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

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 9

Bennett chattered cheerfully as he drove along the rutted highway toward Pierpont Lemkin's estate. Logan vaguely listened to him and nodded every now and then, feigning interest. He was lost in thought about coming face-to-face with his long-time adversary. As Eyes Only, he had been trying to get the goods on the guy for years, knowing that Lemkin was involved in some of the sleaziest dealings in Seattle and the West Coast, including weapons smuggling and now, organ brokering. Lemkin had eluded him too many times by building in layers of responsibility that had been nearly impossible to crack.

And now, finally, Eyes Only was going to get him. Logan almost licked his chops in anticipation. As long as Matt Sung was right, and the chief of the Seattle PD wasn't in Lemkin's pocket, he would let the cops handle it. He had started the ball rolling with his broadcast. It was in the Seattle PD's court now. He hoped they were up to the job…

"…so, when are Marianne and I gonna have you over for dinner?" Bennett was saying. Logan, startled, started in his seat. He felt a guilty pleasure in taking Lemkin down.

"What?"

"When are we gonna have you over for dinner? Marianne will be back Tuesday. What about next weekend?"

"Uh, I'll have to check my calendar. I'll call you."

"Fine. By the way, what the hell happened to your car – all the bullet holes, I mean. You said it was a drive-by shooting? Were you okay?"

"Yeah, it must have been a drive-by. I had the car parked outside the building for a few hours last week. When I came out to drive it into the garage, I found it like that," Logan explained disingenuously, hoping that Bennett wouldn't figure out that the bullet holes would have been on the opposite side of the car if it had occurred as he said it did.

"Jeez, ever since Beltran's administration, the lawlessness in this city has been getting out of hand. Thank goodness for that guy, Eyes Only. He seems to be the only one concerned with keeping law and order," Bennett declared.

"Yeah, seems that way," Logan replied, noncommittally.

"Did you see the latest Eyes Only hack?" Bennett asked. "It interrupted the football game."

"Afraid not. I was out running errands."

"It was about Pierpont Lemkin. About him being connected to an organ smuggling ring. Can you imagine that? This should be an interesting party."

Logan nodded silently.

*****

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Lemkin's sprawling estate. The guard at the gatehouse took their names, checked them against a list on his PDA, then electronically opened the huge, ornate cast-iron gate. "Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen," he said as he waved them through.

As they wended their way up the driveway, they could see that the party had already started. The white, columned, Georgian-style mansion was awash with lights; it glowed in the autumn evening like a pearl. Big Band music was issuing from it. Other cars were lined up in front of the house, keeping the uniformed valet staff hopping. Bennett waited his turn in line.

After a few minutes, he pulled up to the valet, who efficiently and courteously opened his door. A second one, also efficient and courteous, opened the passenger door for Logan, who looked up at him and said, "Thanks. Give me a minute."

Bennett came around to the passenger side and took Logan's wheelchair from the back. Logan quickly assembled it and slid into it. "Thanks," he said to both Bennett and the valet. The uniformed young man nodded and drove the Mercedes away to park it.

"Well, this is some spread," Logan said, spinning the chair around and staring at the house. He had seen pictures of it, and had studied the layout of it when Max had attempted to burgle Lemkin's safe earlier that year, but he had never been to the place in person.

"Yeah," Bennett agreed. "The mind boggles. Makes Dad's old place look like a bungalow."

"Nah, I don't think so," Logan replied. "Jonas' house was pretty big. You lived there longer than I did, so you got used to the size. "

They made their way toward the front entrance, trying to avoid the crowd; Logan hated crowds and being jostled. As they reached the front porch, Logan was surprised to see that a ramp had been laid down, allowing him to proceed to the front door without assistance. He frowned, puzzled, and looked up at Bennett.

"Um, I told him you were coming and asked about accessibility," Bennett admitted sheepishly.

"Thanks, Bennett. I appreciate it." Logan smiled, realizing why Bennett was the only relative he gave a damn about. He wheeled up the ramp and into the house.

The foyer was spacious, with a marble floor and elegant 18th century furniture. Another uniformed lackey took their coats and directed them to the main room, where most of the activities were occurring. They made their way slowly toward what was laughably called the living room, but which had the nouveau-riche grandeur of a grand salon, dodging elbows and knees. Arriving at their destination, Bennett found a seat on the end of a huge sofa, while Logan pulled up next to him and locked his brakes. A few minutes later, a server with a tray full of sparkling champagne flutes stopped in front of them and offered them drinks. They each took a glass.

