Well, here's chapter 9. Hope you enjoy it. Once again, thanks for all the
reviews.
Chapter 9
"I know it's not your usual standard, but it's the best I could do," said Max, handing Logan a lukewarm hot dog.
They'd parked the Aztek overlooking a wide expanse of beach, one of the few places untouched by the pulse. In summer, it was still a popular spot, but with the onset of winter, their only company was a rather decrepit hot dog van, and the ever -present squawking seagulls.
Logan sniffed at his hot dog suspiciously. "Mmmm nice. Pre pulse," he said, looking sideways at Max who was wolfing hers down with a vengeance.
He took a cautious bite, and then examined it once again. "Max, I think this has mold growing on it."
Rolling her eyes, Max snatched it from him. After a perfunctory examination she declared it safe for consumption.
"On second thought, I'm not really hungry. I think I'll stick with the coffee."
"I'll eat it," said Max, doing so without hesitation. "Wow, you really were brought up with a silver spoon in your mouth, weren't you!"
"I eat hotdogs," answered Logan a little defensively, "just not ones with green stuff growing on them."
"Logan, there was nothing growing on it!" To prove her point she took another bite with relish.
Logan looked at her as an herbivore would a carnivore.
"Whatever," he replied, not convinced.
"Just don't complain that you're hungry later on," she chided him.
They both sat surveying the scenery before them. The wind had whipped up the seas surface so that waves jostled each other every which way, before finally crashing on the sand.
"Mind if I stretch my legs for a minute?" asked Max.
"Go right ahead." Logan gestured to the expanse of sand. "I got my laptop to keep me company."
He made no attempt to grab it from the back seat however, but instead watched Max appreciatively as she ran down to the waters edge. She turned and waved to him, and then sprinted gracefully along the sand.
With a sharp pang he wished he were out there with her.
"Damn." He said the word aloud. Sometimes the desire to walk was so strong it was almost like a physical pain.
Looking down he rubbed his hands along his thighs. With derision he wondered what had made him stupid enough to go up against Edgar Sonrisa.
"Whoa, it's wild out there!" smiled Max, climbing back in some fifteen minutes later. "You tipped it right, stayin' all snug and warm in here."
"Yeah."
She looked at him quickly, then turned away again, not sure what to say.
Logan never spoke directly about being in the wheelchair. He only hinted here and there that he found it difficult to cope with, yet here in the car, intuitively, she found his pain almost tangible.
Stealing another look at his profile she said: "Probably gonna rain again." She cringed at the inadequacy of her own words.
Logan leaned forward a little to get a good glimpse of the sky through the front windshield. "Yep."
"You wanna get goin?"
"Sure." He turned the key in the ignition, putting the car into reverse.
"Hey!" she said, giving him her provocative smile. "Last chance to change your mind and grab one of those delicious hot dogs."
************************************************************************
They headed back into Seattle on the same road they'd driven out on, only this time all windows were firmly closed and the heater blazing, to warm Logan up. Most of the major artilleries had long been closed, thereby controlling the flow of traffic in and out of the city.
Before long, they had left the serenity of the country behind – in more ways than one.
As the number of dilapidated houses, disused shops, and run down factories increased, so too did Max's unease. It was as if they'd been in the eye of the storm, and now they were leaving that safe haven, traveling once more into the uncertainties of their situation.
Abruptly Max asked, "Did anything show up on the security feeds for your building?"
"Nothing."
Not a thing to go on?" she asked, disbelief evident in her voice.
"They were wiped clean," Logan stated matter of factly, emphasizing the last word.
Looking straight ahead he continued, "The guy's a pro Max - nothing on the feeds, no one saw any letter dropped off, and no distinguishing marks on the other letters that arrived by mail."
"Boy." She said the word with her usual sassy attitude, but inside her mind was racing: Just who was this guy!"
As if reading her thoughts, Logan took a quick look at her. "Sure hope you're filing cabinet idea works."
"Well, it works on Manticore trained soldiers. I'm not sure about mere mortals," she admitted tentatively.
"Well," grinned Logan ruefully, "it's all we've got to go on."
"Sector pass please."
Logan reached up to the sun visor where he kept it, and handed it over to the guard. He could feel the rush of icy air through the window.
The sector cop looked at them both carefully, and then proceeded to walk around the car. With pursed lips Logan sat back and folded his arms. Here was yet another checkpoint officer who'd let the 'grandeur' of his position go to his head.
