Disclaimer: Dark Angel is owned by Charles Eglee, James Cameron, and Fox. I
claim no rights to these characters, alas, although I like to play with
them.
Episode Reference: Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required
Rating: PG
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys
A/N: This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight.
I live for reviews. You know what to do.
Steel Trap Chapter 5
The next morning, Sketchy showed up at 9 a.m. in the park, as he and Logan had agreed. If anything, Sketchy looked even more disreputable than ever, with dirty hair and stubble, wearing a shapeless hooded sweatshirt that looked like it might have been green at one time, faded, torn jeans, and sunglasses.
"I hope you don't get hassled by the sector police, dressed like that," Logan commented with a laugh.
"Hey, I didn't want them to recognize me," Sketchy explained. "I really would prefer not to experience another beatdown."
"I can understand that. Here's the camera. I want pictures of everything - especially all the entrances and exits - and everybody who comes and goes. There are plenty of extra diskettes, so don't be stingy," Logan said, handing Sketchy a nylon sack. "Be careful."
"Word." Sketchy shot Logan as earnest a look as he could. "How long do you want me to do this?"
"I'd like to have a 24-hour record. Just in case."
"You got it." Sketchy grinned goofily at Logan. "See ya tomorrow. Same time, same place."
"Yeah, and Sketchy, you gotta stop watching all those old TV shows. They'll fry your brain." Logan turned his chair around and wheeled away, leaving Sketchy to his mission.
*****
When Logan arrived back at his penthouse, he saw that he had a message. He pressed the PLAY button, and Bennett's voice wafted through the air.
"Hey, Logan, sorry I missed you. You *want* to go to a party? Am I hearing correctly? I can get you an invite, but it'll cost you. This one's strictly for charity. Anyway, give me a call. Later."
Logan hit the redial button and called Bennett back. This time, his cousin actually answered.
"Hey, Bennett, it's Logan."
"Yeah, so you say. What's this about you *wanting* to go to a party? Who *are* you, really, and what have you done with Logan?" Bennett joked.
"It's not that I *want* to, it's that I have some business with Pierpont Lempkin and that would be an ideal place to conduct it," Logan explained.
"Dare I ask what kind of business you have with Lempkin? He's not exactly your altruistic type."
"Let's just say it's international, and leave it at that," Logan replied cryptically.
"Uh-oh, Logan Cale, International Man of Mystery," Bennett said, referring to one of his favorite old movies.
"Yeah, something like that." *If you only knew,* Logan thought.
"No problem. You just want one ticket?"
"Yeah, coming stag," Logan said ruefully.
"What happened to that stunner you brought to the wedding?"
"She's out of town on family business."
"I'll send over my spare ticket by courier tomorrow. Marianne will be out of town too- a family emergency - so, ya lucked out, as usual."
"Thanks, Bennett. I appreciate it."
"It'll be good to see you again. It's been too long."
"Yeah, it has. I'll see you Saturday." Logan hung up. Another piece of his plan had fallen into place.
He went to the bank of computers and turned on the system. From his archives, he retrieved the plans of Lempkin's house and the sophisticated security system he had found the previous year. He wanted to study them, memorize them, in case he had the opportunity to do some investigation at Lempkin's during the party.
Logan unlocked a drawer of his desk and pulled out the wad of bills Max had stolen from Lempkin. There was plenty to pay for his ticket to the charity event, with enough left over to flash if need be. It was ironic, he thought, that Lempkin's own money would be used to take him down.
The only thing left to do while he waited for Sketchy to complete his mission was to see if his tuxedo needed cleaning. He hadn't worn it since Bennett and Marianne's wedding, and he couldn't remember what shape it was in. Considering all that had happened that weekend, he couldn't remember much of anything about it. If nothing else, the pants legs needed lengthening, and his drycleaner/tailor could do that on the spot.
Logan shut down the computers, went into his bedroom, and got the tux out of the closet. He gathered up the shirt, cummerbund, and tie, and put all of it in a plastic bag. A trip to the cleaners would help take his mind off the project for a while. There was little he could do until he heard from Sketchy.
