DISCLAIMER: Still not mine; still no profit.
THANKS TO ALL STOPPING BY. It's been hard since FFN has been sick lately, so those of you who have hung tough have my gratitude. All comments are welcomed–each one is enlightening.
JAM PONY: 1:00 PM
As usual, the open common areas of Jam Pony was a contained hubbub of riders moving in and out of the open entry, Normal barking at passing employees, the ever-present droning of the TV, waiting messengers eating and talking and passing the time...
And Sketchy was working a new scam. "Max, all I'm saying is that you could help me with this; all of you guys can; just a few extra hours a week and we could set up..."
"Geez, Sketchy, didn't you learn your lesson the last time you tried freelancing? It didn't work..." Max tore open a small bag of peanuts she pulled from her bag and straddled a chair at the small table. "And I thought we agreed...
"Max..."
The voice half registered as Max was warming up her ire with her hapless co-worker, Cindy's interruption not stopping her yet. "...that you weren't going to..."
"Max." Original Cindy had a tone of voice that was a serious-up, no foolin' voice that Max heard now from her roommate, across the table. Max stopped abruptly and looked at the drawn brow, a question on her face. "You want to watch this..." Cindy said, low.
Max followed Cindy's eyes up to the television, seeing a local news reporter standing in front of Cale Industries. She was speaking. "...is being laid to rest today after being found in his palatial home last Tuesday, a victim of multiple gunshot wounds. Authorities are still investigating, but confidential sources report that Jonas Cale, CFO of Cale Industries, may have been murdered by a hoverdrone manufactured by his own company. The connection of these "Killer 'Drones" to Cale Industries and the string of homicides occurring in Seattle over the past few weeks was first reported by the pirate journalist 'Eyes Only' in his most recent broadcast. Immediately thereafter, Federal Marshals seized Cale Industries and placed it in investigative lock-down. Until its assets were seized pending investigation into its connection with the seven recent killings, the company was one of the region's largest employers..."
Max watched, grimly. This was actually pretty tame a report, as compared to some of the crap that had been spread by the media since Logan's hack. Big company, Big family...Big news. The daily publicity, not only in the business reports but the headline news and even in the society and gossip pages, dramatized to Max just what a Big Deal Logan's family really was...somehow it hadn't really sunk in before. Maybe it was Logan himself. For all her teasing about his pampered background, she began to suspect that she hadn't really had much of an idea what it was really like for him. And the media seemed to obsess in reporting every little twist and turn in the events about the toppling empire. Why so much focus on reporting their ruin?
"Acting CFO Bennett Cale today also laid to rest the now persistent rumors that Cale Industries would be sold." The scene cut away from the reporter to Logan's cousin Bennett, speaking at a podium toward several extended microphones. " Cale Industries is not for sale. We will continue to work through this investigation and will conduct business as normally as the authorities will allow us, including the return of as many employees as possible back to their jobs. I would also like to announce at this time that Logan Cale, the grandson of our founder, will be joining Cale Industries as its new Vice President of Research and Development..."
"...what?..." Max gasped.
The actress-model-news reader was back. "This may be an ambitious project. While the Federal Marshals declined to speak on the record, a confidential source in the department expressed skepticism that there was enough of the company not under seizure for the company to continue..."
"Boo, did I hear what I thought I heard?" Cindy's eyes were as big as Max's, focused back on her now as the story ended. "What the hell is he getting himself into?"
She shook her head, too drawn in by events to wait for her answers. "I have no idea, but I'm going to go find out. Cover for me...?"
"Sure, but Max...the reporter said they're still out at the cemetery, now..."
"Yeah, I know." She nodded grimly. "This way I know where to find him."
CALE FAMILY MAUSOLEUM: 1:25 PM
She had been here before once, when she had gone looking for Logan, thinking he'd paged her for a mission, and had stumbled on him at the foot of his parents' vaults. He'd explained that the entire building was used for Cale family members' burial, something that still struck her as odd...but certainly that would be where Jonas would be interred. She managed to move through the two checkpoints on the way without much wait, and made her way quickly to the cemetery.