Seeing Logan's look Max put in, "He must have had a bad day – not enough little old ladies and mother's with children to pick on."
Finally the sector cop came back, and with yet another suspicious look at them, finally gave Logan back his pass and waved them through.
They drove on in silence. The ache in Logan's arm was becoming increasingly annoying. He tried to stretch it out surreptitiously, in an effort to relieve it, pressing his lips together as he did so.
The movement wasn't lost on Max. "Your arm givin' you trouble?"
"It's a tiny bit sore. Not too bad." Well, it was almost true.
"You want me to drive – you get to admire the fancy scenery," she added with irony.
"No. I'm fine with it."
************************************************************************
"Sure hope Bling's cooked us something yummy for dinner!" she said some time later.
When Logan didn't answer immediately she quickly looked at him. He was preoccupied, staring at the rear vision mirror intently, and then swinging his eyes back to the road.
"What's wrong?" asked Max quietly.
"I think we may have a tail on us," replied Logan evenly.
"How long for?"
"We seem to have picked it up not long after we passed that checkpoint."
They were off the main artillery now, headed through the fractured outer suburbs of Seattle.
"Try a few turns," said Max, admirably keeping the tension she felt out of her voice.
"'Have already – but I'll try a few more."
Trying not to be too obvious, he did a sharp right, then a left at the next corner.
The dark car behind them followed their every move.
Logan looked at Max.
"You think I should 'put my foot down?'" he asked, with an attempt at humour.
"He knows where you live Logan," she pointed out.
"You've got a point," he answered, his mind racing.
Max looked about her. They were in a relatively abandoned industrial part of town – the last place she would have chosen to be in, given their present situation.
"Can you see the driver?"
Logan shook his head. "It's getting too dark. I can't even make out the type of car."
Logan shot her a quick look. "You're the 'escape and evade' expert," he reminded her. "I'm just the journalist!"
Max turned around in her seat to look at the car. Sure enough, there it followed, close behind them at every turn.
She made a decision.
Authoritatively she snapped "Logan. Do what I say. Left - here."
Immediately Logan swung the car in a tight turn, accelerating hard out of it.
"Right. Right Again. Hard left."
"I hope you know where we're going!" yelled Logan at one point, over the din of the revving engine, small beads of perspiration on his forehead.
Max didn't answer, calling out the next instruction instead. "Left. I said LEFT." She roared at him when he went to turn right by mistake.
Logan concentrated intently, his left hand steering the car, his right hand operating the accelerator and brake.
Logan could feel the other car gaining on them. Accelerating harder, Max suddenly yelled left. He spun the wheel hard, but the car was traveling way too fast. He could feel the back of it start to slide out uncontrollably, a brick wall looming perilously close to them. Resisting the urge to panic, he turned into the spin, and with relief could feel the car start to right it self. He drew a quick breath. He didn't dare look at Max.
Max quickly looked behind. So far, so good. She briefly thanked her career as a Jam Pony courier for giving her an intimate knowledge of Seattle's streets.
"Floor it Logan!" she ordered, not worrying about the inaccuracy of her request.
The blue Aztec tore through the quickly falling darkness, engine screaming.
"This is it. LEFT!"
He swung hard once more, the back wheels skidding out, then gunned hard. With dismay he saw they were headed straight down a dead end alley, barely wide enough for one car. His eyes briefly noted the abandoned factories either side of them.
Max was holding her breath. "Be open," she pleaded silently.
Thank God! "Quick Logan. Right!"
At first he looked in confusion, not understanding where she intended him to go, then in the gloom he could just make out an entrance into one of the factories. It was small, but big enough for the Aztek. As soon as the car was through and slowing, Max was out the door, rushing to close the double doors that would hide them.
Already they could hear the sound of their pursuer coming down the narrow laneway. "Don't move," she hissed at Logan and was gone.
Left alone in the darkness, he thumped the steering wheel of the car in frustration.
Still inside the abandoned factory, Max ran the length of it towards the end of the laneway, peering through the filthy windows as she ran. She could see the car cautiously making its way into the cul-de-sac, which was so narrow there was no room for a car to turn.
With her superior vision, she could see the driver staring intently around him, obviously searching for Logan. The dark car had slowed right down now.
Timing the moment, she waited until the driver was distracted changing into reverse. With barely a pause, she hurled herself through the closest window, rolled up in a ball, and landing at the car door, which she immediately wrenched open, grabbing the occupant by the throat and hauling him out the door with a furious wrench.