*****
Sketchy lurked near the shabby building that housed the steelheads. To passersby, he looked like all the other street people who hung around the market, hoping for handouts. Consequently, he was pretty much ignored. Every now and then, he got up from wherever he was sitting, and moved to a new position. From that new angle, he snapped pictures discreetly for a while, before moving to a new spot. In that way, he completely circled the building. Periodically, he took notes in a battered notebook, using a well- chewed pencil. He figured that he would not only have photos for Logan, but also a written record of occurrences.
Not that much was happening, he thought ruefully. He had hoped for something exciting, something dangerous, something that would make him indispensable to Eyes Only. Then he thought about the hoverdrone footage of Logan and the others getting shot, and of Logan in the wheelchair. Sketchy may have been a stoner, but he wasn't a fool; he hunkered down and took his pictures and made his notes, and forgot about grandstanding.
As he moved closer to the building to which he had followed the Steelheads, he saw a sign engraved above the front door: Nutman's Mortuary. Why did that sound familiar? He pounded his head a few times, hoping to fire the synapses up enough to dig up the reference. Slowly, the memory surfaced - Theo's ashes. His late coworker had been cremated there. The place must have gone out of business shortly thereafter, to be taken over by British Eddie and his buddies.
Sketchy yawned. His stomach rumbled, so he pulled a greasy paper bag out of a pocket and took out one of the sandwiches he had packed for the occasion. He nibbled it, then followed it up with a bottle of soda he took from the other pocket. He glanced at his watch: 4 p.m. It was going to be a long day.
*****
Logan tried to keep busy while he waited for Sketchy to finish his task, hoping the bike messenger wasn't as big a flake as he projected to the world. The trip to the dry cleaners had taken only an hour. Now he was back in the penthouse, trying not to obsess about Pierpont Lempkin. He hoped that Sketchy's photographs would reveal a way for him to get into the building and snoop around. He couldn't use Alec because of the beating the young transgenic had administered to Eddie and his friends earlier. He would surely be recognized if he were spotted taking pictures, or if he broke into the building to steal files and got caught.
Logan figured that if *he* got caught, he could probably bluff his way out of danger, unlike Alec. He just had to make sure he could get in. He silently cursed Zack for shooting up the exoskeleton. It would have made the whole enterprise much easier. On the other hand, he thought, what would he have done if Phil had *not* given him the exoskeleton, or if he hadn't been able to get it working? He'd be right where he was now, in the chair. Logan shook off the thought and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
While the pot roast was cooking, Logan decided to try a workout. The bruise on his hip had faded considerably, and the parts of his body that still had sensation no longer had that jolted feeling that had dissuaded him from doing a full workout earlier in the week. A nice, leisurely workout would distract him from worrying about Sketchy and taking down Lempkin, he thought. He went into the bedroom and changed into a tee shirt and sweat pants, then rolled into the exercise room to begin his regimen.
He warmed up with a few stretching exercises, then went on to the range of motion exercises that Bling had taught him what seemed like so long ago. He gradually worked up a sweat, taking it slow and easy so he didn't further damage anything he couldn't feel. He strapped himself down to the table and did sit-ups and crunches to burn off his frustration with waiting. Next came the strength training that had been so important in the early days, when all he could depend on to get himself around was his upper body and arms.
Finally, feeling tired and less tense, Logan cooled down. He wanted to practice the martial arts moves he had learned from Bling after the escapade with Gerhardt Bronck, but there was no one to practice with. Maybe he would call Alec later and see if he was available for a little one-on- one. He had a feeling he would need those moves shortly.
A hot shower put him in a much better mood. The oven timer had gone off, indicating that his dinner was ready. He had made enough food for several days, in case he would be too busy to cook later, or in case Max came back and was hungry. He hoped she would stop by and join him for a meal when she got back, since they had figured out a system whereby she could eat his food and not infect him with the deadly virus. Ever since she had first dropped in on him for dinner, Logan hated to eat alone.
He made himself a cup of coffee and ate dinner at the kitchen counter. Afterward, he cleaned up the kitchen and turned in early. A good night's sleep would prepare him for whatever Sketchy had come up with in his task.
*****
Sketchy's eyes drooped, but he shook himself awake. Nothing much had happened during the day. He had recognized various members of the Steelhead gang - the tall black guy and his small, blue-haired sidekick, and British Eddie. The little guy was sporting some sort of metal arm. The woman was nowhere to be seen.
