Nine Nails in a Coffin (ch4)
Summary: Logan is an assassin. He does his best work at the from a distance where there’s no chance for icky conversation. Unfortunately, his last chance to get paid for the murder of Patton Hart requires him to join him for lunch.
Word count: 6306
Pairings: Eventual Logicality and Prinxiety
Multichapter fic say whattttt
Read on AO3 || Ch1 Ch3
Quick taglist: @dierotenixe @fhaky @growingupisscary @icequeenoriginal @jemthebookworm @just-another-rainbowblog @levy-the-b00kw0rm @no-no-no-no-6 @sandersfandersblog @satanblessi @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @felicianoromano
(lmk if you want to be added/ i missed someone)
Roman’s preferred sandwich shop was not ideal for an assassination. It was a small store front, with more tables than there should have been in such a small space. There was not enough room for people to be sitting in the chairs, and there was a odor in the air that Logan couldn’t quite put a name too but he didn’t like it anyway. The storefront was facing a busy street, and the foot traffic was heavy as it was near the commercial part of town. He counted three street cameras whose angles would have caught anyone fleeing the sandwich shop.
He checked his watch, letting out a click of his tongue at the sight of the date underneath the rhythmic moving hands the clock face. He had been given one week to orchestrate Patton Hart’s death, and between his previous three attempts he had dried up six of the seven days. Today was his last day to get paid for the assassination.
Logan thought that maybe he wouldn’t care if he didn’t get paid as long as he got to kill the preschool teacher in the end. His reputation was taking a hit for this mess, and it set Logan’s teeth on edge when he thought about the rumors that might pop up from this. He was even less excited by the phone call he’d surely get when his parents noticed the lack of transferred funds in their offshore account.
It would take at least four quick, merciless assassinations to reverse the trouble that Patton and Virgil had put him through with this. In addition to killing the two of course.
He stared down at the sandwich shop from the roof of the next door building--a business office place he had managed to walk himself into with nothing more than a disgruntled scowl and a business suit. After getting past the receptionist and a few other grumpy business workers, getting on the roof had been a breeze. Logan had his scope out and focused down below, watching the crowd for the three that would be meeting up there.
Logan almost felt bad for Roman Prince. The man had no idea that he was about to sit down at a meeting with two walking corpses.
(Although, the reporter himself was somewhat of a mystery. Logan had spent three cups of coffee and most of the morning trying to figure out why any reporter would be interested in Patton and Virgil at all. All of Roman’s past stories had been little more than glorified celebrity gossip, not individual citizens near death experiences.)
He spotted Roman on the street approximately thirty minutes before the time of the meet up. Logan thought he was overdressed for it: a black suit, American style that flattered his strangely well built form and a red tie that acted like a neon flashing beacon of “please shoot me!” He slipped off a pair of sunglasses as he neared the shop, stopping to talk to one of the men smoking outside it.
Logan watched Roman laugh and the man offered him a cigarette. Roman took it.
Logan slipped into his shooting position, his arms leveling his rifle in to the familiar crook of his body. Spying through the scope, Logan could imagine himself pulling the trigger and cutting off Roman mid word. There would be nothing stopping him, nothing getting in his way, and really who would miss a nosy reporter like him?
A clean sweep of all witnesses who had seen him.
He felt it, deep in his bones. A strange sort of urge he hadn’t felt in a long while. Even with a bustling crowd he was sure he could make the shot, and why shouldn’t he?
Logan blinked. Exhaled. His own breath whistled between his soft lips. The edges of a smile creeped up on him, and he lowered the scope. With his free hand he gently pressed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
He knew why he shouldn’t. Because it would bring the police to the area, investigators into the mix, possibly the FBI if Patton and Virgil started talking. Logan had twelve hours to silence Patton Hart and get rid of Virgil Storm. He simply didn’t have the time to make a detailed plan that would account for anything the reporter would come up with.
Beyond that, Roman Prince’s death would be meaningless. It was an unnecessary slaughter, a waste of Logan’s materials, and would create more problems than clear them up. Besides, there was a high probability that Roman would write and publish about his experience of almost dying, and with his creative imagination he could probably make Logan into something scarier than he truly was. In the best scenario, the number of employers looking for him by name would increase, which meant Logan could raise his prices, which meant more to please his parents with.
