Chapter Three
Seattle, Washington
Guevara penthouse, roughly midnight
Clickety-clack. Tap. Tap. Tap. Clack-clack-clackety-clack-cla -- brring!
"Hello? Yes, this is she, how may I help you? ...Of course, the Manticore organization. ...Yes, I've heard of it. ...Of course I'm interested. A fortnight? Sure, sure... ...Yes, sure, of course that can be arranged. ...All right. See you then."
Click.
A puzzled frown swept across Mercedes's face for an instant before it was split in two with a very mischievous and calculating grin. Of course she could be ready in a fortnight. It wasn't as if she was that unprepared.
This, I think, shall prove to be a very interesting meeting.
***
Exactly two weeks later, everything was in place. Mercedes looked around in satisfaction before setting the computer on standby. The original anticipation she'd felt was still with her.
She appeared like she was going to burst with a combination of nervousness, tenseness, and giddiness just before there was a knock on the door. Jumping out of her seat, she straightened the abruptly upset table before taking a deep breath. She strode over to the door and smoothed her silk business outfit. Glancing through the peephole, she twisted the handle.
There in the hallway stood a man; one she'd never seen before. She didn't treat him like a stranger, though, and he was shortly ushered into the entrance hall. The quiet was almost deafening as she led him into the living room. After they sat down, each seemed at a loss as to what to say for a bit.
The stranger broke the silence first. "You would be Mercedes Guevara?"
She nodded with a small, business-like look on her face. "And since you know who I am, I shall presume that you would be none other than Cale?"
There was a sharp nod from her guest before he spoke once more. "Ms. Guevara - "
"Please, call me Mercedes," she interjected suddenly with a winning smile.
HeeHeHe gave her a look of reproach, making her falter for a second before he continued. "I will continue calling you Ms. Guevara, Ms. Guevara."
Damn, Mercedes thought with a mentally rueful grin. He's even worse than I expected! She gestured towards him, as if to motion him to continue.
With a brief nod, he slipped into a very commanding air. "I expect my case to be handled with the utmost secrecy. No one shall help you with this matter unless I specify their ability to do so. I cannot allow petty things to get in the way of the answers. Therefore, I expect you to work 24/7 on this case, and only this case.
"If you feel as if you cannot fulfill these requirements, tell me now and I shall find someone else." He assumed an aura of arrogance as he awaited her answer, which was not long in coming.
Mercedes just looked at him. There was no way in hell that he was going to intimidate her by his actions, and she let him know it.
"I accept your challenge, Mr. Logan Cale, and rest assured; you will not be disappointed in my results. However" - I'll beat you by your own game sucker! - "I have some requests of my own."
The use of a name he hadn't even given her was startling, but not unexpected. A mention of personal requests perked his unseen interest.
"I'll get you your information, if you don't treat me like you could do better. If you could do better, you wouldn't have hired me." She shot him a look that said Bwa! I've got you here!, only in a sophisticated manner. "By hiring me, you've acknowledged that you people aren't the greatest out there, and some of us on the outside actually know what we're doing. Remember that, and I'll continue with our meeting."
A raised eyebrow, a slight questioning look before it was all wiped clean as a slate. The man in front of her nodded almost imperceptibly. "You got it."
Mercedes's face broke out in an unrestrained, delighted grin, and she fought the urge to clap her hands. "Perfect! Now, let's get started..."
An hour and a half later, Mercedes had gotten what she deemed "the basics." There was still a lot of information to know about this particular case, having been presented with less-than-Spartan details beforehand. It wasn't peculiar, however. She was used to getting thrust upon many cases with no information at all, and still reaping the best benefits.
"That's it" - Logan almost visibly relaxed - "for now." He nearly let out a frustrated sigh, but the little training that was left made him contain it. It didn't contain his thoughts, however, and he made use of that power: This is going to be a long day.
"Why don't you relax, while I prepare supper, hm?" Mercedes nodded to herself and, even before Logan could react, she was headed off to the kitchen. "Make yourself at home," she tossed over her shoulder carelessly. "Try not to eat anything, though; food should soon be ready." She glanced at the clock. "And don't avail yourself of any of my property," came the remark, stopping him just as he was reaching out to touch one of her statuettes of a cat - it made him think of Bast, the Egyptian goddess - but he wasn't about to steal it. As if someone would dare think that of a Manticore-trained soldier!
You're not in Wyoming anymore, came that annoying voice in his head. His eyes started to glaze over as it reminded him of that fateful day ten years ago...
Visions of blood-covered, fallen pine needles; scents of fear, pain, blood, sweat, anxiety; sounds of random gunshots, tazers shooting paralyzing electricity into one of his comrades, the pattering of feet on those same, fallen pine needles...