The driver had had the presence of mind to quickly grab for his gun that lay on the seat next to him, but never had so much as a chance to aim it at her as she viciously tore it from his grasp, and then delivered a knee, with Manticore speed, force and precision, to the man's groin. He immediately doubled over in pain, intermittently whooping for breath and groaning agonizingly.
'Gee, I hope you weren't thinking of starting a family," she consoled him.
She felt a small degree of satisfaction.
It was short lived.
Grabbing the man's face between her hands, she forced him to look up at her.
His eyes were not green.
"Who are you?" she screamed at him, her voice pulsing with both fury and disappointment. "Well?'
The man looked as if he were about to collapse.
Rolling her eyes she grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him unresistingly to where Logan anxiously waited.
"Is that ... ?" began Logan tensely, watching her through the driver's window.
Max spoke with disgust. "No. It's not him."
Logan's disappointment mirrored her own.
"Who is he then?"
"I don't know. But I intend to find out!"
Still holding the man, she grabbed a nearby packing crate, and sat him roughly down on it.
"Okay. Out with it."
"I don't know what you want," gasped the man.
"Start with the truth! Who sent you to follow us?"
Max looked at him closely, seeing a man in his forties, quite tall, with fairly nondescript features, and sandy coloured hair.
Max could see he was a different type entirely to Jack Slater. This man could be dangerous. He regarded Max with disdain.
Max immediately hauled him to his feet. The force of the blow she sank into his stomach quickly wiped the expression from his face.
When he could finally stand up he looked at her with more respect.
"We'll try again big boy. Who's greasin' your palm?"
The man appeared to see the wisdom of co-operation. Still clutching his midriff he managed to rasp out, "Don't know his name. He came up to me at the bar. Offered me $1000 to follow your car if I saw it."
"When was this?" questioned Logan.
"This morning, around eleven a.m."
Logan looked at Max. "He saw us leave," he conjectured.
"Logan, I'm sure we weren't followed on the way out. I checked."
"No, but maybe he saw us leave and just took a lucky guess. There aren't many roads out of Seattle nowadays."
Max's face was like thunder.
"What did this guy look like?"
"Tall, well dressed."
Max swore under her breath.
"He had real weird green eyes too."
Max felt her self go cold.
"What did you say?" she grabbed the man, her voice almost throbbing with emotion.
Daunted by her attitude, he answered quickly, "Green eyes. I dunno, there was something about them. The sort of eyes you don't forget."
Her eyes locked with Logan's. "It's him," she mouthed silently.
"What were your instructions?" asked Logan quietly.
"I told you already," he grumbled.
"Then tell us again," Max insisted, giving him a whack over the head.
The driver took one look at her and said, "Okay. He gave me the make and registration number of your car. All I had to do was sit near the checkpoint, and if I saw you, follow your car and threaten you. Nothing too serious, just enough to give you a bit of a fright."
"And the gun?" asked Max dangerously.
"That's mine. Nothin' to do with the job."
"You weren't planning on using it?"
"Nah, I tell ya. It's my gun. Guns weren't part of your deal. Look," he added, seeing their disbelieving faces, "the guy said no guns. Just - intimidate."
"What's your name?" asked Logan from the car.
The driver hesitated for a moment, but when Max made an intimidating step towards him, he said quickly "Rawlings. Stephen Rawlings."
Logan had his laptop out, and after a few moments, while Rawlings waited, nervously, he said "Bingo. Stephen Rawlings," he read out, "wanted in California, Missouri, Texas and not to mention Arizona. You're a popular boy," Logan finished dryly.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"It means you're history." Logan closed the laptop with a snap.
The driver was sitting back on the crate, obviously worse for wear.
Without warning Max kicked the crate out from under him and sent him sprawling to the floor.
"Forget the car. Forget the registration. Forget this ever happened. Or we will make life very uncomfortable for you!"
Rawlings appeared to take the threat seriously. He couldn't get in his car fast enough.
Max came back from seeing him leave. She opened up the doors, silently thanking Sketchy on insisting she come down here one day a few weeks back, for some grandiose, make-it-rich quick scheme he had.
Logan was waiting silently in the car.
"Well, that was fun," he murmured, staring ahead into the darkness.
"Never knew you were such a hot shot behind the wheel."
Logan nodded, smiling faintly.
"He's playin' us Max."