Logan disassembled the gun and put it away efficiently, although not quickly. His mother probably would have been irritated at the extra time he spent adjusting the positioning to the parts in his bag. But then again, his mother had never needed to use a gun. She was very adept with a knife, very adept at hiding it in her pretty words.
Logan didn’t admire her for much, but he lamented the idea that he had never quite spent time masquerading in a personality that might be more fit for a reporter than Logan Codex actually was.
He left the building ten minutes before their time to meet was. By that time Roman had finished his smoke and disappeared inside. Logan could see him talking up the man behind the counter with a smile, and the sunlight glistening through the dusty windows made him appear to be sparkling. He was unfairly good looking in any light and Logan wished desperately that he could even distantly relate. Maybe if he got down on his hands and knees and begged to know the secret of Roman’s beauty, Roman might grace him with that charming smile just once mor--
Ow! Hey! Doesn’t this count as Police Brutality?!
Fine, Fine.
Logan leaned against the wall across the street, checking his watch for the time. People strolled up and down the road, talking on phones, pulling young children along, carrying briefcases and hurried eating an assortment of food trunk delicacies from the lot around the corner. Logan couldn’t quite remember the last time he had eaten a hot dog, but he could honestly say he didn’t feel the rise to do it any time soon, as he watched a man inhale the sandwich in two bites.
Honestly, it was a bit repulsive. Logan hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon (and no, his endless cups of coffee did not count. He wasn’t that pathetic), but he still didn’t feel like there was a reason to stuff his face in such a manner. The world was not ending. At least not yet anyway.
Five minutes until they were supposed to meet, Logan caught sight of Patton bubbling his way down the street. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a Good Homes Magazine: a blue polo, khakis, and grey socks that fit snugly into his sandals. His normal glasses must have been broken in the incident yesterday, so he was wearing thick lenses that made his eyes look two times larger than before. A grey cardigan was tied off around his neck like a child’s cape. With his smile alone he seemed to brighten the entire street.
Whatever he brightened, however, immediately was overshadowed by the aura of darkness Virgil was emitting. He was dressed in the usual: heavy purple sweatshirt, black ripped skinny jeans, an dark combat boots that laced one third of the way up his calf. He was hunched over, and clearly seething, probably only a few words away from frothing at the mouth. Clearly, any and all of his attempts to stop the meeting had been overruled.
Logan wondered once again why Virgil had decided not to tell Patton the truth. Surely, once Patton found out that he was being targeted he would have refused to have any interaction with anyone outside of the police. Unless the purple clad young adult thought that he could protect Patton better by having him by his side, which was almost laughable.
Virgil might have survived an assassination at Logan’s hand once before, but the chances of it happening again were miniscule. And for him to be so bold to assume he could stand between Logan and his prey? Unparalleled. Unexcusable. It made Logan want to make Virgil watch Patton die.
Not that Logan would of course. It would be a waste of time and energy. It would be better to make it short and sweet than draw it out and risk corrupting the plan.
(Logan would also have to have a plan for this to work, for anything to work.)
He was frustrated that he couldn’t get a good shot from the roof. It meant his plan was useless, and the four after that were useless too. He scratched all of them off his mental list. He had another dose of ketamine in his supplies, but he only had enough for one person and he doubted that Virgil would allow him to get that close to Patton. He might be able to drug Patton’s drink, but there was also the presence of Roman that he had to be wary of. So drugging was out of the question. The shop was so tight and ill spaced, a stabbing would be easy to perform but an escape would be near impossible.
Logan waited at the crosswalk as cars zipped along the street. Several teenagers with skateboards hovered nearby talking in spanish. An older woman with a dog in her purse came to a pause on his other side, followed by a young woman with white cane who was arm in arm with a young man talking adminately about an experience or other.
Subconsciously, Logan kept an eye on how close all of them were to him. They weren’t pressing against one another, but if Logan wanted to...he could reach out and give a bump, a tap, a shove. There wouldn’t be anyone able to stop him, and he could be gone long before anyone realized that his victim had been pushed and hadn’t just fallen. If they ever realized it.
Of course he’d have to time it right: The assisting car would have to have enough speed, enough force to end Patton completely, even if the driver slammed the brakes. He would have to have positioned himself near enough to Patton to have pushed, but far enough that Virgil wouldn’t be suspicious, nor fast enough to catch him after the fact. Roman, of course, wouldn’t know what hit him. As long as Patton was dead by the end of the day, Logan would get paid. Although he would lose his chance to remove Virgil with this plan, Logan could make him a passion project, a side hunt. Virgil could run, but Logan would find him again and finish the job he had gotten paid for a year ago.
