A Tommy Logan Story

by Darren D. Lee

  “Yeah, down aisle one. It’s pricey though, I’d stop at the dollar store or somethin’.”

  “Ain’t going that way,” I replied while I approached the aisle. There was the tape. I shook my head at the prices; seven freaking bucks for one roll. I grabbed four of them and covered them up to the counter just as the guy set the battery down.

  “You got the old battery?” he asked.

  “Nope,” I replied.

  “Well, man, I’ll have to add an extra twenty dollar core charge. Just bring the old battery back and we’ll refund that for you.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “What’s your phone number? For the warranty info.”

  The guy just stared at me as I remained silent. I didn’t have a phone number. Not one I could give him. “Two seven six, one seven one, five five five four,” I answered, making it up.

  “Ah, seems you’re not in the system. Let me add you, bud, what’s your name?”

  “Bud Stein.”

  “Seriously? Your names bud?” asked the guy, chuckling.

  “Lucky guess.”

  “You’re tellin’ me. That’ll never happen again.” He punched the keys for a couple more seconds before turning the screen to me once more. “Total is one ninety-seven, seventy-seven.”

  I pulled out my wallet and reached him two one hundred dollar bills. “Hey, man, bet you can’t help me out could you?”

  “Yeah, man. What can I do?”

  “You don’t happen to have an extra roll of quarters, do you? See, my niece loves those damn quarter machines and I don’t have hardly any change.”

  “Well, I’m not supposed to since it’s my last roll, but we’re about to close up so I ain’t got no problem with it.”

  “Thank you, you made a little girl very happy,” I said, reaching him an additional ten dollars.

  “Ain’t no problem, man,” he replied as he reached me my receipt, change, and a roll of quarters.

  I carried the battery and bag of tape to the trunk and set it in with the rest of my stuff. Now I was off to Moe’s. Traveling through Grundy’s town center, I once more passed that ridiculous bridge to nowhere, then the agency building. It was everything I could do to not pull in there and start killing whoever happened to be in my sights, but I restrained. A few minutes later I arrived at Moe’s. It was completely out of town limits, I even recognized the building. It used to be a steakhouse when I was a kid. Didn’t look like they bothered renovating any. A few vehicles were parked outside, one of which being Ratliff’s nice and shiny truck that he paid for with blood money. I took a breath and cracked my window before lighting a smoke. A bit later, I retrieved a roll of tape. Staring at the roll of quarters, I was getting the shakes. Anxiety rising and adrenaline pumping more the longer I dwelled on what I was about to do. The tape wrapped snuggly around the quarters for when I knocked Ratliff the fuck out. I didn’t want the wrapper busting on impact.

  May 24th, 2026

  Moe’s had already shut their glowing open sign off at around midnight. The warm late spring air breezed through my cracked window while the coarse exhale of cigarette smoke left my lungs. All the other patrons were long gone but Ratliff remained. It was just after one and this guy was still going. I chuckled at the thought of how much he hated his wife to be drinking so late. You know, the kind of misery that would drive a man to start drinking on Sunday and not quit until early Monday morning. A prick like Ratliff deserved that misery, and so much more.

  The click of my ignition turning lit the dash lights. The clock on the radio informed that it was one thirty. I was aggravated with this asshole. It was tempting to go kick the door in and drag him out, but that wasn’t the right play here. A noisy disappearance would undoubtedly alert the ASA and wreck my plan; I had to wait. The door to Moe’s swung open and Ratliff staggered out. He was tanked… Way too tanked to be driving, so I couldn’t let that happen. A tug at the door handle resulted in a satisfying click before my boots touched the pavement. Ratliff staggered towards his truck, searching his pockets, most likely for keys. “That your truck?” I asked, approaching.

  The drunken bastard glanced at me, squinting his eyes. “Fuck off,” he slurred.

  “It’s a nice truck. How does a piece of shit like you afford that?”

  Ratliff backed away from the door of his truck. His staggered steps were pathetic while he leaned on the truck bed in an attempt to walk towards me. “What… What’d you say to me?”

  “I said you’re a fat fuck who also happens to be a piece of shit?”

