Reckless: Season 2: Gratitude: Part I - Act 3
by redmoon
Gratitude: Part I - Act 3
“Hey– hey, Kilpatrick” Eric called, his head sticking out of his office. “The Senior Partners want to talk to you.”
Logan set his briefcase back down on some secretary’s desk. “Very funny,” he smirked and turned to go, but Eric, though offended didn’t back down.
“I’m serious, didn’t you get the message?” He raised his eyebrows as Logan considered how his machine was always chewing up his messages. He glanced back at Eric who gave an encouraging thumbs up.
Logan shrugged and took off his khaki jacket, taking both that and his briefcase back to his desk before straightening his tie and heading for the elevator. The Senior Partners were three floors up.
Logan adjusted his tie several times in the elevator, completely ignoring the flirtatious efforts of the young woman who happened to be riding to the same floor. Logan had never even considered having an office affair. Lawyers, at least the ones he knew, were treacherous. They wouldn’t think twice about blackmailing him. Besides, he thought as he adjusted his tie again, he had more important things on his mind right now.
He exited the elevator ahead of the disappointed young blonde and approached the reception desk. The secretary took one look at him and waved him in. She touched her comm key.
“Mr. Kilpatrick is here,” she advised. The doors opened and Logan strode into the simple conference room to find himself facing a man and two women who sat on the opposite side of the table to him. There was no chair on his side. These were the Senior Partners of Morgan, Lewis & Bockius. Logan swallowed. If he really was up for a promotion, they didn’t look very happy about it.
“Mr. Kilpatrick, come in,” the man in the center offered. Logan nodded gratefully and stood opposite him. “We’ve called you here as a special favor – we know you’re hoping for a promotion and we recognize your potential...”
Logan’s jaw tensed. The spark seemed to dim in his eyes. He could almost hear what was coming next. Unfortunately we currently have an excess of criminal defense attorneys in this branch but if a position opens up sometime in the future....
But the partners said nothing of the sort.
“Assuming you do pass all the necessary legal red tape and make it as a criminal defense attorney, you will have shown incredible...” the man’s brow creased as he searched for a term, “...upward momentum.”
The woman to his left nodded. “We will be announcing this to everyone in a short time, but we wanted to give you forewarning in case it affects your decision to press for the promotion.” She took a deep breath and continued. “This firm is currently in the process of being taken over by a prominent law firm from Los Angeles.” The other woman nodded.
“In less than eight months, we expect Wolfram & Hart to have reorganized the structure of this firm...” She swallowed. What she was saying was that in eight months, the three of them would be demoted to junior partners in a larger, more aggressive firm – or bumped out of a job altogether. “We thought you might want the chance, once you’ve completed your evaluations, to apply for partnership in another firm.”
Logan’s worry had turned to deep concern. His mouth was suddenly dry. “I... I don’t know what to say,” he frowned. “Thank you for this information, but I intend to stay the course in this law firm for as long as it exists.”
The partners nodded and collectively they stood. The man in the center extended his hand and Logan took it. “I know you’ll make an excellent Senior Partner one day.” Logan nodded at the compliment and left as soon as it was convenient.
The drive home never saw the troubled frown from his face.
Niki didn’t go patrolling that night. Nor did she lock herself in her room. She went looking for Whistler.
As it happened, he found her. Hiding in her usual corner of the Marionette, she was busy looking for him at the bottom of a shot glass. The premonitions got one thing right at least.
“Aren’t you going to welcome me home?” the demon sat down with a cavalier smile. “Not even a ‘how ya been’ from my favorite Slayer?”
Niki took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I killed someone, Whistler. Someone who... who I don’t think I was supposed to kill.”
Whistler frowned. “Ya do realize you’re talking to a demon, right?”
Niki scoffed. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she dismissed. “The thing is, I think something or someone wanted me to kill her. It wasn’t just a random accident.” She held up a finger. “And I’m not going crazy.”
Whistler held up his hands defensively. “Never said you were. Only a crazy person would think you’re crazy... and we can’t trust what crazy people say: they’re not quite all there.”
“You said something about the Deceivers...” the Slayer stared off into the distance, recalling her dream.
Whistler frowned. “I did?” When he got no response, he shrugged. “I take it back: you’re completely nuts.”
Niki frowned again in irritation. “In my dream,” she clarified. “You said they’d contact me.” She sighed heavily and toyed with the empty shot glasses. “I think they did.”
“How so?” the demon inquired.
“It doesn’t matter,” she waved a hand to banish the entire incident. “What matters is how do I find them and how do I kill them?”
Whistler shrugged when her gaze settled on him. “Don’t look at me. I haven’t seen a seer since the Biter closed down.”
“No demon intuition?” It was a shot in the dark, Niki knew it, but it saved her from having to call Addison.
Whistler thought about this. Finally he broke into a little smile. “You could try stabbing them with sharp things. It works for almost everything else.”
The Slayer sighed. “Thanks anyway.”
Whistler tipped his hat. “Glad I could help.” He looked around the small dark corner, searching for something. “When do they come with the menus?”
He wasn’t dressed for this. He knew it. He ducked under the yellow police line - do not cross tape and stopped in front of the young man who was photographing the chalk outline on the sidewalk.
“I thought you were all done here,” he crossed his arms and frowned. They couldn’t keep Park Avenue cordoned off indefinitely.
“Who are you?” the young man asked, lowering his camera and speaking with an unusually authoritative tone.
“I’m Inspector Zucher, who the hell are you?” This impudent young man was probably a defector for the press - Zucher hated those. They snuck in dressed like investigators and snapped a roll of pictures for the evening news.
“Agent Harrison,” the young man replied curtly, retrieving his badge from his jacket, “Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“What could possibly interest you about this case?” Zucher demanded, shaking his head. One thing he hated more than the press was the feds.
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” Agent Harrison replied, returning his badge to his jacket and tucking his camera into the bag which hung over his shoulder. “But since you have no leads whatsoever, I think it’s safe to say your case is going nowhere. The FBI, however, has confidential leads which point to several possible suspects living in Manhattan.”
“Do share,” Zucher suggested with an patronizing tone.
Harrison shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. But rest assured, those responsible will be apprehended and dealt with.”
Zucher shook his head with disdain. “Oh, good. We’re safe in the hands of the federal government.” His sarcasm lost on the young agent, the inspector turned and left, ducking tiredly under the yellow tape and shoving his hands into his pockets in the cool evening.
As he approached his sedan he could make out a shape standing near the diver’s door. As he drew closer, he was getting ready to unclip his holster when the form stepped out of the shadow. He was pale faced and dressed all in black. He had black spiked hair and silver piercings all over his face.
The Goth planted a cigarette between his lips and said in a toneless voice, “Got a light?”
Zucher looked down to check his pockets for his lighter, at the same time unclipping the guard on his gun holster. When he found the lighter, he looked up in time to see the Goth’s hand strike out like a snake and seize his neck. Zucher struggled in vain and the Goth easily lifted him off his feet, a silver bracelet jingling as the black sleeve drew back.
There was no chance to go for his gun as the vampire threw him into the alley. It wouldn’t have made much difference anyway.
Less than an hour later, the sedan was towed to the impound.
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