Logan just had to convince the three of them to come with him outside on the street.
Well, Logan rationalized, he really only had to convince Roman to come outside on the street. Perhaps to visit one of the food trucks around the corner. If Roman wanted something from there, Patton wouldn’t hesitate to insist that they go, and Virgil wouldn’t have a choice but to follow.
All Logan had to do was make it through a conversation.
He could do that.
He had to do that.
At exactly twelve thirty exactly, Logan pushed open the door to the sandwich shop. In one hand he kept his duffle bag close, careful not to bump the table directly next to the door where several middle aged men were discussing a sports game. The shop smelled like lunch meat and spicy mustard-- neither of which made Logan particularly pleased to be there. The floor looked grimy: pale yellowed marble tiles that appeared as if they should have been white but hadn’t been mopped in too long. Logan could just imagine all the dirt and filth that were in this place: how many hands touched each of the chairs, how poorly the store appeared to handle the cleaning, the likelihood of rodents having made their homes in the supply closet back behind the counter.
Logan picked at the skin on his wrist, gritting his teeth as he looked around for the three he was supposed to be meeting. He felt boxed in, a feeling he hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing in a very long time. Like his second years of assassination training when his mother shut him in a kid sized coffin and told him to figure a way out by himself, very long time. He hadn’t liked that lesson: it was the only one he hadn’t been able to perform, the only one that Logan had panicked during and nearly killed himself from hyperventilating. His mother had to unbury him and let him out, then a day later she stuffed him back in and told him she wouldn’t dig him up again.
Logan still wasn’t a fan of small spaces, but in a profession and signature like his, it hardly mattered. He was never in a tight spot like this. He never would be again, Logan swore to himself. He still had his cabin in the woods to get to, after all.
Finding the three of them was not hard: between Virgil’s threatening aura, Roman’s loud and boisterous personality, and Patton’s clear obliviousness to the odds the two were already at, they made up most of the noise in the tiny building. Roman had chosen a table close to the windows, but Virgil was not having any of it.
“I don’t want to sit near the window!”
“Why, does the sun ruin your aesthetic, Tall, Dark, and Emo?”
Virgil grit his teeth, his shoulders hunched almost to his ears. He looked ready to say anything just to get Roman to relent. Logan was almost amused by it, by the way Virgil was constantly checking the outside window and the roofs of the surrounding buildings like Logan would have allowed him to catch a glimpse of himself in hiding.
Logan squeezed his hands into fists. The handle of his duffel bag sliced at his palm, but it was more grounding than painful. He could do this. It was just lunch with a couple of targets.
“If it is truly that distressing to him, perhaps we can find another table?” Logan offered, and pretended he didn’t notice the way Virgil jumped, and Roman physically flinched with surprise. “Surely there are enough tables in here for that.”
Patton was the only one who appeared thrilled to see him. His dimples showed in his grin, the dash of freckles nearly glowing in the combined light of the shop and the sunlight. The only sign that he had been in any sort of accident was in the way his arms were wrapped over his chest protectively, and the wilted corners of his lips, that was barely hiding a frown.
“Oh! I thought it was you!” Patton said happily, “We just seem to keep bumping into each other!”
Like it was a coincidence. For someone like Logan who lived in such a dangerous world, the idea of seeing someone more than twice in the span of three days was never a coincidence. It was someone watching him, someone who most likely had bad ideas, someone who was planning a hit on a target.
Becoming the best assassin had its ups and downs. But no one had come close to killing Logan yet.
“Yes,” He said, “It seems that we do.”
“I’m Patton! Patton Hart!” The man said and untangled both his hands to reach out. It took him a moment to realize that Patton had every intention of hugging him--
“Patton!” Virgil shrieked, jolting out of his statuesque silence. He lunged forward to pull the other back, at the same time Logan had been retreating as far as he could get (which was barely more than a step and a half before his duffel bag bumped a table occupied by a lovely couple arguing in what sounded like Russian. Patton’s expression twisted, and he folded his arms again, over those still tender ribs.
Logan could feel his pulse in his throat. He was pretty sure his hands were shaking. For a moment he was certain that there was a physical hand on his throat, and another brushing his right hand burning and slicing with precision. There was nothing there though. It was Logan’s imagination.
