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jail. Logan had no intention of being the only Macabre Jesters in Club history to be caught with a burner linking him to something nefarious. Like talking to an incarcerated criminal.
     
    He drove through the night, taking streets almost at random always keeping one eye on his rear view for signs of being followed. He was getting hungry, but would wait until after. Didn't need his face turning up of some security camera footage of some fast food joint, ordering. It would put him in the neighborhood at a specific time, and he couldn't have that.
     
    He even stopped in another dark side street, and killed the lights. He kept watch in all directions. There was no way anyone could drive up on him, or even stop to watch him without being seeing.
     
    After twenty minutes, he started up the car and headed to his intended destination.
     
    He pulled up to a chain link fence, outside an old warehouse. The guard, a Club Hang Around, gave him a long look, nodded and rolled the gate open. Logan drove through. In his rear view he noted the Hang Around talk into a radio. Good. He drove to the other side of the building, out of sight of the street, parked and got out.
     
    Here he could relax a little. There were security cameras but they didn't record. Why record your own criminal activity? They were just for seeing what was going on, not recording it as future evidence to be used in a court room.
     
    Logan tried the back service door, and found it unlocked. He went inside, and was annoyed that there wasn't another guard stationed here.
     
    He made his way past dark offices, and rooms filled with various goods. All legitimate.
     
    He came to the door that led down to the sub basement and opened it. Again, no guard.
     
    Down the stairs and down another hall. At the end he could see a room with the light on, and the sound of voices as well as music. He quietly approached, and peered around the corner into the room.
     
    He saw two men milling about a small stock room, arranging stacks of small crates piled up against one wall. A small loading dock door was open to the night with a van backed up to it. The van still had its interior lights on, and music was playing loudly from its interior speakers.
     
    Logan felt his temper flare up again.
     
    He jumped into the room and screamed "Freeze! Police!"
     
    Both men jolted, almost dropping the crates they carried.
     
    "Ah, Christ on a unicycle!" Adam said, recovering his composure. The other man, Silas, was clutching his chest.
     
    "Jesus, Logan," Adam said. "What the hell? I coulda dropped this." Indicating the crate. Inside was the sound of clinking bottles.
     
    "Be glad you didn't," Logan said. "You couldn't afford the bill." He then glared at the both of them. They froze up, this time for good reason. "What the hell's going on upstairs?" he asked evenly.
     
    Adam glanced at Silas, then said, "Isn't Mark on the gate?"
     
    Logan nodded in frustration. "Yeah, but no one is on the God damned door. Gate's not the issue. The door is. Cops can roll onto any property they want, but to enter a building they need a warrant, or a pretence. Without a warrant the guard on the door blunts any crap reason the cops can come up with. But if no one is on the door, they could walk in and make up an excuse later."
     
    Adam did not interrupt. He obviously knew the reasoning behind their type of security. Especially right now. But he wasn't going to correct Logan on anything.
     
    When he noticed Logan waiting for an explanation Adam said, "We had a guard on the door. He should have been there."
     
    For some reason this made Logan even more angry. "Who is this dead man?"
     
    "Hey, we're outta toilet paper," came a new voice from behind him.
     
    Logan turned.
     
    Ryder was standing in the doorway, looking nonplussed. He had a magazine rolled up in one hand, and a walkie talkie hooked into his belt which he was doing up.
     
    Even from where he stood Logan could see that the walkie talkie was