Welcome to a dangerous life
a dangerous ride
a dangerous kiss
-Spells, Orgy
xxx
small chapter, but not a filler. There will be no filler chapters from this point on.
Winston sat back in his seat, stunned and utterly amazed by Logan's declaration.
"That's why I'm here," she added softly; Logan's unblinking stare was fixed upon Winston, watching him closely, as she attempted to gauge his response. "I need to find the people responsible for the contract, so we can bring it to a close."
Forlorn and in an effort to hide his dejection, Winston lowered his eyes and whispered, "What a remarkable thing to say."
Did she do it? He wondered, still staring into the table's surface where he watched her reflection against the polished wood. Was that possible?
In truth, she didn't outright say she was the one who brought John's untimely end, but neither did she reveal she didn't pull the proverbial trigger.
Given the upsetting news from the most unlikely suitor, Winston felt incredulous, and rightly so. This woman, whom he'd never before heard of, much less laid eyes upon, could very well be capable of accomplishing a feat many Associates before her had unsuccessfully attempted: slaying the legendary and revered Baba Yaga.
But where was her greed? Certainly she knew about the bounty or she wouldn't be here.
Winston was unable to completely mask his despair, it was too late to avert its detection. Miss Ryder knew Jonathan meant a great deal to the Continental's manager. More than any money or reputation could withstand. In John's passing, Winston lost a true friend. A son, even.
The unfamiliar, freckled woman, whose shocking announcement now rendered him speechless, held the answers to the many questions he greatly desired to ask. Winston's pragmatic, analytical mind shifted into overdrive, considering her words and searching for clues, … attempting to decipher her motivation, any incentive, and most importantly, her ability to substantiate her dreadful claim. Miss Ryder did not appear to be the elusive type. She was nothing like Jonathan, yet surprisingly, the trait young Miss Ryder and the disavowed professional shared, was sheer audacity.
Logan grabbed her fanciful drink and took another sip; she steadily forced the sugary intoxicant down her throat, consuming the beverage by sheer determination. Only afterward, as Winston threw back his remaining scotch, did Logan briefly consider the strange aftertaste lingering upon her palette. Winston grasped the glass gently before him and thoughtfully stared into its golden depths for a length of time; however, the answers he sought was not in the drink - it sat across from him. Pale blue eyes met and held Logan's storm grey eyes.
She was incapable―or was she …?
Collecting himself, Winston's face once again became an impassive mask when he felt it; the faint, niggling but growing feeling in his gut―disbelief and the compelling drive to challenge Miss Ryder's statement.
It must be a bluff, or a ruse.
Jonathan could not be dead, not by her hand. The most adept assassins within the vicinity were unable to even get close enough to critically wound Jonathan, let alone kill the man. Winston simply could not believe her.
Intimidated and riveted in place by the older man's unyielding perceptive stare, Logan keenly felt Winston's displeasure. Unnerved by his silence, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, fighting to suppress the sudden nausea that churned within her. In her efforts, a light sheen of perspiration coated her brow.
Despite her sudden unwellness, Logan's monumental disclosure left her feeling oddly liberated.
If John was dead, the unabated fighting and rising body count could end. No one would come to claim a dead man's head. From Winston's reaction alone, Logan decided she delivered her message to the right man. Whoever Winston was, and whatever his position was within this faction, he could surely propagate the news of John Wick's death. It would spread; Logan was certain―it was out of her hands now. It was out of John's hands.
Her stress lifted; in its place, fatigue set in. It was time to return to the hotel.
"Tell who ever you have to that it's over. Close the contract." she added.
Winston's ever-keen eyes narrowed with such subtlety, it escaped Logan's notice. Winston answered to no one. Those under his authority were unaware of the true extent of his influence and power; that was what his preference demanded. The Continental's master took extreme measures to ensure his far reaching … influence remained unchallenged and absolute. During his cunning rise to power, Winston discretely, efficiently, and ruthlessly managed the East Coast's safe haven for the insidious souls of the underground.
An invested fortune created extensively detailed, private dossiers on key political figures, influential community leaders, noted scholars, his esteemed colleagues and all known and up and coming professionals associated with the underground. His gambit paid off handsomely, and his ever increasing trove of incriminating information, original paperwork and hard copies, were kept under lock and key in his personal, climate controlled vaults and safe rooms, safeguarded by layers of encrypted, bio-metric security systems. Because of his impressive network of loyal employees and cohorts, very little escaped his notice, much less surprised him.
Who was Logan Ryder? How was she familiar with their parlance―what else did she know …?
More importantly, how did she obtain her insight?