“You can’t just hug people!” Virgil said, “Not like--” He made a noise in the back of his throat and waved his hands between Logan and Patton. “You can’t!”
“You good, Fam?” Roman said, in that sultry, silky voice of his. Logan shot him a withering gaze, swallowing hard.
“Pardon?” He asked, his voice deceptively calm compared to the panic that was ebbing away at his focus.
“Are you good?” Roman repeated, “You looked ready to run. I don’t know but you strike me as a fight kind of guy. Not a flight.” He smiled again, like they were sharing a private joke. If they were, Logan wasn’t privy to it.
“Perfectly functioning,” Logan said. He brushed his unoccupied hand against his thigh, drying the clamminess. “Might we sit down?”
Roman laughed although Logan didn’t think he had said anything remotely funny. He made a grand gesture towards the table he had picked out. “Only the finest of dining tables in this establishment for you, my dear fellow!”
“This entire place is a dump,” Virgil muttered. Patton gasped and batted the others arm.
“Don’t listen to him Roman!” He plopped into a chair next to the window, so that the sun through the grimy windows made him look speckled. He winced at the movement though, cradling his chest. “This place-- ow-- this place is cozy!”
Cozy was not the word Logan would have used. Claustrophobic, maybe. Impractical or--Logan thought as he surveyed the yellowing tables and brushed a scrap of lettuce from the previous diners from the seat onto the floor-- disgusting. Had he mentioned his longing for his cabin in the woods recently? He really wanted to be at that cabin in the woods.
Virgil threw himself in the chair next to Patton while Roman took up the seat across from the Preschool teacher and Logan carefully balanced himself next to the reporter. His duffel bag slid easily under his feet, out of the way, but easy to grab and go should something go askew.
Not that he thought something was askew. His eyes drifted between Virgil and Roman. A known and an unknown.
“I didn’t order for you guys,” Roman started off with a grand gesture, “But you guys can put it on my tab. I’m pretty famous here.”
As if waiting for that, a woman from behind the counter started hollering in a dialect of Spanish Logan didn’t quite know. It was fast, and oddly pleasing to hear, the way the syllables rolled off her tongue with no hesitation or grievance. Whatever she may have said left Roman flushed, and he shouted back a three word phrase with a hand gesture that nearly took Logan's head off.
“Lo Siento,” Roman huffed, “She's joking, I swear!”
“None of us know what she said,” Virgil deadpanned.
“Good! Great!” Roman said, and placed his hands on the table.
It appeared as if none of them exactly knew what to say next. Patton was smiling with all sunshine and rainbows and fiddling with the sleeves of his cardigan tied over his neck. Roman’s mouth kept opening and shutting as he tapped his foot on the leg of the plastic table enough so that Logan could feel it shaking. Virgil crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, folding his legs in a way that suggested he wasn’t in the mood to be getting up anytime soon.
“So,” Roman said, “Are you guys... hungry?”
“No.” Virgil said shortly.
Logan had never particularly ever thought of a conversation being like pulling teeth, however he could understand the ludacris metaphor now.
“How about you start with why you wanted to talk to us?” Virgil said, “So we can get this whole thing over with and I can go back to sleep.”
“You actually sleep? Sorry, I couldn’t tell from the bags under your eyes.”
“I really don’t think that’s any of your business.” Virgil’s tone was even, but Logan caught the way his nails bit into his arm and the dangerous flit of his eyes.
“Let’s not fight!” Patton jumped in, “This is a fun lunch! Between friends!”
The phrase sounded wrong, which Logan recognized because it was wrong. Even Patton’s blind optimism couldn’t blur out the hostility between Roman and Virgil, nor could it obscure the way that Virgil glared at Logan. The only friends at this table were Virgil and Patton but even that seemed inherently wrong: perhaps Virgil gave off more of a bodyguard aura that Logan was picking up on. But then again, Logan didn’t know a single thing about what being friends entailed. He’d never had one before.
Regardless, any dining party that consisted of one member actively biding time until he could murder another two, was not considered a “fun lunch, between friends”. Logan knew that much.
“Maybe we shoulder restart!” Patton suggested when no one else said anything. “Hi! I’m Patton!” He turned to face Virgil.
The boy in purple huffed and lasted exactly three more seconds before relenting, “Virgil.”