"Well, this is quite a do," Bennett commented.

"Yeah," Logan replied absentmindedly, looking around for Lemkin. "I don't see our host anywhere, do you?"

Bennett craned his neck and surveyed the place. "Nope, I don't either. I imagine that after that Eyes Only broadcast this afternoon, he's off putting the spin on things."

"I don't think he can spin that fast," Logan laughed grimly.

"Probably not" Bennett agreed. "Ah, do you want anything from the buffet?"

"Yeah, I could stand a bit of food. I didn't have time to eat dinner," Logan replied.

"Okay. Anything in particular? Anything you won't eat? Like vegetables?"

"Nah, I'll eat pretty much anything that won't eat me first."

Bennett grinned. "Great. Stay put and I'll get you something."

Logan started to protest, but realized that as crowded as the place was, he was better off letting Bennett negotiate the way to the buffet. He shrugged and leaned back in the chair, taking in the atmosphere and listening to the conversations. Like the foyer, this room was elegantly furnished with antiques. It was enormous by living room standards, and too rococo for Logan's taste. The walls were hung with expensive, but second-rate 18th century art, mostly hunting scenes. The word that came to Logan's mind was "pretentious."

The room was becoming more crowded as people continued to arrive. Logan, never one for crowds even before he had to negotiate them from a sitting position, began to feel claustrophobic. He considered heading for the French doors and grabbing a breath of air when he saw Bennett returning with a couple of plates of food.

"Whew! What a crush! I didn't know there were still this many wealthy people in Seattle! Here," he said, handing a plate to Logan. He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out utensils and a napkin. "Good thing you didn't go over there. Who knows how many toes you would have had to roll over."

"Well, I've always been good at treading on toes."

"Yeah, don't I know it. Especially Dad's."

They ate the buffet offerings and snagged another couple of drinks. Every now and then, a business acquaintance of Bennett's would stroll by and greet him, usually giving Logan a superficial greeting, then ignoring him in favor of Bennett. Normally, Logan found this behavior rude and annoying; tonight, however, he felt freed from the constraints of polite conversation, and therefore able to concentrate on listening and watching for his host.

Logan's vigil was finally rewarded. Pierpont Lemkin strode into the living room, accompanied by a hush, and then whispers. His boyish but hard features conveyed an air of disdain, as if he were above all the gossip he knew was following him. A pair of no-neck goons escorted him – bodyguards, evidently. Logan recognized one of the thugs from Sketchy's photographs. Lemkin pasted a feral smile on his face and proceeded to grip and grin his way through the room.

After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, Lemkin stood before Bennett and Logan, proffering his hand. Bennett carefully put down his plate, stood up, and shook the outstretched hand. He introduced himself, never having met Lemkin personally.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Cale. Nice to meet you" Lemkin shifted his gaze downward and looked at Logan, again offering his hand. "And you must be the other Mr. Cale. Pierpont Lemkin."

"Logan. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the ramp outside."

Lemkin shook his head. "My pleasure, Mr. Cale. If you spend the big bucks to attend one of my little charity functions, I do my best to accommodate you in any way I can."

"Well, I appreciate it," Logan replied, inwardly gritting his teeth and wanting to wash his hand.

Lemkin's already predatory smile widened. "Enjoy yourself." Then he walked away.

"Hmm, better count your fingers," Bennett said with a grin. "That one's slick."

"No kidding. Guess I don't need to oil my wheels tonight," Logan replied, turning back to the plate of food on his lap.

When they had finished eating, Bennett suggested an exploratory jaunt around the mansion. "Let's get out of here and see if it's less crowded elsewhere."

"Good idea." Logan placed his empty plate and champagne glass on a side table and unlocked his brakes.

They left the living room and headed into the hallway. Avoiding the dining room, which was still teeming with people feeding their faces, they crossed the hall and went into what would have been considered a drawing room. There were fewer people here, and the conversation seemed less desultory. Logan overheard several couples engaged in a conversation about art. They seemed to share his opinion of Lemkin's collection. Logan recognized one or two of them from art exhibits he had attended in the past.

"My God, Logan! I haven't seen you in ages!" One of the women, a well put-together redhead a few years older than Logan, had turned around and seen him. She tried not to stare. "What….?"