Unless business occurred and blood was spilled on Continental grounds, Winston rarely involved himself in the affairs, contractual agreements and transactions of the Assassins patronizing his establishment. However, when Winston deemed it necessary, and only at his discretion, did he dabble in the affairs and dealings within his domain.
And for any subject to come within the hotel's premises with the intention of claiming John Wick's bounty, Winston deemed quite reasonable means of conducting business. This was asafe haven for professionals, not a motley hub of delinquents.
Instead, he preferred to observe the pieces as they fell into place―however, whenever, and wherever they may. Monitoring any given situation, whatever the resulting outcome, Winston preferred to be an informed observer. However, if what Miss Ryder desired was an audience, Winston would oblige the young woman.
For now.
With a subtle cue, an unnatural stillness descended; the pleasant music overhead and ambient background sounds abruptly halted. The clear, pure tinkling of lead crystal glasses, delicate champagne flutes punctuating celebratory toasts, coupled with the refined sounds of silver cutlery lightly scraping upon fine bone china … quiet murmurs of modulated conversations and occasional chuckles as patrons moved about simply … stopped.
All movement ceased.
Silence pervaded the entire room and its occupants. Logan was certain she'd inexplicably become deaf. She glanced around, to see that all eyes were intently and expectantly trained upon them.
"Let it be known," the manager intoned, "That on this day, at this hour, John Wick perished by your hand."
At his minute hand gesture, activity and sounds resumed as quickly as it ended. Logan's heart sank. She hadn't realized just how dire her circumstances became. Until now.
Witnesses, she realized. Logan's heart beat faster and her stomach churned with burning acidity. What had she gotten herself into? Instinctively, she knew she was in great peril.
Her wide eyes darted to Winston, and then to her drink; too late she noticed the gritty white substance at the bottom of her glass. Her imagination flooded her mind with conjured horrors. Was she just poisoned―or was it the characteristics of the drink?
No… She had tasted something bitter.
Horrified, Logan realized too late she completely disregarded Aurelio's only rule. Winston's seemingly benign appearance cloaked with courteous hospitality, and Logan's arrogant self confidence in her ability to negotiate with the older man, had lulled her into a false sense of security; their careful exchange, rife with old world charm, caused her complacency under the guise of gentility. Gone was the manager's veneer of accommodating and engaging solicitude; Logan was frightened by Winston's menacing smile. Her compromised mind was unable to reconcile how his formerly kind eyes skewered her with cold indifference. Logan was terribly mistaken to interfere and involve herself with the sordid works of the underground.
It was time to leave.
Logan swallowed convulsively as her nausea tripled when the room tilted and whirled. On the verge of fainting, and about to vomit, Logan pushed herself out of the booth. She lurched forward, her legs trembled violently, unable to hold her upright. Logan stumbled, her arms flailing as she desperately searched for something to grab onto as her vision doubled. Mouth agape, eyes rolling and unable to focus, Logan struggled to regain control of herself.
What had she done…?
Time had no meaning as her senses sharpened; ironically, the world dragged by, and then sped past her in a blur of colors and distorted sounds. Pitching and no longer upon its axis, the room yawed as she struggled to remove herself from the Continental. The taste of sickness climbed to her throat while her heart pounded in her ears. Winston made no attempt to stop or assist her―no one did. Instead, every patron stood and detachedly watched her uncoordinated progress with mild interest, as if Logan's bizarre behavior and pathetic struggle to … escape, was nothing to be alarmed about.
Wait -!
Logan left her clutch purse behind. Her family photo was in there with the coins and medallion. In her attempt to backtrack and reclaim her clutch, her ankle twisted and she fell, pulling down tablecloths with their place settings, knocking aside tables and toppling chairs. She left a path of discord in her wake while drawing all attention to herself. Patrons strolled past her, muttering beneath their breath in exasperation and annoyance as they deftly avoided her.
Her self appointed mission was more complex and dangerous than Logan initially believed. No one was going to help her.
Logan's efforts to preserve John while simultaneously avenging her mother were in vain. And not just that, but foolish. She was no one compared to these crafty, immoral individuals.
But now she willingly and naively injected herself into the very corrupted belly of the beast and there was no way out. No where but straight into Death's door.
Life was a choice.
And she chose to come here.
Sprawled in a heap upon the floor, Logan felt gravity close in; it pushed her down. She couldn't lift her head, couldn't cry out for help. She was going to die here. Her father didn't know she was here, but John did.
Then everything…
And everyone…
Became quiet again.
And then black….
Another lamb claimed in the lion's den.
hello everyone! From here and on, things will be moving quite rapidly. We've set the foundation, you know all the characters and their capabilities, now the finale's on the horizon. buckle up, I should say?
on another note, I just saw Blade Runner 2 and ohmygod Ryan Gosling. Also, are there any Constantine fans here?