Riding silently up to the marble building along a drive packed with cars, a shiny dark hearse immediately in front of the building, Max saw a man standing sideways in the entry of the tomb, addressing both some unseen people inside, as well as the crowd around the entry, far larger than could fit in the small building. She didn't see Logan but saw his Aztek, almost not recognizing it, now sparkling clean with a gleaming coat of wax, surprising enough that she came along and peered inside to see the hand controls that convinced her he really had gotten his car washed. Still hidden back behind the vehicles, she crouched down to listen to the cursory, unfelt words putting Jonas to rest. Following the brief ritual, she waited as onlookers wandered in and out of the marble entry, she presumed in order to speak with the family. She thought she heard Logan's voice once or twice, speaking softly, briefly. And she waited...
After forty five minutes Logan finally appeared, moving slowly out of the mausoleum–and Max stared at the next surprise–just like his Aztek, Logan was cleaned and shiny and...striking...
He was dressed in a suit that had to be new, rich and expensive and clearly tailored just for him. With tie and crisp white shirt–monogrammed cuffs, she gaped, silently–his appearance gave complete credence to the announcement that he was a newly appointed Vice President at his family's company. And the most stunning change of all–
Logan Cale. Clean shaven.
It must be the end of the world...
Max stood up from where she'd crouched behind his car. Almost everyone had left, and they could talk in relative quiet. Max started to come around to meet him as he'd approach. But just as she started to step from behind the car, she saw her.
Daphne. Stepping outside from the dusk of the mausoleum. Stepping from inside to out, to Logan's shoulder, to drop a soft, understanding hand on his shoulder and look down sweetly to meet his eyes as he looked up to her, to speak so softly Max didn't catch it and to nod as Logan agreed, briefly covering her hand on his shoulder with his, moving and talking as if they'd been at it for a while, an extended conversation that day...or even longer?
Max dropped back, out of sight, a hot flush burning across her cheeks, moving back further to be hidden away from his car. Daphne? With Logan? Just old friends, or was there more...? Wasn't she 'on the all girl team ' like Cindy? Max drew a breath to steady her thoughts and force herself to imagine all the logical explanations, and not to hear the lifting, feminine voice complimenting Logan's new suit and clean shaven face, talking about visitors they both knew, laughing gently, remembering old times. Max tried to remember if Logan said their families knew each other...
...and tried not to feel the unfamiliar stab of inexplicable pain she felt at seeing Daphne let herself into her side of Logan's Aztek, into the passenger seat...
AZTEK INTERIOR 2:15 PM
It had been at the funeral that Daphne had first spoken to Logan, who felt some relief at seeing an old friend–one for whom he might relax the facade just a little. She had come for Margo; Logan's aunt had actually been one of her first patrons as she embarked on her local career as artist, and she honestly appreciated the new business Margo Cale's interest had generated among the monied gentry remaining in Seattle. When it was determined that the cemetery would have limited parking, Logan offered her a ride; he found that even an old girlfriend who inexplicably dumped him was more comfortable than the rest of the crowd, and appreciated the breather her presence allowed him. They now rode on to the wake, at his aunt's house. Logan relaxed again, out of the scrutiny of the Cale Social Set...
"You know..." Daphne started, wryly. "You look a lot different than the last time I saw you."
"Last time I wasn't trying to pass..."
"And now you have to play their games?" At his rueful shrug, she asked, "What are you doing here in all this, Logan? Is this for real? It's not you, at all."
"I want to help Bennett get things back on track, if I can."
"I'm sure you can–but you'll hate every minute."
He shrugged again. ""Qua nocent docent'" he managed a smile. "Remember your Latin?"
"Enough to know you're the same Logan Cale, stubble-less chin or not." She paused. "You doing okay with all this? You look as if you've been stretched a bit thin."
"Well, yeah, but it will work out." He sighed, and began to realize that Daphne might be a valuable source of information he'd need to do this. After a moment, he asked, honestly, "How do I get back into this 'set,' Daphne? As much as I hate to think about it, I might need some of the contacts this crowd can manage."
She smiled, wryly. "Well...it just so happens there's a gathering, tomorrow night, at the Pier...everyone who's anyone in all the 'right' circles is supposed to be attending." Her voice carried a flirtatious fun, the same Daphne he remembered from their years at Yale. "And I have an invitation, for myself and a guest... I could very much benefit having as my guest a handsome, eligible bachelor– a male one– especially with the 'Cale' name–as I sell myself as the artist of the moment." She watched him process the information. "Think you could be ready to do your own schmoozing by then?'