"Strike fear into the heart of your opponent." she quoted softly.
TBC
Chapter 9
"I know it's not your usual standard, but it's the best I could do," said Max, handing Logan a lukewarm hot dog.
They'd parked the Aztek overlooking a wide expanse of beach, one of the few places untouched by the pulse. In summer, it was still a popular spot, but with the onset of winter, their only company was a rather decrepit hot dog van, and the ever -present squawking seagulls.
Logan sniffed at his hot dog suspiciously. "Mmmm nice. Pre pulse," he said, looking sideways at Max who was wolfing hers down with a vengeance.
He took a cautious bite, and then examined it once again. "Max, I think this has mold growing on it."
Rolling her eyes, Max snatched it from him. After a perfunctory examination she declared it safe for consumption.
"On second thought, I'm not really hungry. I think I'll stick with the coffee."
"I'll eat it," said Max, doing so without hesitation. "Wow, you really were brought up with a silver spoon in your mouth, weren't you!"
"I eat hotdogs," answered Logan a little defensively, "just not ones with green stuff growing on them."
"Logan, there was nothing growing on it!" To prove her point she took another bite with relish.
Logan looked at her as an herbivore would a carnivore.
"Whatever," he replied, not convinced.
"Just don't complain that you're hungry later on," she chided him.
They both sat surveying the scenery before them. The wind had whipped up the seas surface so that waves jostled each other every which way, before finally crashing on the sand.
"Mind if I stretch my legs for a minute?" asked Max.
"Go right ahead." Logan gestured to the expanse of sand. "I got my laptop to keep me company."
He made no attempt to grab it from the back seat however, but instead watched Max appreciatively as she ran down to the waters edge. She turned and waved to him, and then sprinted gracefully along the sand.
With a sharp pang he wished he were out there with her.
"Damn." He said the word aloud. Sometimes the desire to walk was so strong it was almost like a physical pain.
Looking down he rubbed his hands along his thighs. With derision he wondered what had made him stupid enough to go up against Edgar Sonrisa.
"Whoa, it's wild out there!" smiled Max, climbing back in some fifteen minutes later. "You tipped it right, stayin' all snug and warm in here."
"Yeah."
She looked at him quickly, then turned away again, not sure what to say.
Logan never spoke directly about being in the wheelchair. He only hinted here and there that he found it difficult to cope with, yet here in the car, intuitively, she found his pain almost tangible.
Stealing another look at his profile she said: "Probably gonna rain again." She cringed at the inadequacy of her own words.
Logan leaned forward a little to get a good glimpse of the sky through the front windshield. "Yep."
"You wanna get goin?"
"Sure." He turned the key in the ignition, putting the car into reverse.
"Hey!" she said, giving him her provocative smile. "Last chance to change your mind and grab one of those delicious hot dogs."
************************************************************************
They headed back into Seattle on the same road they'd driven out on, only this time all windows were firmly closed and the heater blazing, to warm Logan up. Most of the major artilleries had long been closed, thereby controlling the flow of traffic in and out of the city.
Before long, they had left the serenity of the country behind – in more ways than one.
As the number of dilapidated houses, disused shops, and run down factories increased, so too did Max's unease. It was as if they'd been in the eye of the storm, and now they were leaving that safe haven, traveling once more into the uncertainties of their situation.
Abruptly Max asked, "Did anything show up on the security feeds for your building?"
"Nothing."
Not a thing to go on?" she asked, disbelief evident in her voice.
"They were wiped clean," Logan stated matter of factly, emphasizing the last word.
Looking straight ahead he continued, "The guy's a pro Max - nothing on the feeds, no one saw any letter dropped off, and no distinguishing marks on the other letters that arrived by mail."
"Boy." She said the word with her usual sassy attitude, but inside her mind was racing: Just who was this guy!"
As if reading her thoughts, Logan took a quick look at her. "Sure hope you're filing cabinet idea works."
"Well, it works on Manticore trained soldiers. I'm not sure about mere mortals," she admitted tentatively.
"Well," grinned Logan ruefully, "it's all we've got to go on."
"Sector pass please."
Logan reached up to the sun visor where he kept it, and handed it over to the guard. He could feel the rush of icy air through the window.
The sector cop looked at them both carefully, and then proceeded to walk around the car. With pursed lips Logan sat back and folded his arms. Here was yet another checkpoint officer who'd let the 'grandeur' of his position go to his head.
