#the logger

Ben was a mountain of a man, and looked every inch like someone you wouldn’t want to tussle with - which was true; Jo had seen him wrangle many a rowdy patron out into the night with ease - but he was also one of the nicest, most respectful men anyone would ever hope to meet.

All the girls at the bar agreed; Ben was one of the good ones.

“Yep Ben, all ready to go.”

The words had no more left Joanna’s mouth than the door rattled violently.

“Hey sweetheart, let us in we’re thirsty!”

Joanna jumped a little in surprise, peering through the glass of the front door to see a group of three rough-looking men stumbling around on the steps.

“Sorry, sir; we’re closed for the evening.”

A stubbly face pressed in close to the window, taking far too long a perusal of her before licking his lips and putting on what she suspected he thought was a winning smile.

“Aww come on girly, it’s a Friday! We got cash to burn!”

Several muffled whoops from behind seemed to embolden the man further.

“Open the door honey, I’ll tip ya real well.”

He winked grossly as his compatriots jostled and hooted from behind.

Jo gave a thin smile.

“Like I said, we’re closed.”

She prepared to turn away, just barely catching the man’s smile dropping into a scowl before the wood of the door was once again gripped and shaken.

“Come ON bitch! Let us in!”

Jo was just about to make a run for the other door when she felt a hand gently press on her shoulder.

Looking up, she saw Ben had stepped behind her - probably when the man had started raging.

“Go sit by the bar, Jo. I’ll take care of it.”

He offered her a slightly crooked smile as he pushed her towards the back of the room.

The door was still being pummeled and obscenities tossed around freely as Ben approached.

He stared down at the other man, not speaking.

As soon as the would-be-patron noticed he had a new audience, he began hissing and swearing at Ben, trying anything he could think to make the taller man open the door for him.

“You all part of that lumber camp up by the ridge?” Ben asked quietly.

One of the other men elbowed his friend out of the way, seemingly slightly less inebriated than his fellows.

“Yeah, that’s our crew, you know it?”

Ben smiled at the man.

“No, but I will soon.”

Something in Ben’s steady gaze must have unnerved the other man as he slowly stepped away from the door.

“Let’s go boys… we can find another bar…”

The other two men began nagging their friend, calling him a coward; but he was insistent, and soon enough the night outside was once again calm and still.

Jo tentatively approached, leaning around Ben to peek out the window.

“What did you say to them?”

Ben shrugged, looking down at the young woman with an affectionate smile.

“Same as you did - just not as nicely.”

Joanna giggled, moving to gather her things and head home.

She paused.

“Ben…?”

The tall man looked back at her, having once again turned to stare out the window into the deep black of the Autumn evening.

“… Would you mind walking me out?”

“Those men won’t be coming back, Joey.”

Jo smiled at that. She liked it when Ben called her ‘Joey’.

“I know, it’s just… with all the murders and everything… I’d feel safer if you would.”

Grinning, Ben moved away from the door to grab his own coat, pulling the thick wool over his neat button down and vest.

“Sure, kiddo. Can’t have my best waitress getting chopped up. Who else is gonna tell me my cocktails taste like piss?”

Jo pushed Ben as she joined him by the back door.

He barely moved; but reached over to ruffle her hair all the same.

“No one’s gonna hurt you on my watch Jo.”

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Tom stumbled through the camp, muttering under his breath in-between long pulls from a bottle of cheap whiskey.

A fine fuckin Friday, if not for that little tussle at the bar.

The forest around him was still; but far from silent. The night was filled with sounds of the late September air whistling through branches, owls hooting as they drifted silently through the pines, and all manner of small nocturnal creatures frolicking through the dry underbrush.

If he’d been a bit more sober, Tom might have heard a pattern of light steps crackling in the brown leaves that coated the forest floor.

But as it was, all he was thinking of was the embarrassment of being chased off by that bartender like a bunch of sissies. Sure, he’d been a big guy; but there were three of them and only one of him.

He was of half a mind to see if the other boys were interested in going down to town to break some windows.

Maybe that cute little bitch of a waitress would still be there - then he could make ‘em really sorry for locking him out.

Chuckling into his bottle, Tom never saw the glint of the sharpened metal before it landed deep in the crevasse between his neck and shoulder; deep enough to sever his spine.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

A large, booted foot pressed down on the corpse, pulling the embedded axe from the sucking, bloody flesh of the evening’s first victim.