Sketchy pulled his hood closer to his face as the chill November air stabbed at him. He had circled the old mortuary several times, discreetly taking pictures. He looked at his watch again. It was nearly 2 a.m. He was about to nod off, when a car pulled up in front of the building. Abruptly, Sketchy sat up straight, banging his knee against a dumpster. He gritted his teeth in pain.
The man who got out of the car was Oriental, well dressed, with an air of authority about him. He was accompanied by two Asian thugs in well-tailored suits. They were packing, judging from the bulges near their armpits. One of the thugs knocked on the mortuary door. Eddie opened it. The honcho nodded at the other thug, who was holding one of those metallic bulletproof suitcases. The thug opened it, revealing rows and rows of neatly bundled bills. Eddie turned around and went back into the building. When he returned, he was carrying a small cooler with medical markings on it. He and the thug exchanged cases. Eddie glanced briefly at the cash, as if he trusted the amount to be correct, snapped the suitcase shut, and nodded to the three men. Not a word had been exchanged. The transaction took less than two minutes.
Wide awake now, Sketchy put a new diskette into the camera and wondered if the night would bring more business transactions. He didn't have long to wait. No more than 15 minutes after the men had left, another car pulled up and parked along side the building. Some one got out of the car. Sketchy didn't recognize him, but he noted the predatory look of the guy's face and his hawklike eyes. Furiously, Sketchy snapped photos, using the zoom lens to get as close as he could. Another man, big, burly, and bullet-headed accompanied the first man. The second guy looked like hired muscle, probably a bodyguard.
The two men proceeded up the steps of the defunct mortuary. The predatory- looking goon knocked on the door with a heavy fist. Once again, Eddie opened the door, but this time he spoke to both men; Sketchy was too far away to hear the conversation. All of them seemed very serious. Eddie handed the goon the metallic suitcase. The goon opened it and pulled out the contents. He counted the money, making a big deal out of the procedure. Then he smiled and removed several bundles of bills, which he handed to Eddie. He walked back to the waiting car. Eddie went back into the building, closing the door behind him. The two men departed shortly thereafter.
*****
Logan tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He peered at the alarm clock on the nightstand: almost 3 a.m. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling for what seemed an eternity. He wished he had given Sketchy a spare cell phone so they could have kept in touch; it was maddening that he had no idea what was going on, or if Sketchy was all right. As much as the bike messenger was a self-admitted stoner and flake, Logan knew he would feel personally responsible if anything happened to him. Finally, he gave up on trying to get back to sleep. He turned on the light, put on his glasses, picked up the book he kept on the nightstand, and opened it to the book-marked page.
*****
Sketchy nodded off every now and then in the chilly hours before dawn, mentally telling himself that he would wake up at the first noise coming from the building, but there was no more activity around the Steelheads' headquarters. He had shifted his cramped position a few times to get the blood circulating in his legs, but for the past two hours, he had been stuffed into a crate along side the mortuary.
"I sure hope Eyes Only appreciates all the work I put into this," he grumbled to himself. He rubbed his eyes and tried to stretch a little. He would have killed for a cup of what passed as coffee at Jam Pony. But, he rationalized, the task would soon be over and he could turn over the camera and photos to Logan. Depending on how valuable the pictures were, maybe Eyes Only would request his services again. *That* would be cool, he thought.
*****
Logan knew that trying to read the book was an exercise in futility when he read the same paragraph three times. Reluctantly, he stuck the bookmark back in and closed the book. He missed Max more than ever, knowing that a challenging game of chess would be just what he needed. He decided to give up on sleep and get up. He still had a few more hours before he was supposed to meet up with Sketchy.
After transferring to the chair, he went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. He slid a CD into the player and sat in front of the living room window, looking out over the city as jazz played softly. The sky was beginning to acquire pale streaks of pink over the skyline; the phrase "rosy-fingered dawn" jumped into his mind, a remnant of his university studies in classical literature.
The coffeemaker stopped bubbling, indicating that the process was finished. Logan went back to the kitchen and poured himself a large cup, then took his place back at the window to watch the day break.