They all looked towards Logan. He found himself wishing he had a drink or something to encircle his hands around, rather than just leave them in his lap. He should give them a fake name, a name he could discard after the meeting, a name that would keep the uncrossable distance between him and the other three and the future police investigating the mysterious death.
He offered a rusted smile and looked Patton straight in the eyes. His mouth moved of it own accord, “Logan.”
Patton clapped excitedly, and winced again. Logan found it curious how quickly he seemed to forget that his excitable motions would cause him significant pain.
“Logan! That’s such a nice name!” He said.
“What about Roman? That’s a nice name, too!” Roman cried. “It happens to be mine!”
“Is your need to be the center of attention learned or are you just a dick?” Virgil asked.
“Learned, actually, from the proud institute of You’re-Just-Jealous. I graduated in the top ten percent.”
“Jealous? Of an ego that size? I’m surprised you fit in that chair.”
“I have to say it was taxing, but I knew I must, because if I had remained standing, you would have been distracted by my glorious culo again.” Roman grinned rather smugly at the other man, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you looking last night. And five minutes ago. You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are, Dark Romeo.”
Based on the peaks of pink underneath the foundation on his face, Virgil was blushing. Logan found that increasingly interesting. Logan hadn’t stuck around after the agreed time and place had been established, and he hadn’t thought he had missed much. Was Virgil blushing because he found Roman attractive?
Objectively, Logan could admire the passionate gaze the other held, and his build was pleasing to admire. But Logan didn’t think there was anything else about him that he could consider “attractive” least of all his butt, as suggested. He was loud and pompous in a way that clashed with Logan’s own deadly, calculated silence.
It seemed only reasonable that Virgil would also find those traits irritating, or would at least put them aside in response to the threat of Logan being so close. And yet he was still sitting there, eyes widened, and his mouth tripping over fractions of syllables while Roman smiled at him like he was winning some type of game the two were playing.
“Oh! Logan!” Patton said suddenly, “How is your book?”
“Book?” Logan repeated, while he processed exactly what his target meant.
“Yeah! The one you were reading yesterday at Valerie's cafe! The cover looked so cool!” Patton said, cheerfully. Perhaps too cheerfully for someone's whose apartment blew up and dog may have died yesterday. Logan wondered if he was still on some type of medication, or if he was blissfully unaware of implications of such an explosion.
Perhaps Logan was thinking too much, but it made him wonder once again why someone wanted Patton dead. Over the past week Logan had gotten the impression that Patton was harmless. It wasn’t his place to ask for the “why” in this line of work, but Logan was a curious type of fellow. He could take a look at Patton’s financials and do another depth research of Patton’s character later on the plane trip out of the state.
“Of course,” Logan said, “I have to admit it is a rather unstimulating. I have already forgotten the main character’s name.”
Patton’s smile dipped into a sympathetic frown, “Oh, that’s upsetting! It looked really good. I was going to check if the library had it today and read it while I’m recovering.” He pressed a hand to his chest again, with a twisted expression. “It was The Space Between the Stars, right?”
Logan didn’t have a single clue if that was the title or not. He nodded anyway.
Roman’s sandwich was delivered by a girl in a jeans and a T-shirt that had the shop name in English and then in smaller font, Spanish. She blushed when Roman thanked her.
“Can I get the rest of you anything?” She asked, staring at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the shop.
“No.” Virgil said again shortly.
“Oooh!” Patton leaned forward, pressing his hands on the table, “Everything looks so good here! Do you guys have bananas?”
The girl peeked up at him and nodded.
“Awesome! Can I have a banana and mayo sandwich?”
Logan choked on his own saliva. He was pretty sure Roman fell out of his chair beside him, but Logan was all too focused on Patton’s beaming face. There was no way he had actually said that.
“Pardon?” Logan coughed, “You want what on a sandwich?”
Virgil rubbed his temples, “Just accept it.”
“That’s an abomination,” Logan said.
“It’s really good!” Patton argued, and Logan thought just for a second he could see why someone would want him dead.
Banana and Mayo. The very thought made shivers run down Logan’s spine. He had tasted both items separately and could vividly remember both, separately. But together? He pressed a hand to his mouth.
“I gonna be sick,” Roman said, quietly.
Patton giggled, “Sorry!”
“Can I just… a coffee?” Logan asked the poor girl at their table. “You have coffee right?”