  He stared at me, trying to place me. My hood shadowed my face and the dim street light wasn’t doing Ratliff any favors. He stepped past his tailgate, lucky to be standing on his own. “You wanna make somthin’ of this?”

  “Maybe I do,” I replied, twisting my neck for a satisfying pop.

  “Do you know… Know who I am?” he asked, slurring his words.

  “The better question is, do you know who I am?”

  “Why’d the fuck would I care who some bum like you is? I’ll… I’ll fuck your world up seven ways from Sunday.”

  The sound of an amused chuckle left my lips. My heartbeat fluttered of excitement while I pulled my hood back. “Take a good, long look, Ratliff. Who am I?”

  Ratliff stared for a few moments. His eyes were squinted with the inebriated struggle to focus. “You… You look familiar.” I answered only in silence while he continued to study me; to look past the beard, the shaggy hair, and the scars that now riddled the left of my face. A smirk crept across my face when his eyes widened. He had figured out who I was. “You? You’re dead…”

  My right boot slammed the ground as I lunged towards the drunkard. Muscles tightened in my right arm while my fingers clung tightly to the taped roll of quarters. The ferocity of the muffled impact dropped Ratliff to the ground a second after the palm of my hand struck his forehead. I stood over him, bent down while he rolled and struggled. Once more, the roll of quarters struck his head, rendering him still as night. Trembles shot through my body as rage swelled. I wanted to hit him once more… Then one more. But I couldn’t. Not there.

  Warm air filled my lungs while I attempted to calm myself. His grotesque fucking face laid still, tilted to the side. My eyes closed tightly while I exhaled. His overweight carcass demanded me to take him away and to say the need to oblige that demand was felt within myself would be an understatement. Ratliff’s clothes scuffed along the pavement while I drug him towards my car. He was sprawled next to my passenger seat. Ratliff’s hands and feet slapped together while duct tape bound them tightly. The sound of the electric motor of my black baby’s front seat hummed while the seat slid back and reclined. For a second, I thought that maybe I had picked the wrong car for this, but those thoughts were quickly dismissed. Sacrificing convenience was something I was always ready to live with.

  The door slammed shut with Ratliff tucked safely in the passenger seat. My trunk popped open for me to remove my sidearm. I loaded a mag and chambered a round. Figured I couldn’t be too careful. However unlikely, there was a chance that Ratliff would come to. A .45 pointed at him would, how do I say it? Encourage his cooperation? Yeah, that works.

  Ratliff never woke through the trip. He even laid perfectly still on the rack of my ATV while I took him to my cabin. I did strap him down, of course. If he had fallen, I might have run over him. He was no use to me dead. The dried leaves that lay on the ground ruffled and crunched while I tugged on his feet, pulling him inside the cabin. I propped him up on an old wooden chair in the corner. Ratliff slouched to the side while I wrapped duct tape around his head, to cover his eyes. Then, a few wraps around for his mouth. Yeah, I was excessive with the tape, but I wanted it to hurt when I took it off. First a click, then the sound of my blade being pulled from the holster on my belt. This blade was nine inches long, not counting the handle. Saw teeth lined the blade’s back. A quick slice and Ratliff’s hands and feet were free. I laid his hands out on the arm rests of the chair, hi
s fingers laying still on the wooden surface. Duct tape bound his wrists. His feet were secured to the legs in the same fashion. After sheathing the blade and snapping it back in, I figured it was time to go home. Ratliff wasn’t going anywhere. If he woke up, couldn’t see, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move? That’d just help break him.

  On the drive home, I thought of Ratliff and what people might say of his disappearance. Maybe they’d think he was just hung over or passed out somewhere. I’m sure it had happened before from how drunk he was when I nabbed him. Abducting Ratliff made something in me snap. I didn’t care about being discrete anymore. Hell, I even drove my baby home and parked her in the driveway… And for once, I slept easily.

  Sunlight gleamed through my window, stirring my eyes. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was almost noon. I guess the long recent days and lack of sleeping had finally caught up with me. That was fine, though. I’d later learn that I needed all the rest I could get. The tug of the electric razor against my beard was freeing. The sink filled with my shavings. I contemplated shaving my head, but I wasn’t that man anymore. My eyes stared in the mirror at a ghost. A man that had been killed, but refused to die. I wanted them to see it was me, Thomas Lee Logan, coming for them. I wanted them to feel terror, fear unbound, and to know that there was no way out.