"Guess what I got!" The door slammed shut as the last, practically imperceptible echoes of the startling statement faded. Logan reacted immediately even before he knew what he was doing, melting himself into what little shadow there was in the bright living room and controlling the nearly invisible tremors in his hands.
In a hostile environment - he constantly reminded himself that he was in such a place, even though it felt entirely natural to be in the Guevara penthouse - he would have been detected instantly. Here, though, he was at leisure to observe with anonymity the black-clad female cross the space in great strides as she headed towards the kitchen. Visual reports ended as soon as she moved around the corner, leaving him to rely upon his other heightened senses.
"You brought me a chicken!" came his employee's voice, full of cheer. There was a slight pause. "But, Max...?" Here the voice coloured with uncertainty and worry, causing Logan to inch his way forward, just in case...
"Didn't it cost a fortune?"
He stopped dead in his tracks and indiscernibly sighed with frustration. Logan, his still-Manticore side of his brain scolded, you've become soft. Worried about an inconsequential female whom you're using only for information, and after this entire thing is completed, you'll never see her again. Pay attention to the objective soldier! The voice was so close to being real that he had to catch himself before he saluted.
"Actually, Mom…" The girl named Max sounded as if she was grinning mischievously. "I got it for half its normal price. It cost me the same as a chicken would have at the turn of the millennium." She sighed, smug. "Men just have no tolerance to pouting lips and a seemingly distressed damsel," she complained prettily. "Ah, well." She laughed. "More power for me!"
Logan almost laughed with her, but not for the same things. He couldn't believe her naiveté on that matt - did she just say 'mom'?! He blinked, surprised enough to momentarily forget his last vestiges of Manticore training. He realized that he'd seriously overestimated the intelligence given to him on his new employee.
That was so not good.
Mercedes, unaware that Logan hadn't known about Max, just shook her head at her daughter's antics, smiling. "Now I know I should have enrolled you in some acting classes. With a performance like that you would have gotten onto any stage in West End!"
Logan soundlessly padded around the living room area of the penthouse, displaying his rarely shown restless nature. He could tell that this would be a long conversation. However, since he had nothing else better to do except examine the same figurines over and over again, he kept listening.
Max's voice took on a frown type of quality. "West End? But Ma, you know I don't like the English! All snobby and smoggy and…" She seemed to cast around for another excuse. "And they put vinegar on their fries instead of ketchup! I mean, ketchup is essential with fries! How much weirder could you possibly get?"
At this, Logan mentally bristled, hands hesitating above a miscellaneous, ancient, and quite expensive object. Even though she didn't know he was there, Max was readily pushing all of his buttons. He didn't quite appreciate that.
His mounting anger must have become a tangible force, because suddenly her mom's cheerful voice faltered as she tentatively led her daughter out of the kitchen. "Max, I'd like you to meet Logan Cale. He's brought us a new case."
Logan watched Max stop in her tracks when she caught sight of him, a look of surprise in her huge eyes at his presence. He kept a cool demeanor as her gaze slowly traversed his body. He could feel their penetrating stare on him as she started to circle him, hear their strangely-combined blood and breathing rates go up.
He was immensely relieved that she had stepped away when she did. He recognized the early, mental stages of what some called attraction. Personally, he did not want the others in the room to recognize the more obvious physical stage, so he edged over towards the back of the couch as he chose his best tactical maneuver. This amounted to a rather ineffective glare in Max's direction, which she promptly ignored.
Instead, as Max frowned from her newly reclaimed position next to her mother, she looked into his eyes quizzically for a moment. Logan held his own in the impromptu staring contest, and allowed not one iota of emotion to escape into his eyes as she spoke. "I guess being British and eating fries with that disgusting vinegar isn't the weirdest thing." She appeared to study him a bit longer before continuing. "You could be a trans-genetic nightmare with a childhood that consisted of studying the pros and cons of guerrilla warfare in the Sahara desert without water and doing Calculus by age ten."
Mentally gritting his teeth, he responded the same way; "And yet, you could be one of the many who are considered normal."
Max's eyes narrowed at this, but she wisely said nothing. Instead, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out what looked like pink juice in a sloped bottle, allowing her mother to pick up the shards of the awkward silence by herself.
This was incredibly, terrifically, horribly bad.
Max kept her head from smacking the smooth granite bar top as her mother's one-sided conversation flowed over her - but just barely. It was perfectly okay to have a person presenting a new case to her mother, because that was entirely normal. But why did the informant have to be a completely and utterly gorgeous Manticore prototype?
A normal person would think that a gorgeous guy showing up in her penthouse would be perfectly sweet. An educated person, who knew of the Gillette, Wyoming facility, would think that it'd be a wonderful learning opportunity. But to mix them?
