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“You rang?”
Weevil’s voice cuts through the air of the jail. Logan doesn’t bother lifting his head from the flat object the Sheriff’s department calls a pillow.
“Yeah. As you can see, I got arrested.” He waits on the reply. Weevil doesn’t give him one, so he continues on. “For Katrina’s murder.”
A low, long whistle is his guy Friday’s first reaction. “Damn, boss. That’s a tough break.”
And then says no more.
If there’s a reason why he likes Weevil, if there’s just one reason he can point to, it’s this: Weevil is, on occasion, the master of knowing exactly what to say. Because this is a tough break, and there is almost nothing else Logan could stand to hear right now.
He doesn’t want pity. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to go over how horrible it is to have a second girlfriend murdered. He doesn’t want to reminisce about the first one this happened to either.
He barely got through Veronica’s “I’m sorrys” because the pause between him telling her and her response means there was something there she didn’t say. He’s not so naive as to think it was anything profound, but he’s willing to let himself believe she went to the same “two girlfriends” place he did.
Because this, if it wasn’t his life, would be a farce.
It occurs to him that he’s let the silence hover in the room for much longer than he usually does. Usually, there’d be a snappy quip. A fast delivery. He’s always been so good at it, he thought it was a natural defense. But apparently, some higher thought is still required to make with the wit, and he doesn’t have it in him right now to play the game. So he just shrugs.
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” is what he gets out, and Weevil huffs. He looks over, and the guy is leaning on the table in the room, shuffling some cards. “What have you got there?”
“Some of the guys and me, we were playing poker when I got your call,” Weevil says. “I took my deck with me.”
“You realize decks of cards are like 99 cents a pop, right?” Logan snarks. “Damn, am I not paying you enough? You have to tell me these things, Weevs. I’m not down with the needs of the hoi polloi.”
“You pay me more than enough, asshole,” Weevil tells him, “because you let me set my salary as compensation for putting up with your ass all hours of the day and night.”
“You have to admit, it’s a sweet ass.”
Weevil doesn’t even roll his eyes. “I’m not touching that one.”
“I remember when my vaguely homoerotic remarks got at least a little bit of a reaction.” He shrugs, and closes his eyes again. “Oh well. Guess I’ll just have to step up my game.”
Weevil gives a choking snort at that, and Logan hears him dragging a chair over. “Yeah. Well. Are we gonna talk about this?”
“What’s there to talk about?”
Weevil kicks the bars. “Your impending imprisonment and my impending unemployment come to mind.”
“I’d never fire you, buddy. I need an outside man who can walk me through how to survive in the hard world of maximum security. And also who can get me the cigarettes I’m going to need as currency.”
“Get up,” Weevil commands, and Logan glares at him.
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to do two things here: play some poker, and figure out how to not have that happen. Because you and your ‘sweet ass’ aren’t going anywhere.” He shuffles the deck again, and starts dealing. Throws Logan’s cards at him with his own formidable glare.
He doesn’t know when it happened, when Weevil became this person in his life. When he would swoop in and pull Logan from the wreckage of his own head. It started long before he started paying Weevil for this privilege, and he’s never managed to tell him how grateful he is. For this. For constantly working at being here. For showing up with a deck of cards, because he knows what it takes to make Logan step outside of himself.
So he makes himself sit up, and walks over to the bars. Crouches down with his cards.
“It’s fifty bucks to start, boyo.” Logan nods.
“I’m going to have a job for you, when you get out of here,” he tells Weevil as the guy throws down a card. “Raise. 100.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Call Cliff, for one.” He’s already managed to piss off the Sheriff, with his little ‘fleeing the country’ stunt, and then again when he disparaged the accommodations after using the phone the second time around.
Weevil grunts. “You haven’t called your lawyer yet? You looking to go down for this?”
He flops his arms in response. “Had more important matters to tend to.”
“Listen, dickwad, Cliff could have called me. You shoulda used your one call for him.” He throws down another card. Logan waits for his moment.
“You of all people know that the one phone call thing is a myth. Raise, 75.”
“Fuck you,” Weevil growls. “If you didn’t call your fucking lawyer, who did you call?”
