just be a minute." He hid his irritation as he moved to the other side of the bar. "Fish, I'm not pouring you another one 'til you hand over your keys."
Fish Bang protested: "C'mon, man, I'm drinking to forget. I ain't forgot yet!"
Clyde shook his head. "This better not be about the monster truck thing again."
"Arsenic Angel was robbed! You weren't there to see it. I have half a mind to go down to that arena and fix it so Doom and Gloom can't cheat their way to another trophy." Fish slapped his hand on the bar for emphasis.
"You're right about the 'half a mind' part. Keys." Clyde held out his hand, waiting until Fish handed over his car keys. Only then did Clyde pour him another beer. Other customers were pointedly moving away from Fish and his ranting. The last thing Clyde needed was people being scared out of the bar by this nutcase. "Get yourself settled down. Don't make me start off my first night as a business owner by kicking you out."
Fish nodded contritely, settling down to nurse the beer and his grudge. Clyde waited until he was convinced the tantrum was over before walking over to Joe Bang.
Joe had been concentrating on Mellie. Clyde wasn't particularly happy about the older man's interest in his baby sister, so he didn't feel too badly about interrupting whatever line the man was laying on Mellie. Clyde nodded to where Fish sat at the bar sulking and asked Joe: "You his ride home, or do I need to call Sam?"
Joe groaned, "I'm on it." Regretfully, he left Mellie to go deal with his inebriated brother. Clyde dropped Fish's keys into Joe's hand.
Logan had to stop and serve a few more people before he found his way back to Sarah. "Refill?"
Sarah declined. She'd had three already just waiting to get his attention. The last thing she wanted was for Logan to figure her for an alcoholic and lose interest in her. "Think I'll take a water this time."
"Bottled or mineral?"
"Mineral. What was all that about?"
He cringed. "The monster truck rally starts tomorrow." It was his least favorite week to be a bartender. Whatever extra profits the bar earned from the extra patronage would go to replacing broken furniture and windows. There was no way to explain to an outsider just how seriously the folks in town took their monster trucks. "In a couple of days, this place is going to be full of fans getting rowdy from sitting in the sun inhaling carbon monoxide all day and losing bets. Which means they won't have money left to pay to drown their sorrows. Fish is still upset about last year's competition, and since Arsenic Angel couldn't win a rally unless the other drivers forgot to show up, he's getting a head start on his sulking for this year."
Sarah understood completely. "Sounds about like the cutthroat world of tractor racing back in my hometown. Seems like you know everything about everyone in this town-I'll bet you've lived here all your life, haven't you?"
"I have, 'cept for a few years in the service."
The transport was pitched into the air with the horrible noise of metal bending and ripping open. Clyde had less that two seconds to register that the vehicle had hit a bomb before the concussion struck him, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Before the transport crashed back to the ground, he was torn from his seat and out the hole where the left side door had been. He hit the ground headfirst, feeling the impact despite his helmet.
He couldn't hear it with the ringing in his ears, but Clyde was sure he had screamed. As if trying to carry him away from the pain in his arm, his left leg moved. The motion awakened every nerve in his body, heightening the pain to a level of suffering Clyde wouldn't have believed possible to endure much less survive. It encompassed his whole existence, made the noxious smells, the blood in his mouth, the din in his ears afterthoughts in the more pressing need to do anything to escape the pain…even sinking into the blissful oblivion threatening to overwhelm him.
"Logan!"
The harsh word, accompanied by hands that suddenly caught Clyde roughly beneath his shoulders, dragging Clyde roughly along the ground, away from the burning smells and the blaze of heat and the popping noises.
"Jesus, Logan!" When they stopped pulling at him, the hands suddenly landed on his left arm, squeezing mercilessly. He thought he'd been in misery up until that point. He was wrong. The contact sent a fresh fire of pain shooting from his arm through Clyde's battered body. His vision whited out, and this time he couldn't summon the will to fight it.
"Hang in there, Marine…"
Sarah's voice snapped Clyde out of the flashback. If she'd noticed the death grip he had on the bar rag (which he couldn't recall even picking up), she said nothing. She was asking a question. "Army man? Air Force?"
She had seen the way he'd stared without seeing her for a few seconds; the way he'd subconsciously grabbed for the rag and wiped at the bar with quick, nervous movements. PTSD, maybe, she thought. It was a momentary lapse, something a person wouldn't notice if they didn't know Clyde Logan and his history. Sarah had read every file available on the man, from his distinguished military records to his police files (and she was aware that there were sealed records of juvenile arrests).
She hadn't asked about his missing hand-it would have been rude even if she didn't already know the story: Roadside bomb. Two dead, two survivors, one of whom was Logan, and he'd survived by the skin of his teeth. Probably not a story that he wanted people prying into without his permission.
"Marines," he corrected her.
"Afghanistan?" Another question Sarah could have answered herself.
"Iraq."
Sarah smiled. "Impressive. Thank you for your service. My dad was a Navy man. Spent his tour of duty in Vietnam on the USS Kearsarge. Mama said the only time she ever saw him cry was the day that ship was sold for scrap."
She chided herself for letting another truth slip past her carefully planned fake identity. She told herself that it was a gesture of genuine respect, sharing some of her family's military history. Logan might be a criminal, but he was still a decorated veteran who'd served two tours of duty in the seventh circle of hell. Stick to the script. Enough truth to keep the suspects interested, not enough truth that they can track you down.
"So, you're a Navy brat?" He was teasing her. Sarah was quickly learning how to tell.