Seeing Logan's look Max put in, "He must have had a bad day – not enough little old ladies and mother's with children to pick on."
Finally the sector cop came back, and with yet another suspicious look at them, finally gave Logan back his pass and waved them through.
They drove on in silence. The ache in Logan's arm was becoming increasingly annoying. He tried to stretch it out surreptitiously, in an effort to relieve it, pressing his lips together as he did so.
The movement wasn't lost on Max. "Your arm givin' you trouble?"
"It's a tiny bit sore. Not too bad." Well, it was almost true.
"You want me to drive – you get to admire the fancy scenery," she added with irony.
"No. I'm fine with it."
************************************************************************
"Sure hope Bling's cooked us something yummy for dinner!" she said some time later.
When Logan didn't answer immediately she quickly looked at him. He was preoccupied, staring at the rear vision mirror intently, and then swinging his eyes back to the road.
"What's wrong?" asked Max quietly.
"I think we may have a tail on us," replied Logan evenly.
"How long for?"
"We seem to have picked it up not long after we passed that checkpoint."
They were off the main artillery now, headed through the fractured outer suburbs of Seattle.
"Try a few turns," said Max, admirably keeping the tension she felt out of her voice.
"'Have already – but I'll try a few more."
Trying not to be too obvious, he did a sharp right, then a left at the next corner.
The dark car behind them followed their every move.
Logan looked at Max.
"You think I should 'put my foot down?'" he asked, with an attempt at humour.
"He knows where you live Logan," she pointed out.
"You've got a point," he answered, his mind racing.
Max looked about her. They were in a relatively abandoned industrial part of town – the last place she would have chosen to be in, given their present situation.
"Can you see the driver?"
Logan shook his head. "It's getting too dark. I can't even make out the type of car."
Logan shot her a quick look. "You're the 'escape and evade' expert," he reminded her. "I'm just the journalist!"
Max turned around in her seat to look at the car. Sure enough, there it followed, close behind them at every turn.
She made a decision.
Authoritatively she snapped "Logan. Do what I say. Left - here."
Immediately Logan swung the car in a tight turn, accelerating hard out of it.
"Right. Right Again. Hard left."
"I hope you know where we're going!" yelled Logan at one point, over the din of the revving engine, small beads of perspiration on his forehead.
Max didn't answer, calling out the next instruction instead. "Left. I said LEFT." She roared at him when he went to turn right by mistake.
Logan concentrated intently, his left hand steering the car, his right hand operating the accelerator and brake.
Logan could feel the other car gaining on them. Accelerating harder, Max suddenly yelled left. He spun the wheel hard, but the car was traveling way too fast. He could feel the back of it start to slide out uncontrollably, a brick wall looming perilously close to them. Resisting the urge to panic, he turned into the spin, and with relief could feel the car start to right it self. He drew a quick breath. He didn't dare look at Max.
Max quickly looked behind. So far, so good. She briefly thanked her career as a Jam Pony courier for giving her an intimate knowledge of Seattle's streets.
"Floor it Logan!" she ordered, not worrying about the inaccuracy of her request.
The blue Aztec tore through the quickly falling darkness, engine screaming.
"This is it. LEFT!"
He swung hard once more, the back wheels skidding out, then gunned hard. With dismay he saw they were headed straight down a dead end alley, barely wide enough for one car. His eyes briefly noted the abandoned factories either side of them.
Max was holding her breath. "Be open," she pleaded silently.
Thank God! "Quick Logan. Right!"
At first he looked in confusion, not understanding where she intended him to go, then in the gloom he could just make out an entrance into one of the factories. It was small, but big enough for the Aztek. As soon as the car was through and slowing, Max was out the door, rushing to close the double doors that would hide them.
Already they could hear the sound of their pursuer coming down the narrow laneway. "Don't move," she hissed at Logan and was gone.
Left alone in the darkness, he thumped the steering wheel of the car in frustration.
Still inside the abandoned factory, Max ran the length of it towards the end of the laneway, peering through the filthy windows as she ran. She could see the car cautiously making its way into the cul-de-sac, which was so narrow there was no room for a car to turn.
With her superior vision, she could see the driver staring intently around him, obviously searching for Logan. The dark car had slowed right down now.
Timing the moment, she waited until the driver was distracted changing into reverse. With barely a pause, she hurled herself through the closest window, rolled up in a ball, and landing at the car door, which she immediately wrenched open, grabbing the occupant by the throat and hauling him out the door with a furious wrench.