Logan smirks, and glances at his cards again. “You gonna deal or what?”
Weevil watches him, silently, his eyes glittering in the minimal light. Searching for something. But Logan has always been able to hide, and now is no exception to the rule. After a few moments of the silence he’s positively itching to break, Weevil turns away. Lets it go.
He breathes a sigh of relief when Weevil turns back to the cards with a tilt of his head. It’s a familiar tilt, and his chest tightens. It’s the questioning tilt of a girl detective; but while on her it would mean continued interrogation, on Weevil it means he knows there’s more to the story but will wait to hear it.
“I remember it being said, the river is gonna get you,” he tells Logan as he throws down the first of the two cards and picks up his own again.
“I’m going to need you to pick up Veronica tomorrow morning.” He lets this bomb drop, and Weevil gives him the exact reaction he thought he would get. Which means he has a full view of Weevil’s cards.
Whoever said cheaters never prosper didn’t know how to play poker. Or, didn’t know how to play poker well.
“What?” He spits it out like it’s poison and Logan lets out a full grin at this response.
“I’m gonna raise you 50,” he says instead, and Weevil looks murderous. He shrugs innocently. “Aren’t we playing poker?”
“We were fucking playing poker until you decided to let that out. Now we’re going to talk about Vee.”
Weevil’s face is hard and his entire body is tense, and Logan jumps up and paces the length of his cell for a moment before turning and facing him.
“When I got arrested, when I knew that this was happening, I needed to call her.”
“You had her number?”
“I kept it.” He lets out a broken chuckle. “Didn’t even know if it was still hers until tonight. I took a leap of faith.”
“And she’s coming back?” It’s funny, Logan thinks, to watch Weevil try to process this. To try and figure out how to feel about Veronica coming back. Coming home. It’s funny, because he’s not sure how he feels about it himself. Exhilarated. Nauseous. Excited. Furious.
“I told her - I told her what happened. What was happening. Where I am.” He waves his hand around. “She said she was going to be on the first flight out. So, yeah. She’s coming back.”
“And she’s expecting me?” Weevil looks guardedly happy, like he can’t quite believe it.
Logan taps on the bars. “I told her to call you. To arrange it with you. She hasn’t done that yet, huh?”
“No, man, she hasn’t.” He jabs his finger toward Logan, and Logan can’t help but laugh at his outrage. “You knew she didn’t, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been spouting off at the mouth about keeping you out of fucking prison.”
He flops back down in his chair. “Asshole. Already got Vee on the case.”
“Yeah, I do.” He stares down at his cards, and then at his hands. “You think she’s going to be able to get me out?”
It’s the question he’s been pondering since he first made the call, since he first heard her hesitation. It slinks out of him without his permission and hangs on the air between them. He doesn’t look at Weevil, doesn’t let his eyes leave his fingers. He doesn’t want to see Weevil’s disbelief at his doubt.
“I think if Vee told you she was coming, she’s gonna do everything she can to get you out, yeah.” Weevil’s voice is soft and low, and gentle, free from any and all recriminations Logan thought would be in it.
“Yeah, I know. I just - it’s been a long time, you know?” His voice breaks. “I have this picture of her in my head, always solving the case. And I can’t help but think - is that really her? Or is it just - did I make her into someone she wasn’t, isn’t, when she was away?”
Away, he thinks, like she’s just been on a vacation, a sabbatical, for the last nine years. Away, like she ever planned on coming back without him having to drag her back. It rips him apart, how that is how he’s always thought of her absence. Like it was just temporary. Like it would one day end. Like she would one day just walk back into town and into his life.
And he wants the answer. He wants Weevil to tell him whether or not the warrior in his head is the one who was on the ground with them. He wants to know if the Veronica he sees is of his imaginings alone, or if she is based in solid fact.
Weevil slaps down the last card. “Listen, I don’t know who you turned her into, in that head of yours. What saint or devil you made her. But I’ll tell you this: Vee was good. The best. And if she says she can get you out, then she can.”
“Simple as that?”
“No. But it’s Vee. This is what she does.”
He lets out another shuddering breath. “It’s what she did. She told me, she doesn’t do this anymore.”