Ben gave out a small sigh of disappointment - he would have liked to watch this particular asshole bleed out after how he’d treated Jo; he’d brought the axe down harder than he’d meant to in his excitement.

Oh well, there was nothing for it now.

Hoisting the axe back over his shoulder, Ben sauntered slowly along the wide dirt road towards the logging camp.

He’d circled the area several times that night, making sure to note where he could enter without making a scene, where someone might try to escape into the woods, covering all points of entry and exit until he felt comfortable enough to navigate the tents and bunkhouses in the dark.

This particular camp had been on his mind for weeks now, the undefinable need that always curled near the back of his consciousness whispering about the glorious carnage he could wreak under the cover of trees and night. It was simple good luck that he’d been given a reason to fulfill that urge tonight.

The crisp air filled Ben’s lungs as he approached the first cabin, listening to the small noises of the sleeping occupants.

His heartbeat sped up as he paused by the door - hands clenching and unclenching around the long, smooth handle of his axe.

The door opened and closed quietly as he entered.

Without having officially asked or even applied to a college, Jo knew her parent would be tough sells. Why send your daughter to a university? Oh, I don’t know, so she can get an education and maybe achieve more than turning into her mother?

Again, beside the point.

She was going to be as little a burden on her parent as she could – and that’s where Copper Street came in.

But even so, she could hear her mother’s voice in her head - sneering condescendingly every single time the family passed the bar.

“Nothing but drunks and prostitutes in there.”

Her father would hum in agreement, although Jo knew he liked to stop in on occasion after work for a drink. It was easier to just let her mother speak her piece and then do exactly as you liked.

… But having her daughter work there... Might actually kill the older woman.

A loud crash from inside the building pulled the blonde from her contemplation.

Jo jumped in her seat as the front doors of the bar flew open, letting a couple of men stumble out onto the sidewalk.

The taller of the pair was manhandling the very obviously drunk and angry smaller man out the door with practiced ease.

“C’mon Ben! He started it!! Lemme get back in there!!”

The man thrashed, trying to dislodge the tall brunette, who held his arm in an immovable grip while looking supremely annoyed.

“I think you’re done for the night, Billy. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?”

And there was Ben Sullivan.

She’s seen the bartender several times in passing around town; but hadn’t actually spoken to him.

Her eyes took stock of the man as he continued to argue with the drunk.

Tall - very tall - and hard-looking.

She didn’t think he was particularly old; but he looked like one of those people who’d had life beat the shit out of them and it showed.

Yet, despite the roughness of his face, his hair and beard were tidy, and his clothes were neatly pressed - although the man he was tussling with was starting to do a number on his shirt.

A few more forceful words and a shove later had the drunken man stumbling down the sidewalk, away from the bar - leaving Mr. Sullivan to catch his breath in the warm June night.

Jo ducked down in her seat as the man’s head jerked up to look in her direction.

She didn’t think he’d actually seen her, but the fact that he’d felt her gaze on him anyway was alarming.

The man glanced around the quiet street once more before turning on his heel and re-entering the bar.

Well, nothing for it now.

Taking a deep breath, Jo opened the car door and jogged across the sidewalk - pausing momentarily to adjust her skirt and smooth her hair before entering the building.

The first thing that she noted was how loud the room was.

It seemed filled to the brim with tables and a long line of tall stools in front of a dark wood bar - each occupied by a man - Jo even recognized a few of her father’s coworkers from City Hall amongst them; but the majority looked like workers from the logging camps that peppered the woods outside of town.

She paused just inside the door to watch the flurry of movement as a pair of women walked quickly from table to table taking orders on small notepads before yelling over to the pair of bartenders behind the wood divider, who yelled back in confirmation before spinning around to take orders from the men seated on the stools.

It looked chaotic, and Jo wasn’t sure she’d even be noticed as she took a seat near the end of the bar.

“Nah, nah, nah, nah! Hey! Girly! You look like you’re twelve years old, get outta here!”

The other bartender was glaring as he walked over, planting himself in front of Jo as she subconsciously straightened her spine, sitting up taller.

“We don’t serve minors - git!”

Jo tried to keep her face neutral as the bartender lambasted her; but she was pretty sure she could feel her placid look slipping by the second.

“I’m not here for a drink, I’m here for a job!” she shouted over the din.

The man rolled his eyes.

“Oh for - Ben! BEN! Some middle-schooler wants to work here!”

“I’m NOT - “

“What’s going on, Davy?”