Episode Reference: Takes place immediately after Some Assembly Required
Rating: PG
Summary: A Logan Cale, Man of Action fic, complete with Steelheads and major bad guys
A/N: This is for Alaidh, who requested another LCMOA fic from me. Thanks to my betas, Alaidh and Kasman, for their insight.
I live for reviews. You know what to do.
Steel Trap Chapter 5
The next morning, Sketchy showed up at 9 a.m. in the park, as he and Logan had agreed. If anything, Sketchy looked even more disreputable than ever, with dirty hair and stubble, wearing a shapeless hooded sweatshirt that looked like it might have been green at one time, faded, torn jeans, and sunglasses.
"I hope you don't get hassled by the sector police, dressed like that," Logan commented with a laugh.
"Hey, I didn't want them to recognize me," Sketchy explained. "I really would prefer not to experience another beatdown."
"I can understand that. Here's the camera. I want pictures of everything - especially all the entrances and exits - and everybody who comes and goes. There are plenty of extra diskettes, so don't be stingy," Logan said, handing Sketchy a nylon sack. "Be careful."
"Word." Sketchy shot Logan as earnest a look as he could. "How long do you want me to do this?"
"I'd like to have a 24-hour record. Just in case."
"You got it." Sketchy grinned goofily at Logan. "See ya tomorrow. Same time, same place."
"Yeah, and Sketchy, you gotta stop watching all those old TV shows. They'll fry your brain." Logan turned his chair around and wheeled away, leaving Sketchy to his mission.
*****
When Logan arrived back at his penthouse, he saw that he had a message. He pressed the PLAY button, and Bennett's voice wafted through the air.
"Hey, Logan, sorry I missed you. You *want* to go to a party? Am I hearing correctly? I can get you an invite, but it'll cost you. This one's strictly for charity. Anyway, give me a call. Later."
Logan hit the redial button and called Bennett back. This time, his cousin actually answered.
"Hey, Bennett, it's Logan."
"Yeah, so you say. What's this about you *wanting* to go to a party? Who *are* you, really, and what have you done with Logan?" Bennett joked.
"It's not that I *want* to, it's that I have some business with Pierpont Lempkin and that would be an ideal place to conduct it," Logan explained.
"Dare I ask what kind of business you have with Lempkin? He's not exactly your altruistic type."
"Let's just say it's international, and leave it at that," Logan replied cryptically.
"Uh-oh, Logan Cale, International Man of Mystery," Bennett said, referring to one of his favorite old movies.
"Yeah, something like that." *If you only knew,* Logan thought.
"No problem. You just want one ticket?"
"Yeah, coming stag," Logan said ruefully.
"What happened to that stunner you brought to the wedding?"
"She's out of town on family business."
"I'll send over my spare ticket by courier tomorrow. Marianne will be out of town too- a family emergency - so, ya lucked out, as usual."
"Thanks, Bennett. I appreciate it."
"It'll be good to see you again. It's been too long."
"Yeah, it has. I'll see you Saturday." Logan hung up. Another piece of his plan had fallen into place.
He went to the bank of computers and turned on the system. From his archives, he retrieved the plans of Lempkin's house and the sophisticated security system he had found the previous year. He wanted to study them, memorize them, in case he had the opportunity to do some investigation at Lempkin's during the party.
Logan unlocked a drawer of his desk and pulled out the wad of bills Max had stolen from Lempkin. There was plenty to pay for his ticket to the charity event, with enough left over to flash if need be. It was ironic, he thought, that Lempkin's own money would be used to take him down.
The only thing left to do while he waited for Sketchy to complete his mission was to see if his tuxedo needed cleaning. He hadn't worn it since Bennett and Marianne's wedding, and he couldn't remember what shape it was in. Considering all that had happened that weekend, he couldn't remember much of anything about it. If nothing else, the pants legs needed lengthening, and his drycleaner/tailor could do that on the spot.
Logan shut down the computers, went into his bedroom, and got the tux out of the closet. He gathered up the shirt, cummerbund, and tie, and put all of it in a plastic bag. A trip to the cleaners would help take his mind off the project for a while. There was little he could do until he heard from Sketchy.