  Black boots sifted through the weeds on the riverbank. Trickling gas poured onto the ground from a five-gallon jug. A cool sensation of the river covered my hands while I filled the jug. I walked through the yard carrying the jug and a few towels, free. Hidden no longer, just free. The door slammed shut and the click of the ignition brought my baby to life, unrestrained. The untamed roar of her engine echoed through the mountains. Ratliff awaited.

  The ATV engine fell quiet outside my cabin. Immediately, the muffled shouts and screams of Ratliff hit my ears. I’d be lying if I said I had hoped he just woke up. The longer he sat there, alone, and in silence… The easier this would be. The sound of the battery slamming against the ground startled Ratliff. I tossed the towels down on the old floor and carried the rest of my stuff in. Slowly, I peeled the duct tape from his mouth. He became quiet to my touch. His face dripped with the sweat of fear. A rip came next as I pulled the tape from his eyes, removing hair from his head and trimming those bushy eyebrows. Another rip and his mouth became free. “Hello, Ratliff.”

  Ratliff caught his breath after screaming. His eyes stared up at mine while I towered over his pathetic position. “It wasn’t nothin’ personal, I swear it!”

  My hands grabbed the pipe wrench that was propped up against the wall. It’s cold metal surface enticed my fingers while they bounced along, finally settling into a grip. I positioned myself sideways in front of him, steadily swaying my hips and swinging the pipe wrench a bit. “You ever played golf, Agent Ratliff?” He looked at me, his eyes blinking rapidly accompanied by shallow breaths. I chuckled a bit, excited, anxious. “They say it’s all in the hips.” My hands gripped the wrench tightly while I drew back and slammed the wrench into his left knee.

  Blood splattered from his tore jeans as he let out an incredible scream of pain. “Oh, fuck! God, fuck!”

  “But, I prefer baseball!” I screamed, swinging the wrench with all my might into his right knee. Once more blood splattered accompanied by his screams of anguish and profanities. “Well, Agent Ratliff, this shit is personal to me,” I said, calmly.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he asked, sobbing.

  “What do I want? I want my life back. I want my sister back. I want my family back.” The pipe wrench towered above my head as I swung it down, striking his upper thigh. He screamed once again then gasped. “Oh, and I want my fucking car back!” I screamed before smashing his other thigh. “But we both know that can’t happen, am I right?” He just stared up at me, his head weaving back and forth while his lips quivered under his rapid breaths. The pipe wrench clanged against the ground as I tossed it away. “Now, we’re going to play a game. It’s called Tommy fucking Logan asks questions and fat piece of shit answers. Now, do you want to know the rules?” Ratliff looked at me wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “I suggest you say yes.”

  “Y… Y… Yes…” he stuttered.

  “If I think your lying, things get… Painful. So, if you want to win the game, tell the truth, got it?” Ratliff nodded his head slowly. My eyes settled on my black backpack. Unzipping it, I pulled out my mini-cassette recorder and put in a tape and hit record. “Now, Agent Ratliff. On the night of July thirty first, a murder was reported. The victim was Angel Kennedy. Now, tell me, what happened?”

  “She was shot, that’s all, I swear to God!” he babbled.

  “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m not! No, I swear it!” he shouted. My boot was brought swiftly to his chest, kicking him onto his back. “What the hell are you—”

  A towel fell across his face, muffling his questions, pleads, whatever. My hands unscrewed the nozzle of the gas jug while I positioned myself over him. The water dumped out onto the towel covering his face. “I know you’re fucking lying! I’ve seen the files! I know Angel Kennedy was a witness and she was terminated! Now answer my goddamned question!” The water ceased, allowing Ratliff to cough and gag. I raised his chair upright and tossed the towel to the ground. “Now, talk.”

  “I didn’t want it to happen. It wasn’t supposed to!”

  “What wasn’t supposed to?”

  “She wasn’t supposed to be there, she walked in!”