Weevil shrugs. “So? I don’t boost cars anymore. I’d still be able to do it in a pinch.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah,” Weevil shoots back. “That’s it. Trust in Vee.”
“Trust in Veronica, huh?” He raises his eyebrows. “What a revolutionary concept.”
The other guy groans and throws a card at him. “You know what I mean, douchebag.”
“Yeah. I do. I do trust her. I just really don’t want to spend the rest of my natural born days behind bars.”
“You know, not many people do.” He hates it when Weevil gets philosophical, when he won’t let him just wallow in his own self pity and angst.
So he shoots back, “Wow. That’s profound.”
“Listen, fucker, the river’s run. Throw down your cards.”
Logan does. “Looks like I win, paco.”
Weevil shrugs. “Of course you do. Because you got, what, a tiny bit of luck and your life wastes it on beating me at a card game.”
“Sounds about right.”
He hands the cards back to Weevil, who shuffles again. “So how soon after she gets here do you think it’ll be before you two start humping like rabbits?”
Logan chokes a bit on air, and stares at his friend in utter incredulity.
“Are you mental? Did Lamb beat you about the head before you came back here?” he demands. “She’s been gone for nine years. She’s made it pretty clear she’s not interested.”
He pauses, and Weevil raises his eyebrows.
“And my girlfriend was just murdered, I mean literally, so I don’t think jumping into anything with anyone is the best idea for me right now. Especially from a defense standpoint.”
“Yeah,” Weevil draws out. “I’ll bet you double your winnings tonight that you and Vee will be doing your little dance before the case is solved.”
“So, instead of owing me 275, you want to owe me 550? That’s awfully sweet of you.”
Weevil snaps the rubber band back around his deck. “Nope. You’re gonna owe me. And I’ll get bragging rights. Which is almost better than the winnings I’m gonna get from this, believe you me.”
It’s not possible. It’s not going to happen. Veronica isn’t going to come racing back into his arms, and he’s not going to chase her. He’s learned his lesson about running after women who don’t want to stay.
“Right. Of course. When did you become a believer in love, anyway? Got a ring on your finger and now we’re all supposed to be following you down that hole?”
“Who said anything about love?” Weevil retorts, and it’s like he’s stuck a needle straight into his heart. “All I said is that you two would do the nasty.” His grin gets evil even as the rest of his face plays innocent. “Sounds like you’re hoping for more than I’ve even suggested.”
Logan snarls, and backs away, back to his dark corner. Weevil doesn’t even bother to look contrite.
“Listen, boss, I’m gonna get to work. Calling Cliff, having him drag his sorry self down here to talk to you about the goings on. And then I’m gonna get some sleep so that I’ll be ready when Vee does finally give me a call. You need anything else?”
“Yeah,” Logan spits out, “A new man servant. Start interviewing replacements, got it?”
“I would,” Weevil shoots back, “but nobody’s gonna want to work for an accused murderer. Especially since this ain’t even your first time.” He shrugs. “You’re stuck with me.”
“There is something.” He stops, works up the nerve. “I did something stupid. It might be on video.”
“What did you do?” Weevil goes from jovial to darkly serious in a manner of seconds, and Logan would mention it, if it weren’t for this.
“I said I was going to skip out, once I made bail,” he says. “There were reporters, and they were shouting questions, and I snapped. Let Cliff know.”
The man groans. “Man, you like to make things tough, don’t you? I’ll do it. But don’t think that’s gonna get you out of the verbal whipping lawyer man’s gonna rain down on you.”
He laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Cliff’s disappointed speeches make me almost feel parented.”
Weevil shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. I’m out. I’ll bring Vee around, once I get her.”
“Yeah,” Logan nods, nerves firing immediately at the thought. Seeing Veronica again. Seeing Veronica again, here. He shifts. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
“Alright. Later.”
“Peace,” he responds sardonically, and Weevil throws him a glare over his shoulder as he leaves.
At least twelve hours before Veronica touches down in SoCal. At least twelve hours for him to think about what that means. About what it’s going to be like. Twelve hours to think what kind of person she’s turned into in the intervening years. Twelve hours to think about how she’s going to think he hasn’t changed at all. He fidgets. It’s going to be a long night.