The waitress rushed back to the front counter like the store was on fire. She didn’t even ask if he need creamer of sugar or anything, which Logan found himself unnecessarily annoyed about. He liked his coffee black, but it still would have been nice if she had asked him. But at the same time, Logan thought he’d try to leave as soon as possible if he were her too.
Virgil was watching him again. Logan glanced at his watch, slightly disappointed to see it had been a mere six minutes and thirty- one, two, three seconds since they had sat down.
“So Roman!” Patton said to the reporter, who immediately washed the look of distress from his face, “How many languages do you speak? I know Virge speaks Latin--”
“Latin?” Roman interrupted, side eying the purple clad man, “Isn’t that a dead language?”
“Aren’t you a dead language?”
“See! I knew it! You’re really just a couple third graders in an oversized hoodie.”
“Shut up.” Virgil made a face and rolled his eyes so hard he ended up looking across the store as the workers put together Patton’s sandwich and Logan’s coffee.
Roman folded his arms on the table, ignoring his own sandwich in the plastic red basket. It looked like flank steak with melted cheese, but Logan wasn’t sure. It smelled good at least. “Well,” He said, “I know Spanish pretty well, Quechua, and enough of Aymara and French to get by. I also know certain German words from this gorgeous, delicious traveler from--”
“He asked for the languages, Tamaki Suoh.” Virgil cut in, “Not your sex life.”
Roman grinned at him, “Aw, but then how else would you know that I’m very gay and very available? Will you be my Haruhi?”
“Ciao,” Virgil said standing up, but before he got more halfway out of his seat, Patton placed a hand on his arm. Virgil flopped back in the seat.
“Italian,” Logan noted, somewhat interested.
“I spent some time that way,” Virgil said in a clipped tone. Which only served to interest Logan further because the assassin had at one point looked into Virgil’s credit history and never once had Virgil Storm left the country.
“What about you, Logan?” Patton turned the conversation again.
“Me?” Logan repeated. He didn’t see the harm in being truthful. “I grew up speaking Korean, and learned French, Arabic, and German at a young age. I can converse in Mandarin, but not read it, and I can read Spanish but hardly speak it.”
“Damn,” Roman said, “And I thought I got to see the world.” He picked up half of his sandwich, “What type of prep school taught you German and Arabic?”
“I’m rather interested in what business you had in Peru,” Logan said, “Seeing as Aymara and Quechua are most prominently spoken in there.”
Roman’s eyes widened a fraction, just enough for Logan to note. Then that smile came back, full of genuine happiness and thrill. Logan didn’t think that expression had ever been directed at him before. It was strange to see.
“Oh look your coffee,” He said instead of answering.
The waitress was back with a to-go cup of coffee and a red basket of that she set down in front of Patton. Logan took a sip of the coffee she handed to him, frowning, as Patton dug into his sandwich. Even Virgil seemed unable to resist a grimace at the sight. They really put mayo on two slices of bread and cut up a banana to put in the middle. And Patton really was eating it.
Logan quenched the need to vomit with bitter coffee.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Roman asked him.
Logan tapped the side of the cup, “I was going to grab something from the food trucks down the block instead. Would you like to come?” He stared at Patton when he asked the question. The freckled man beamed.
Roman beat him to answering, “That sounds marvelo--”
“Do you need something?” Virgil said suddenly. Logan had several responses ready to roll of his tongue to combat the sharpness of the other’s question. They all died in his throat when he realized that Virgil was in fact, not talking to him at all.
The waitress was still standing at their table, hovering, nervously.
“I, uh,” She fumbled around in her pockets, “There was a man here. He asked me to give this to you--where is it, uh!”
At the same time Logan felt a vibration in his back pocket. An incessant vibration-- not just a text message from his parents or a news notification. Logan kept one hand on his coffee and the other pulled out his phone to check the number.
It was unknown.
“Hello?” Logan said, standing up just a little bit away-- as far as he could get while dodging the waitress and the other tables. There was more noise suddenly in the store, too much for him to hear a soft spoken caller.
“I’m looking for Logan Codex,” The voice said.
“This is he,” Logan said, glancing at the table. The waitress pulled out a small piece of folded paper finally and handed it over to an extremely skeptical Virgil.
“Excellent, I was afraid that I had received the wrong number after all this.” The voice entertained. Logan couldn’t really hear over the background chatter of the shop itself, but in comparison he couldn’t hear anything on the other side. Distance car noises? But that could have easily been on Logan’s side.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage then,” Logan said, “Might I inquire who you are and how you received this number? Only three people know--”
“Two.”