That was the ultimate injustice.
She took another long swig of her - blessedly - non-virgin strawberry daiquiri juice and attempted to gather her thoughts. This was about as helpful as trying to capture sand with a sieve. Quickly giving up on that idea, she turned her mindset into one of mourning categorization.
Normally, she would have been ecstatic at the prospect of talking to said Manticore prototype. She had dreamt of such a thing as a little girl, as a teen, and even this week. She knew exactly what she was going to say, what she was going to ask, and how she'd react. In her mind, she had even picked out the weather and exact time!
Downing the rest of her daiquiri wine cooler and setting the bottle down hard enough to attract her mom's and her mom's guest's attention, Max grabbed an unopened cooler and stalked to her bedroom. Once she had shut the door behind her firmly, she flopped onto her bed and picked up her phone, rapidly dialing a friend's number.
"Hey, Cindy? ...Fine, Original Cindy if you much insist; I really don't care at the moment, aiight? Look, I gotta bounce from here before I go mad. ...Yeah, I'm sorta trapped; Mom has an informant here tonight and lemme tell y', Cin, he totally freaks me out. ...No, he's not gonna try to do anything like that! Sheesh, gutter mind... ...Shut it, aiight? Just provide me with an excuse to escape as soon as dinner's over with - or is that too much work, Biker Chick?" Laughter. "Aiight, aiight, I'll be nice. ...Thank you! God, Cindy, I love ya!, and no, not in that way." A bit more of the cooler is consumed, causing her to slurp a bit. "Whaddya mean, 'is the alcohol out yet'? ...No, Cindy, I wouldn't dare drink wit'out ya, 'cause you'd kill me, I know this. ...Crash? I can do that. We'll get drunk and piss off Normal tomorrow." More laughter. "I'm so with you on that. Aiight. Late."
Click.
Max sighed and leaned back on her bed, making sure her drink didn't spill. She was long overdue for a chill-out night with her friends, where the pressures of daily life were whisked away by an unwritten code between them. She grinned.
Friends kick ass.
A/N: I recently finished rewriting this (I think I put it up at my LiveJournal much earlier this month. That's where you guys should check for updates and the like, especially if FFN spazzes out again), and to my knowledge, this is the earliest time I could post this here.
Since I did just finish rewriting this, there are probably some corrections made in the part that had bee posted previously. Scan it over anyway, if you would, just in case something DID change.
This is mainly from Logan's POV now, and will probably stay that way – or at least away from Max's, because for some reason I can't write her except in short snippets (I think it's because her character is already so developed, and I risk changing it too much, while with Logan, Mercedes, Zack, and OC I can practically do whatever I want without too many mishaps).
I still would like to thank, however, the same exact people as before, as well as those who commented on the previously dubbed chapter three. You guys kick so much ass, you should try out for the next Terminator movie – if there is one. THANK YOU! *glomp!*
I still thank Sancho more'n ever, though. I hope you get her fic all straightened out and sent to me ASAP! I still love it, man – and to those of you who actually read A/Ns, when it comes out I except all of you to comment, 'cause it's gonna be so incredibly nifty! And I'll definitely be linkin' it to the chapter that comes out after it does – and to my faves for FFN, and on my LiveJournal, and… oh, you get my drift. ^^
THANK YOU:
Blaney, Sweetangel, Lesley, aegean, veggie_5, kay, Ashley, megan, trina, Max2019, Deepquote, soccerchick, and mustang.
SPECIAL THANKS:
Jhondy: You were the very first person to review, and for that, I cannot thank you enough. But I'll try – THANK YOU! ^__^
Nikki: You probably have forgotten about what you said, but you asked if Kelly would be to Logan as Zack was to Max. Hon, you don't know the half of it (as of right now, neither do I, but I've an idea. ^_^).
Laura: You've reviewed and followed each chapter faithfully, and you continued email contact with me, suggesting and prodding me to keep writing. I have to say, you're the only one to do that besides my beta-reader. ^______^ *glomp*
EXTRA-SPECIAL THANKS:
Domino Nermandi: Dearie, you have me that HUGE review unknowingly during a time where I was feeling down and not so good about myself. Your review sparked an interest in continuing to write and in keeping up that evil thing called 'self-esteem.' *major glompness* You also have reviewed each chapter faithfully (not that that's difficult, considering there's only two). Hopefully, this one meets your requirements. ~_^ I'm pretty sure that if you don't like this one, you'll love the next chapter. Go Max! *cheeky, I'm-not-telling grin*
To everyone: Keep reading! I cherish every single one of your reviews, as is witnessed by this page-long tribute to everyone who has reviewed already. ^__^ I'll see you at the next chapter!