"No, he was discharged before I was born. I'm a tree planter, born and raised in Nebraska…"
Predictably, they were interrupted again. The door banged open, and a particularly large and boisterous group entered the bar. Sarah counted four couples, hanging all over each other, and a couple of other gentlemen tagging along.
One of the men (a tow-headed, overly manscaped piece of work in an overpriced suit) gave the bar a sweeping glance and commented loudly enough to stop all business: "This is a helluva place. Where's the still, Uncle Jesse? Out back in the shed?"
Clyde's full attention was instantly focused on them, as was Jimmy. Sarah saw the subtle shift in both of their facial expressions, the sudden hint of tension in their stances as they sized up whether the group was going to cause trouble. Obviously, Clyde was used to dealing with rowdy drunks, and his brother would have his back. Sarah resisted the instinct to circle behind the knot of people and prepare for the confrontation, as she would have if she and her partner were about to engage the group.
A shorter, dark-haired man glared at his manscaped buddy. "Cool it, Spencer, you're embarrassing us." He spotted the bartender and broke into a broad grin. "Well, hell, is that you, Logan? When did they let you out?"
Clyde glanced at Sarah, watching how she reacted just as any man would when someone inadvertently blurts out that he's an ex con in front of a potential romantic interest. Sarah Grayson, of course, knew that Logan had only been released from prison a few weeks ago, but "Sarah Butler" was supposed to know that.
She raised an eyebrow and smiled, hoping to convey that she was not put off by that revelation.
"Sorry," he said before he had to leave her again. The group and the mouthy guy wandered up to the bar.
The mouthy guy who'd blurted out Clyde's secret greeted the bartender with a hug. "Good to see you, man! Damn, look at that!" He inspected Logan's prosthetic arm with fascination. "What is this thing, bionic?"
"Did you insult my bar, Wayne?" Clyde retorted.
Wayne gaped. "You're the new owner? How'd you swing that?"
"I don't piss my money away on beer and hair gel." Clyde took a jab at Wayne's carefully coiffed buddy.
Spencer wasn't amused. "Funny Can that fancy new arm grab me a bottle of beer? What'll you have, Deb?" he asked the red-haired woman attached to his arm.
Sarah watched, dismayed, as the new arrivals heaped drink orders on Logan. By the time the bartender served that last member of the group, the first ones were ready for their second rounds. They were going to monopolize his time for the rest of the evening, and she would lose the ground she had gained.
There were too many distractions in this environment. She needed to lure him away from siblings, drunks, and obsessive truck fans, get him alone, and then maybe she'd make some progress with the investigation.
Sarah got up and made her way over to the jukebox that stood in the far corner of the bar. She made sure to stay in Logan's line of sight. Once there, Sarah discreetly gazed in the bartender's direction, making sure that he was watching. She took her time, pouring over the musical choices with exaggerated care as if it was a difficult choice, leaning down to read the tiny print of the lists, hoping her little red dress was doing its job.
She could tell the letter E was worn out on the machine…that was the country music section, of course. There wasn't much that she liked in that genre. She finds an old Trisha Yearwood song that she kind of liked, a romantic ballad she hoped would recapture the mood.
Sarah was a little happier when Logan left the bar and walked over to the jukebox, bringing a beer for her. Until…
"Bob…" Logan pointed to one of the men in Spender, Wayne and Deb's entourage. "…asked me to bring this to the lady."
She already knew Logan well enough to recognize that he was very annoyed by this, but it was his job to do as the customers requested. Or maybe he was waiting to see how she'd react, Sarah thought.
"Did he, now?" Sarah pursed her lips, considering the proffered beverage but making no move to accept it. "I suppose I should go over and thank him. That would be the polite thing to do…" She met Logan's eyes. "…only, I'm not sure how I feel about that. Doesn't seem right to drink a man's beer when I kind of have my eye on someone else." She made a show of a phony sulk. "Except he keeps running off before we can get to know each other. What do you think I should do?"
Clyde contemplated the dark-haired woman. He had a rule about not dating customers, and so far, after a decade working at the bar, he'd stuck to his decision. If a relationship went bad with a patron, it wasn't like he could avoid seeing them again, which made life very complicated. He might have guessed the Logan family curse would tempt him to break his own rule on his very first night as the proprietor.
But if he had to be tempted…
Sarah was beautiful, no question, but that wouldn't have been enough. Apparently, Wayne walking in and basically announcing that Clyde had just got out of prison hadn't scared her off. Should that worry him at all? She didn't look crazy or anything, granted sometimes it could be hard to tell. She'd only had two drinks, so she was obviously not drunk.
She had a sense of humor. Her exaggerated performance at the jukebox told him that much. Intelligent, he could see that in her eyes and in the way she talked. Confident too…the woman made her intentions clear, none of those coy, flirty guessing games that made Clyde absolutely insane when he did try dating. He had the impression that Sarah was a woman used to going after what she wanted until she got it.
There was something else about her. Something that made him think he should stick to his rule and turn her down…or marry her.
"Now that I think about it, maybe I misunderstood Bob. I think he meant to buy a beer for Miss Loretta…" Clyde carried the tray with the beer to a couple of ladies sitting at table in the corner. He offered it to "Loretta", who is quite a lovely lady in her own right. Sarah watched Bob out the corner of her eye. Upset at the mistake, he was attempting to wave Logan back to Sarah…until Loretta became overly flattered by the beer and trotted over to the bar to thank him. Bob's eyes were mostly on the woman's cleavage, but he didn't seem annoyed with the bartender anymore.
Clyde returned to Sarah, who was grinning ear to ear in approval. "What time do you close up?" she asked.
"Not until two."
Sarah nodded. "I can wait. Is that okay?"
"It's okay."
"Okay, then."
TBC…