Page 106 of Two Kinds of Stranger

An uneasy feeling crept up his back. He spun round, one-eighty, checked the street opposite.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Strange.

Logan had the feeling he was being watched.

He usually didn’t ignore his instincts.

But he could see no one who might be watching him.

It had been some months since he had engaged in his dark life. Perhaps he was just out of practice. Perhaps he was just nervous.

He shook it off, joined in the chanting of the small crowd around him, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

After a few minutes, Eddie Flynn arrived outside and joined the line to get through security and into the courthouse. Logan backed away from the group, waited until one other person had joined the line behind Flynn, then stood behind them.

All he had on him was his phone, apartment keys and folding cash. No ID. No wallet. He was dressed in black jeans, a black winter coat and a beanie hat. Flynn was just in his suit, braving the cold without an overcoat. He had noticed Flynn’s necktie was loose and his top button undone. He had a gym bag filled with case papers on his shoulder. He was nervous. Logan could tell by the way Flynn’s right hand, loose by his side, kept a pen in perpetual motion. The silver ballpoint tumbling through his fingers, over and over, in a perfect cycle.

The line moved quickly enough, and Flynn dumped his bag on the security belt, and as he went through the body scanner it beeped, but the officers waved him on. They knew him. He retrieved the bag from the belt after it was scanned, just as Logan put the contents of his pockets in a security tray and stepped, silently, through the scanner. No beeps. No alarms.

Flynn moved toward the bank of elevators. Logan gathered his stuff and followed. By the time Logan turned the corner to the elevators Flynn was just getting into one.

Logan followed.

Flynn pressed a floor button. Logan put his hands in his pockets, and turned to face the doors as he reached the back of the elevator.

There they stood. Side by side. Flynn’s head was down. The pen was still moving across and under his fingers. Logan could tell Flynn was in deep thought.

The only sound was the doors rolling shut, then the dull whump of the gears engaging and the counterweight pulling the old elevator slowly upwards.

‘Cold today,’ said Logan.

Flynn caught the pen in a dead stop, and raised his head toward Logan.

‘Sure is,’ he said with a sigh, then looked away, facing the doors.

‘Are you a lawyer?’ asked Logan.

‘For my sins,’ said Flynn, nodding, but the tone he used brought no humor to those words. It was more like a confession.

‘Why? Do you need a lawyer?’ asked Flynn.

‘No, at least not right now. I’m just spectating. The TikTok murders.’

Flynn didn’t reply for a moment. The elevator filled only with the sound of its old gears as they whined and growled.

Then he looked at Logan again, said, ‘Have we met before?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Logan, holding Flynn’s gaze, fighting down the electric buzz of fear building in his guts.

‘Are you a reporter?’ asked Flynn.

‘No, I just follow the big trials. I like true-crime cases. I’m thinking of doing a podcast some day.’

‘You sure we haven’t met? You kinda look familiar. I have a good memory for faces,’ said Flynn.