"Yeah, sure..." A perfect opportunity, he saw immediately. But guilt clouded the perfect picture... guilt for what she might be thinking...guilt that he'd far prefer to have Max at his side...and even more guilt at his realization that no matter how beautiful or brilliant or talented she might be, Max did not have the subtleties and secret sly tricks needed to really pass as one of these shallow socialites–how could she? This world was too far removed from the one in which she'd fought to survive for her to pick up the elusive but integral nuances...and these vultures would spot all but the most able ringer.
Thank God she was not one of them.
But Daphne was. And Daphne, volunteering to be his companion at this affair, could be invaluable. As long as she understood...
"...it would be great; thanks," he continued. " But you realize, though, it's just...a business arrangement, between us, mutual benefit, right? I mean...I'm not..."
She smiled broadly, understanding...and asked softly...kindly... "How is Max?"
Flustered, he tried to cover, "She's fine, but that's..." he stammered. "We're not..." He glanced over to see Daphne's gently amused expression, and capitulated. "She still shares a place with Original Cindy" he finally lifted an eyebrow and glanced back to her, to see her laugh, easily.
"Really." She sat back, musing, then admitted, "I'd like to see Cindy again. I'm hoping for maybe three or four new contracts, a couple months to get the work started...and then I'll have less need to keep the closet door closed."
Logan grinned at her admission, and glanced over to her. "You know...I always wondered..." She just looked back at him, sweetly, and let him squirm. "When you decided...you know... that a wedding wasn't such a good idea..." He glanced back, raising his eyebrows. "Was it...?"
"Sorry sweetie...but yes...I met another woman." Her eyes twinkled at the conversation.
"You could have told me..."
"Honestly, do you think it would have made it better–or worse?"
He opened his mouth to answer, thought about it, and closed it abruptly, with a smirk. "Good point." As he rounded the curve into his aunt's estate, he added. "I am glad you're here, even if you can't stay long. And I'd like to go with you tomorrow night, just tell me when and where to be."
"I'll call you tomorrow on that." She looked out at the cars lining the street for the wake of the season. "Looks as if you'll get a start here...all the movers and shakers are here, Logan. Or will be."
"Scary thought, isn't it?" He pulled up into the round drive and portico, where, he'd been assured, the valet service knew to leave his car. "You'd think Jonas had been a decent human being or something..."
FOGLE TOWERS 9:10 PM
Logan sat in his darkened, quiet penthouse, staring out at the skyline before him. He felt angry, sickened...driven. He hadn't been home too long; the wake turned into a large, formal dinner and everyone insisted he stay, for his aunt; he was family...
The evening had become an exercise in self-control, as he suffered the insults, taunts and smirks shoveled on Jonas and piled on Cale Industries by the coiffed, polished snobs of Seattle who, the week before, were clamoring to be aligned with them. Even as Jonas' 'friends' came to pay their respects they attacked him inside phony sympathy and insincere words, dumped on the family and the company, moving on to malign even Logan's father and grandfather, the more vulgar of them, watching for a chink in the younger Cale's veneer. They amused themselves with the mighty falling, even those who still held Cale stock and therefore suffering their own losses along with his family...
All the while, Logan had to smile, accept what was thrown at him, playing the part of being one of them, of accepting the insults as just another part of this life...how could he have forgotten the viciousness with which these society mavens moved through their world? It was all a big part of why he left them all behind...
And now, afterward, it was as bad coming home, coming in to see the news reports, still gleefully reporting the company's demise and reveling in his family's humiliation. Why the enthusiasm for all the suffering? Why celebrate the downfall of a family when so many beyond the family suffered?
Whatever the reason, he glowered, he would move heaven and earth to clear his family's name and restore whatever dignity to them he could, to restore jobs and benefits to those to whom they owed a duty of dependable employment and investment return. Bennett truly believed he could do it honestly, with apple cheeked sincerity; Logan had begun to suspect that to clean up the corruption tainting the company he might have to stoop to a bit of corruption himself–without Bennett –or anyone else– knowing he did so. Certainly for the dark trio who appeared on the videotapes and who oversaw the hoverdrone modifications...without knowing more he was still convinced that they were malevolent. And he just couldn't shake the feeling they were Manticore...