  “Walked into what?”

  “The exchange, man, the fucking exchange!”

  I leaned into Ratliff. My face was an inch from his; this was meant to be intimate. “Now, tell me, exchange of what?”

  “It… It…,” he mumbled.

  “The exchange of what?!” I screamed.

  “Narcotics, pills, weed, cocaine, heroin, whatever the fuck was on the manifest! I can’t remember exactly!”

  “So, the ASA is distributing illegal drugs?” I asked. Ratliff quickly nodded. “Angel Kennedy stumbled onto this deal and you killed her?”

  “I didn’t give the order, I swear to god!”

  “But you killed her?” Ratliff remained quiet. “Agent Ratliff, silence is not a valid answer in this game.” I pulled the knife from my belt and sliced his shirt open.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Getting kinky,” I replied. The clamps of the jumper cables bit tightly on the battery terminals. The sparks bounced on Ratliff’s face while I smacked the loose-ended clamps together.

  “Don’t… Don’t…”

  I answered by clamping the cables onto his nipples. Ratliff convulsed and jerked as the electricity coursed through his body. He panted with relief once the cables were removed, but it would be short-lived. Electricity once more coursed through his body. I pulled the clamps away and tossed them to the ground. “Who gave the fucking order?!” I screamed. Ratliff panted, his eyes barely open while his head bobbed, struggling to stay up. “Who,” I screamed as my knuckles struck his face. “Gave…” Another punch landed. “The order?!” My fist pounded against his face a few more times, leaving it red and bloody.

  “Rob… Robins…” he mumbled as his head fell limp.

  My hands grabbed his head and jerked it up. He was unconscious, his subtle respirations barely evident. My eyes settled on the med kit. The adrenaline shot would wake him right up, but I only had one. I didn’t think he’d die from the first round of my game. I lit a cigarette and decided to wait him out.

  Around three, Ratliff began to mumble. “Shit… Shit… Where am I?”

  “You’re awake. Ready for round two?” I asked.

  “Fuck,” he stuttered. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

  “What, did you think it was all a dream?” Ratliff didn’t reply, he just stared at me. I hit the record button once more on my mini cassette. “You killed Angel Kennedy, didn’t you?”

  “I… I… couldn’t.”

  “If you didn’t, who did?”

  “Wh
en… When I couldn’t pull the trigger, Wilson took my gun and did it himself.”

  My head nodded. “I believe you. Now, since Robins is completely incompetent and can’t delete incriminating emails, I know someone was pissed about her termination. Who was it?”

  Ratliff shook his head rapidly. “I can’t… I won’t say.”

  “Agent Ratliff, are you right handed or left handed?”

  “Left,” immediately spouted Ratliff.

  He was lying, he must have been eyeing my knife. My hand jerked the knife from its sheath and I was there, gripping Ratliff’s right hand with the blade pressed firmly against the bottom joint of his thumb. “Without a thumb, you won’t even be able to beat your meat right.”

  “You won’t do it… You won’t,” stuttered Ratliff. “You’re a boy scout. By the books.”

  A smile crept across my face as I removed the knife from his skin. My presence towered over him. “You’ve been kidnapped. Beaten, waterboarded, and even electrocuted. There isn’t a book out there that permits this… Oh, wait. You realize I was in China, right? I know that Robins must have bitched to you about how my record is sealed. Am I correct?” Ratliff nodded. “I did a lot of nasty things in China to far better people than you. You’re a bad guy; I can kill bad guys with no remorse.” At that moment my vision flashed. Ratliff wasn’t Ratliff anymore. He was a Chinese soldier we had captured for interrogation.

  “Wǒ bù huì shuōhuà!”

  “English! I know you speak it!” I screamed.

  The beaten and bloodied Chinese soldier scoffed and spit at my feet. “You will not get anything from me, American dog…”

  “Where is Parliament and the President bunkered?!” I screamed, inching closer to the soldier.

  “Wǒ bùshì pàntú…”

  My lungs burned as I screamed and put the knife to the soldier’s throat. “Talk or die!”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you're talking about!” screamed Ratliff. “I swear to god! Don’t kill me!”