*****
Sketchy lurked near the shabby building that housed the steelheads. To passersby, he looked like all the other street people who hung around the market, hoping for handouts. Consequently, he was pretty much ignored. Every now and then, he got up from wherever he was sitting, and moved to a new position. From that new angle, he snapped pictures discreetly for a while, before moving to a new spot. In that way, he completely circled the building. Periodically, he took notes in a battered notebook, using a well- chewed pencil. He figured that he would not only have photos for Logan, but also a written record of occurrences.
Not that much was happening, he thought ruefully. He had hoped for something exciting, something dangerous, something that would make him indispensable to Eyes Only. Then he thought about the hoverdrone footage of Logan and the others getting shot, and of Logan in the wheelchair. Sketchy may have been a stoner, but he wasn't a fool; he hunkered down and took his pictures and made his notes, and forgot about grandstanding.
As he moved closer to the building to which he had followed the Steelheads, he saw a sign engraved above the front door: Nutman's Mortuary. Why did that sound familiar? He pounded his head a few times, hoping to fire the synapses up enough to dig up the reference. Slowly, the memory surfaced - Theo's ashes. His late coworker had been cremated there. The place must have gone out of business shortly thereafter, to be taken over by British Eddie and his buddies.
Sketchy yawned. His stomach rumbled, so he pulled a greasy paper bag out of a pocket and took out one of the sandwiches he had packed for the occasion. He nibbled it, then followed it up with a bottle of soda he took from the other pocket. He glanced at his watch: 4 p.m. It was going to be a long day.
*****
Logan tried to keep busy while he waited for Sketchy to finish his task, hoping the bike messenger wasn't as big a flake as he projected to the world. The trip to the dry cleaners had taken only an hour. Now he was back in the penthouse, trying not to obsess about Pierpont Lempkin. He hoped that Sketchy's photographs would reveal a way for him to get into the building and snoop around. He couldn't use Alec because of the beating the young transgenic had administered to Eddie and his friends earlier. He would surely be recognized if he were spotted taking pictures, or if he broke into the building to steal files and got caught.
Logan figured that if *he* got caught, he could probably bluff his way out of danger, unlike Alec. He just had to make sure he could get in. He silently cursed Zack for shooting up the exoskeleton. It would have made the whole enterprise much easier. On the other hand, he thought, what would he have done if Phil had *not* given him the exoskeleton, or if he hadn't been able to get it working? He'd be right where he was now, in the chair. Logan shook off the thought and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
While the pot roast was cooking, Logan decided to try a workout. The bruise on his hip had faded considerably, and the parts of his body that still had sensation no longer had that jolted feeling that had dissuaded him from doing a full workout earlier in the week. A nice, leisurely workout would distract him from worrying about Sketchy and taking down Lempkin, he thought. He went into the bedroom and changed into a tee shirt and sweat pants, then rolled into the exercise room to begin his regimen.
He warmed up with a few stretching exercises, then went on to the range of motion exercises that Bling had taught him what seemed like so long ago. He gradually worked up a sweat, taking it slow and easy so he didn't further damage anything he couldn't feel. He strapped himself down to the table and did sit-ups and crunches to burn off his frustration with waiting. Next came the strength training that had been so important in the early days, when all he could depend on to get himself around was his upper body and arms.
Finally, feeling tired and less tense, Logan cooled down. He wanted to practice the martial arts moves he had learned from Bling after the escapade with Gerhardt Bronck, but there was no one to practice with. Maybe he would call Alec later and see if he was available for a little one-on- one. He had a feeling he would need those moves shortly.
A hot shower put him in a much better mood. The oven timer had gone off, indicating that his dinner was ready. He had made enough food for several days, in case he would be too busy to cook later, or in case Max came back and was hungry. He hoped she would stop by and join him for a meal when she got back, since they had figured out a system whereby she could eat his food and not infect him with the deadly virus. Ever since she had first dropped in on him for dinner, Logan hated to eat alone.
He made himself a cup of coffee and ate dinner at the kitchen counter. Afterward, he cleaned up the kitchen and turned in early. A good night's sleep would prepare him for whatever Sketchy had come up with in his task.
*****
Sketchy's eyes drooped, but he shook himself awake. Nothing much had happened during the day. He had recognized various members of the Steelhead gang - the tall black guy and his small, blue-haired sidekick, and British Eddie. The little guy was sporting some sort of metal arm. The woman was nowhere to be seen.