"Car accident," Logan lied, giving Bennett the hairy eyeball to keep him quiet.

"I knew sooner or later you would do something crazy in that Audi. When…?

"About a year and a half ago."

"Well, no wonder we haven't seen you at the Arts Council. How are you doing?"  Her expression conveyed concern, but not pity.

"Okay, I guess," Logan replied tersely. "So, what do you think of Lemkin's collection?" he asked, steering the conversation in another direction.

She smiled. "In my opinion, it's second-rate. He's collecting genre paintings and doesn't know his stuff."

"Yes, I agree," Logan said. Bennett tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm off for a refill. Can I get you anything?"

"Sure. A single malt. Thanks." Bennett walked off to find the bar, leaving Logan and his Arts Council colleague to discuss Lemkin's collection.

When Bennett returned, drinks in hand, the redhead had left and Logan was rocking his chair from side to side, looking bored. He eagerly accepted the Scotch and took a gulp.

"Anything interesting going on where you were?"

"Not much. Overheard some gossip about our host. Seems like that Eyes Only broadcast has really got some people thinking. There might be a police investigation starting up… Lemkin may be involved in other dicey operations like money laundering, drugs…stuff like that."

Logan grinned. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy. Lemkin's a sleaze any way you cut it. It's only a matter of time before he takes a fall." He unlocked his brakes and put the highball glass between his knees.  "Come on, Bennett, I want to hear that band. They're good."

They headed to the ballroom, where a small band was playing jazz. Some couples were slow-dancing, while others, seated at small round tables, watched them or swayed in time with the music. It was a much more lively scene than in the other rooms. These people seemed to be enjoying themselves.


"Ah, this is better," Logan said, heading for a half-empty table. He rolled up to the table and said, "Mind if we join you?" to the people already occupying part of it. They shook their heads, so Logan pulled up to the table and pushed one of the chairs out of the way. He locked his brakes and put the glass of Scotch on the table. Bennett moved the chair farther away, then sat down next to Logan.

"You always did like being around the music," Bennett commented.

"Yeah. Wish I could still dance, though."

They sat at the table, listening to the music and watching the dancing. A while later, Pierpont Lemkin came into the room, schmoozed his way to the front, and grabbed a dance partner. The other couples cleared a space and he led the woman onto the floor. The band struck up a lively dance tune.

After a few minutes, Logan commented, "Knew I didn't like the guy. He's even a lousy dancer."

Bennett snickered. "I guess he didn't spend any of his ill-gotten gains on dance lessons. These nouveau riche types just don't know how to play the game."  They both enjoyed a laugh at Lemkin's expense.  It was apparent that their host was trying his damnedest to ignore the Eyes Only hack and its aftermath; he kept a smile pasted on his face and a drink nearby. He was artificially cheerful, shaking hands with everyone, slapping the men on the back, complimenting the ladies. It was almost painful to watch. Logan was grimly fascinated.

*****

An hour passed; Pierpont Lemkin left the ballroom. The band took a break. People strolled away to refill their plates and drinks. It seemed like a good time for a quick trip to the patio for a breath of air. Logan backed away from the table.

Bennett stood up, a bit unsteady. "I'm gonna look for the little boy's room," he said. "Will you be okay for a while?"

"I think I can stay out of trouble," Logan replied, heading for the French doors to the patio.

Bennett shuffled away, looking for one of the uniformed hired help to get directions.

Logan wheeled over to the patio doors and opened one. He rolled outside onto the mostly deserted patio, thankful for the lack of crowds. Breathing deeply, he stared up at the clear, starry night. The night air was crisp, but not especially cold. There was a hint of frost, however, that would make coats a requisite later on.

Logan thought about the events of the day. Step One of his plan had taken place: the Eyes Only hack to alert the public to Lemkin's nefarious dealings. Step Two had been to turn the files over to Matt Sung. He hoped that the Seattle PD would provide Step Three, the arrest of Pierpont Lemkin. And he hoped it would be soon.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't see the bizarre couple that approached him. Lux in a cloth-of-silver gown that resembled aluminum foil and British Eddie in a gleaming tuxedo of the same fabric, walked up behind Logan.

"Well, well, look who it is," Lux purred, eyeing Loan approvingly.

"Yes, imagine meeting you here," Eddie said, rubbing his swollen jaw. His eyes narrowed in the darkness. "What are you doing here, anyway?