For a few minutes, too, like Bennett, he'd believed that he could do this honestly, following the rules, showing everyone that they were above what business had become in this postPulse world, showing them that the Cales of this generation would save the company. But after all, he had spent the past few years stealing and lying and cheating in his crusades as Eyes Only–hadn't he? Did it matter why he did it? Maybe he was closer to being Jonas than he ever admitted to himself, any means to his desired end...it was not always true that the end justified the means...
He tried to breathe out the anger and blackness. It didn't work...
Max eased into the darkened rooms, quietly even for her. In the dim light through the window, her naturally endowed night vision made him out clearly as he sat, staring out at the night, still in the expensive suit pants and serious shoes, his jacket cast off casually across a chair, his tie loosened and top button open. But the crisp shirt was still pristine, the crease in his pants and shine on his shoes still perfect...and clean shaven, monogrammed, Logan Cale looked distant and aloof. A stranger...she swallowed the feeling of dread tickling the nape of her neck.
"Hey..." she dared, in a small voice. "Where've you been?" Her eyes flickered back along the elegant fabrics he wore, the rich weave of the light wool gabardine trousers...the crisp white cotton of his shirt...she found herself aching to touch them, to touch him...oh, and to touch his cheek, to trace the now smooth skin...
"Jonas' funeral" he said tightly, not looking at her. He was cold, strained...like a light had snuffed out inside of him, not unaware of her, but unable to connect.
She shivered, remembering the light that had been in his eyes with Daphne that afternoon... "Well, yeah, I know, but, I mean...all week. All day." Not so very long ago, the light had been for her...he'd known her better than she knew herself; attuned to her, always so focused on her safety and sensitive to her moods and needs...up until a week ago she felt at times it was too much, too attentive...but in the past days she realized how she craved his care and missed his concern...she'd come to feel she was losing her contact with him. And when she saw Daphne with him earlier that day, Max began to fear she'd lost him already... She came around to stand before him, to the side a little, not blocking his view. "It's been a while since you've blown up my pager" she tried, tentatively.
"I've had a lot to do, with the company..." His voice was flat, controlled. He continued to stare out the window.
"Yeah, Logan, what's with all that? You're going in as a Vice President, and of the division that created the hoverdrones?" She shook her head, not understanding. "You want Cale Industries to survive?"
"Of course, yes..." His voice was terse, rippling in its bottled anger. "It's Bennett's future, Marianne's... it's food and shelter to over eight hundred workers and retirement money to aging investors..."
"Logan, why are you doing this? " She demanded. "There are other jobs...other investments. If you let it die, Logan, maybe the 'drones will die with it..." And you'll be free of this hold it has on you... "Maybe it's better to let it go..."
"And my family's name, with it?" his voice was bitter. "...you can't know what it's like, every time you put on the news or pick up a paper, to see your name gleefully dragged through the mud ...you can't know how much worse it is to know that it's your fault..."
"...it's not your fault, Logan; it was your uncle and..."
"Oh, no Max, you can't change your tune now" He finally looked up to her, his eyes carrying all the blame and demanding that she tell him she'd told him so. "You tried to warn me what would happen if Eyes Only outed the company–maybe you just warned me about the money, but I didn't listen–and because of me, countless people lost their jobs and retirement accounts...my cousin is ruined...my father's name..." his voice broke; his fist clenched. "I have to go back to the company...I owe them that."
"Why do you assume that you can do something Bennet–or his brothers–can't?" she demanded. "Why are you the only one who can fix things?"
"Because I'm the only Cale left alive who's been an outlaw" he said darkly. "Someone has to be there who will be willing to do whatever it takes...Jonas got them into this mess...I'm the only one left like Jonas who is willing to do whatever it takes..."
"You're nothing like Jonas, Logan" she urged, "you're no more capable of doing the wrong thing..." she urged, seeing the toll this was taking on him.
"I sure have the track record of it" he glowered, staring at unseen demons. "Theft... wiretaps... computer hacks and break ins... Maybe it's time I admit it and do what I need to do to make things right. That would be fitting, don't you think?"
And when he looked back up at her, Max found she was looking into the eyes of a stranger...
...to be continued...