Sketchy pulled his hood closer to his face as the chill November air stabbed at him. He had circled the old mortuary several times, discreetly taking pictures. He looked at his watch again. It was nearly 2 a.m. He was about to nod off, when a car pulled up in front of the building. Abruptly, Sketchy sat up straight, banging his knee against a dumpster. He gritted his teeth in pain.
The man who got out of the car was Oriental, well dressed, with an air of authority about him. He was accompanied by two Asian thugs in well-tailored suits. They were packing, judging from the bulges near their armpits. One of the thugs knocked on the mortuary door. Eddie opened it. The honcho nodded at the other thug, who was holding one of those metallic bulletproof suitcases. The thug opened it, revealing rows and rows of neatly bundled bills. Eddie turned around and went back into the building. When he returned, he was carrying a small cooler with medical markings on it. He and the thug exchanged cases. Eddie glanced briefly at the cash, as if he trusted the amount to be correct, snapped the suitcase shut, and nodded to the three men. Not a word had been exchanged. The transaction took less than two minutes.
Wide awake now, Sketchy put a new diskette into the camera and wondered if the night would bring more business transactions. He didn't have long to wait. No more than 15 minutes after the men had left, another car pulled up and parked along side the building. Some one got out of the car. Sketchy didn't recognize him, but he noted the predatory look of the guy's face and his hawklike eyes. Furiously, Sketchy snapped photos, using the zoom lens to get as close as he could. Another man, big, burly, and bullet-headed accompanied the first man. The second guy looked like hired muscle, probably a bodyguard.
The two men proceeded up the steps of the defunct mortuary. The predatory- looking goon knocked on the door with a heavy fist. Once again, Eddie opened the door, but this time he spoke to both men; Sketchy was too far away to hear the conversation. All of them seemed very serious. Eddie handed the goon the metallic suitcase. The goon opened it and pulled out the contents. He counted the money, making a big deal out of the procedure. Then he smiled and removed several bundles of bills, which he handed to Eddie. He walked back to the waiting car. Eddie went back into the building, closing the door behind him. The two men departed shortly thereafter.
*****
Logan tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He peered at the alarm clock on the nightstand: almost 3 a.m. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling for what seemed an eternity. He wished he had given Sketchy a spare cell phone so they could have kept in touch; it was maddening that he had no idea what was going on, or if Sketchy was all right. As much as the bike messenger was a self-admitted stoner and flake, Logan knew he would feel personally responsible if anything happened to him. Finally, he gave up on trying to get back to sleep. He turned on the light, put on his glasses, picked up the book he kept on the nightstand, and opened it to the book-marked page.
*****
Sketchy nodded off every now and then in the chilly hours before dawn, mentally telling himself that he would wake up at the first noise coming from the building, but there was no more activity around the Steelheads' headquarters. He had shifted his cramped position a few times to get the blood circulating in his legs, but for the past two hours, he had been stuffed into a crate along side the mortuary.
"I sure hope Eyes Only appreciates all the work I put into this," he grumbled to himself. He rubbed his eyes and tried to stretch a little. He would have killed for a cup of what passed as coffee at Jam Pony. But, he rationalized, the task would soon be over and he could turn over the camera and photos to Logan. Depending on how valuable the pictures were, maybe Eyes Only would request his services again. *That* would be cool, he thought.
*****
Logan knew that trying to read the book was an exercise in futility when he read the same paragraph three times. Reluctantly, he stuck the bookmark back in and closed the book. He missed Max more than ever, knowing that a challenging game of chess would be just what he needed. He decided to give up on sleep and get up. He still had a few more hours before he was supposed to meet up with Sketchy.
After transferring to the chair, he went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. He slid a CD into the player and sat in front of the living room window, looking out over the city as jazz played softly. The sky was beginning to acquire pale streaks of pink over the skyline; the phrase "rosy-fingered dawn" jumped into his mind, a remnant of his university studies in classical literature.
The coffeemaker stopped bubbling, indicating that the process was finished. Logan went back to the kitchen and poured himself a large cup, then took his place back at the window to watch the day break.