Page 73 of Two Kinds of Stranger

Cross didn’t move either. He stared back.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

It wasn’t a stand-off. This was something else. An appraisal, of sorts.

He could feel Cross’s eyes lazily roaming over his body and finally settling on his face. Cross’s face appeared dead. Blank. No emotion. No fear. If Cross had looked this way at someone without Logan’s own psychological fortitude, they would feel deeply uncomfortable. Cross’s gaze was not one which most could withstand for very long. Perhaps Cross knew this on some level, because when Logan didn’t move or flinch, or break his gaze, a small twitch fell across Cross’s right eye.

It was momentary. But the first sign of irritation or, perhaps, unease.

Logan approached, stood at the bottom of the path leading to Cross’s front door.

‘Mr. Cross, I would very much like to talk to you,’ said Logan. ‘We appear to have some mutual acquaintances. I have a problem with a lawyer. I think you have a similar problem. Perhaps I can help you.’

‘What makes you think I need your help?’ said Cross warily.

‘I think we can help each other. I think we are not so different, you and I. You are smart enough to see that for yourself.’

Something else about the human psyche that has not changed in millennia–a predator can easily spot another predator.

Cross held Logan’s eyes in his iron gaze for a few moments.

Then Arthur Cross smiled.

It was a smile as cold as a silver coffin plate.

25

Logan

The small house was well kept and clean.

Still, there was a smell that permeated throughout the dwelling. Something that Logan could not at first recognize. It was chemical in nature, but not something familiar. And not something used for domestic cleaning. Logan sat on Cross’s couch, a glass of water in front of him on a hardwood coffee table. He had taken a small sip, out of courtesy, but nothing more. He did not trust Cross at all. The feeling was mutual, as he had seen Cross slip a pistol into his waistband in the kitchen.

They were still feeling one another out, carefully.

‘So you’ve read all aboutme, Logan,’ said Cross, ‘but I know nothing about you.’

‘As I already explained, Flynn and I have a personal matter. Not something I can discuss, not something in the public domain. I want him to suffer. Isn’t that enough?’

‘Not nearly enough,’ said Cross, leaning back in his chair and smiling, as if Logan should know this.

‘We don’t know each other. I grant you that. Neither of us are individuals given to placing trust in others. I’ve always been an outsider, Arthur. My guess is that you are too. We are not like other people. We can accomplish things that others cannot. We are unbound by the societal norms that tie other men down. We don’t need to exchange vows. This isn’t a marriage. It’s an alliance. Nothing more.’

‘And yet I don’t trust you. How do I know you are not working for Flynn? How do I know this isn’t a trap?’

Logan had spent an hour talking to Cross, letting him know how he had discovered him and why he had sought him out. Everything he’d said was the truth, precisely as it had happened. The only information he’d kept to himself was why he was interested in Flynn. As he had laid out his story, he knew Cross wasn’t just watching him. He was being studied, his every move minutely weighed and judged by a fellow predator– one who was looking for warning signs. Lies were red flags and to be avoided, but Logan could not risk telling this man the truth. Cross wasn’t to be trusted. His whole life and everything in it had been obtained by exploiting others.

‘What if I told you I am not working for Flynn?’ said Logan. ‘You’re a man who can easily spot a lie. Tell me, am I lying?’

‘You haven’t said it yet.’

‘Clever. Alright, Arthur, I am not working for Flynn, nor any of his team. I am here because I want to see Flynn suffer.’

As he spoke, Cross stared at him intently. He felt as if every word, every gesture, wasn’t just seen or heard by Cross–it was being absorbed. Weighed. Tasted.

Cross said nothing.

Then he sat upright in his chair, placed his good hand on his knee and spoke with a different intonation. It was more direct. No longer soft, his words came faster and harder than before.