“Pardon?”
“Only two now, Logan Codex.” The voice said.”Besides me, of course. Your handler was very chatty when he knew he might die, you know? So much for future jobs.”
That pulled Logan’s attention away from the scene of Virgil unfolding the paper. Roman’s eyes danced between the two of them, and Patton leaned over Virgil’s shoulder to read the note.
“What are you talking about?” Logan asked.
“How attached are you to Patton Hart’s bounty?”
“What?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to share. 70-30, to me of course, which is more than enough to live comfortably with. Especially a man like yourself living with only the bare minimum. What do you say?”
“I--what?” Logan repeated, because he couldn’t believe the nerve of this man-- it was most likely a man in his mid twenties, probably only a few years younger than Logan himself. Share the bounty? And he was suggesting that Logan wouldn’t even get the most of it! Logan squeezed the coffee in his hand. “Absolutely not!”
Virgil crumpled the note, in his hand and stood up, “We’re going. Now!” He grabbed Patton’s arm and hoisted him to his feet, ignoring the pained gasp from the other.
“Wait what?” Roman exclaimed. “We just--”
“Virg--il!” Patton whimpered, “Vee!”
“Now!” Virgil shouted. He dragged Patton between the tables. Roman, without anything else to do got up to follow them. And Logan was not about to let this moment get away from him. He grabbed his duffel bag from under his chair and charged after them, barely aware of the caller still speaking to him.
“They say you’re the best, Logan.” The unknown voice said, “But I’m not convinced. I’ve been killing people a lot longer than you have. And I’m much better at it than you. They didn’t even know I existed until now after all.”
Logan caught up to Roman outside the store on the sidewalk. Virgil and Patton were only a little bit ahead of them and moving fast. Logan goes after them without much of a thought. Patton was being towed closer to the sidewalk. If Logan was quick enough he could shove him the rest of the way off the side and it be goodbye to him forever.
“I don’t like losing,” the caller said faintly in Logan’s ear, almost absentmindedly, like he was busy doing something else with his focus and rambling in the meantime. “And being number two is definitely losing. I’m going to fix that. Then I’ll finish up killing Hart for you.”
“Wait, what?” Logan said.
“Did you enjoy your last coffee ever, Logan? I made it with love.”
Logan had just enough time to look at his coffee, the to-go cup that the waitress gave him, enough time to see his own name written in a ridiculous loopy writing, enough time to see someone replaced the “o” with a skull.
Then there was four gunshots: two fires and two echoes through the buzz of the the phone in his hand.
Logan lunged forward. His coffee hit the ground. His forearm slammed Patton’s back.
And then pain exploded in Logan’s shoulder. Red hot and violent and so suddenly jarring that Logan didn’t even feel himself hitting the ground. The noise swelled until he couldn’t hear any of it: screaming, yelling, someone-- distantly crying, and Logan only knew that none of it was him. Because he was lying there on the sidewalk dumbly staring at the wound on his arm, like he was seven years old again and his father was playing with knives and not in the mood to see Logan.
Distantly he knew he needed to move, to save himself, to get out of there before the caller finished the job.
Instead his eyes rolled up in his head and Logan’s vision went dark and the noise cut to an eternally ringing silence.
****
“What?” The Detective asks, “No witty comment?”
“A man just got shot, Detective,” Roman responds, “Show some sympathy.”
“He’s a known murderer. Have a dose of reality, Mr. Prince. Any suffering he went through was well deserved.”
“You don’t know that.”
The Detective taps his papers on the table: pictures of the scene from that night, pictures of Logan from around the world, pictures of Patton, Roman’s written account of what happened that night.
“So, Logan Codex's fourth attempt to kill Patton Hart fails, he accidentally takes a bullet for him, and Hart decides to take him home? Like some sort of thank you?”
Roman laughs coldly, “Logan blew up their home, Detective. Virgil would never allow a known assassin where he was sleeping, certainly not the hotel they had booked a room in.”
“So what happened? He didn’t go to the hospital.” The man stops and looks at Roman. “Wait--”
“Don’t look so surprised, Detective.” Roman says, “You’ve seen my record. I know exactly how to take care of a bullet wound.”
“You knew he was an assassin!”
“He was a guy in pain who just nearly died.” Roman corrected. “And that was the least of his problems.”