The driver had had the presence of mind to quickly grab for his gun that lay on the seat next to him, but never had so much as a chance to aim it at her as she viciously tore it from his grasp, and then delivered a knee, with Manticore speed, force and precision, to the man's groin. He immediately doubled over in pain, intermittently whooping for breath and groaning agonizingly.
'Gee, I hope you weren't thinking of starting a family," she consoled him.
She felt a small degree of satisfaction.
It was short lived.
Grabbing the man's face between her hands, she forced him to look up at her.
His eyes were not green.
"Who are you?" she screamed at him, her voice pulsing with both fury and disappointment. "Well?'
The man looked as if he were about to collapse.
Rolling her eyes she grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him unresistingly to where Logan anxiously waited.
"Is that ... ?" began Logan tensely, watching her through the driver's window.
Max spoke with disgust. "No. It's not him."
Logan's disappointment mirrored her own.
"Who is he then?"
"I don't know. But I intend to find out!"
Still holding the man, she grabbed a nearby packing crate, and sat him roughly down on it.
"Okay. Out with it."
"I don't know what you want," gasped the man.
"Start with the truth! Who sent you to follow us?"
Max looked at him closely, seeing a man in his forties, quite tall, with fairly nondescript features, and sandy coloured hair.
Max could see he was a different type entirely to Jack Slater. This man could be dangerous. He regarded Max with disdain.
Max immediately hauled him to his feet. The force of the blow she sank into his stomach quickly wiped the expression from his face.
When he could finally stand up he looked at her with more respect.
"We'll try again big boy. Who's greasin' your palm?"
The man appeared to see the wisdom of co-operation. Still clutching his midriff he managed to rasp out, "Don't know his name. He came up to me at the bar. Offered me $1000 to follow your car if I saw it."
"When was this?" questioned Logan.
"This morning, around eleven a.m."
Logan looked at Max. "He saw us leave," he conjectured.
"Logan, I'm sure we weren't followed on the way out. I checked."
"No, but maybe he saw us leave and just took a lucky guess. There aren't many roads out of Seattle nowadays."
Max's face was like thunder.
"What did this guy look like?"
"Tall, well dressed."
Max swore under her breath.
"He had real weird green eyes too."
Max felt her self go cold.
"What did you say?" she grabbed the man, her voice almost throbbing with emotion.
Daunted by her attitude, he answered quickly, "Green eyes. I dunno, there was something about them. The sort of eyes you don't forget."
Her eyes locked with Logan's. "It's him," she mouthed silently.
"What were your instructions?" asked Logan quietly.
"I told you already," he grumbled.
"Then tell us again," Max insisted, giving him a whack over the head.
The driver took one look at her and said, "Okay. He gave me the make and registration number of your car. All I had to do was sit near the checkpoint, and if I saw you, follow your car and threaten you. Nothing too serious, just enough to give you a bit of a fright."
"And the gun?" asked Max dangerously.
"That's mine. Nothin' to do with the job."
"You weren't planning on using it?"
"Nah, I tell ya. It's my gun. Guns weren't part of your deal. Look," he added, seeing their disbelieving faces, "the guy said no guns. Just - intimidate."
"What's your name?" asked Logan from the car.
The driver hesitated for a moment, but when Max made an intimidating step towards him, he said quickly "Rawlings. Stephen Rawlings."
Logan had his laptop out, and after a few moments, while Rawlings waited, nervously, he said "Bingo. Stephen Rawlings," he read out, "wanted in California, Missouri, Texas and not to mention Arizona. You're a popular boy," Logan finished dryly.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"It means you're history." Logan closed the laptop with a snap.
The driver was sitting back on the crate, obviously worse for wear.
Without warning Max kicked the crate out from under him and sent him sprawling to the floor.
"Forget the car. Forget the registration. Forget this ever happened. Or we will make life very uncomfortable for you!"
Rawlings appeared to take the threat seriously. He couldn't get in his car fast enough.
Max came back from seeing him leave. She opened up the doors, silently thanking Sketchy on insisting she come down here one day a few weeks back, for some grandiose, make-it-rich quick scheme he had.
Logan was waiting silently in the car.
"Well, that was fun," he murmured, staring ahead into the darkness.
"Never knew you were such a hot shot behind the wheel."
Logan nodded, smiling faintly.
"He's playin' us Max."
"Strike fear into the heart of your opponent." she quoted softly.
TBC