Davy and Jo paused as Ben walked over, moving behind the other man to quickly ring up a tab at the register - barely glancing at Jo before he moved next to Davy, handing a customer his change.

“Blondie here wants the waitress job.”

“Aren’t you Ed Maren’s girl? Jane?”

“Jo…”

“Ah, yeah, Jo…”

Davy scoffed, bringing Ben and Jo’s attention back to him as Ben started pulling bottles and glasses onto the under-bar workstation, mixing drinks as he listened.

“You ever wait tables before?”

“No, but…”

“Ever even been in a place like this?”

“I - “

“Yeah, Ben; I don’t think Shirley Temple here is the kind of help we need.”

“DAVY! Where’s my cocktails for table three?”

The shorter bartender swung around, stomping back over to the other side of the bar to deal with an angry, frazzled-looking woman in a black dress.

Jo sighed, pursing her lips as she glanced back at Ben - surprised to see his eyes on her as he speedily poured half a dozen cocktails from a glass mixer.

“Yeah, maybe I don’t have any experience - and maybe I’ve never been in a bar before; but I can learn and… I want this job.”

Ben said nothing.

Jo crossed her arms over her chest, meeting his stare head-on.

“I’m not gonna leave until you at least give me a chance.”

“BEN! I need those drinks!”

The blonde held the tall man’s gaze as the noises of the bar continued to rage around them.

Jo cocked a single brow at the bartender.

The tall brunette’s expression slipped into a small grin.

“Alright, Jo. Let’s give this a shot - MARY!” he shouted across the room to a red-headed woman carrying a tray.

The other woman approached, looking exhausted as she threw Ben a questioning glance.

“Mary, this is Jo - Jo, Mary. Follow her around and help out where you can - we’ll talk more after closing.”

Jo’s face lit up in a wide smile as she was handed an apron.

“You won’t regret it, Mr. Sullivan!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The remainder of the night was a blur of lights and noises as Jo had followed Mary around the bar, trying to listen to her shouted instructions as they moved from table to table.

By the time the evening was over and the door locked behind the last patron, Jo was ready to collapse.

She plopped down at one of the tables with a groan, gingerly lifting one of her legs up to massage her ankle.

The heels she’d come in with weren’t tall at all; but her feet still ached like she’d been stepping on glass by the end of the third hour. There were definitely blisters under her socks.

Someone had spilled a beer over her dress about half-way through the night. She felt sticky.

But even so, Jo had a euphoric sense of accomplishment, and couldn’t help but grin widely as Ben sat down in a chair next to her.

The tall bartender chuckled at her expression, faint smile lines around his green eyes crinkling as he leaned back in his seat, stretching his long legs out beneath the table.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Looked like you were gettin’ the hang of things pretty well by the end of the night - even yelled at me once if memory serves.”

Jo blushed. Yeah, she may have gotten a little too caught up in the hubbub and energy of the room.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be - you’ll probably be doin’ a lot more of it pretty soon.”

The young blonde perked up at his words.

“Does that mean I got the job?”

Ben’s grin grew into a wide smile at the woman’s enthusiasm.

“You had it about four hours ago, this is just a formality.”

Jo laughed and clasped her hands in front of her, smiling like a fool and not caring one bit.

“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan! You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Ben’s expression shifted into a vaguely distasteful look at her words.

“You’re welcome; but do me a favor and cut the ‘Mr. Sullivan’ nonsense.”

The pair eyed each other silently for a moment as Jo mulled his statement over.

“Sorry, Ben. And really. Thanks.”

Dropping the limp body like a bag of trash, Peter straightened his coat and turned on his heel; making his way slowly back up the dock to his waiting car.

Seattle in the cold light of the moon was a beautiful sight; the buildings of the growing city rising higher the further downtown Peter drove. Pulling up to the curb, the tall man in the sharp suit tossed the valet his keys; barely sparing the kid a glance let alone a friendly nod.

‘Martina’s’ was what most would consider a hole in the wall, but anybody who knew anything about organized crime on the West Coast knew that the restaurants’ unassuming façade hid a veritable hive of illegal and illicit activity.

Some people liked to say if you couldn’t make it in New York or LA, Seattle was the poor-man’s stomping ground.

Peter’s boss disagreed and had managed to carve out an extremely lucrative niche for himself in the state’s natural resources and businesses.

Shipping from the port, copper and other precious metals from the mines, and timber from the vast North Western forests.

Quaint industries, but no one complained about the number of zeroes on their paychecks.

Peter walked down the flight of stairs that led to the main dining room. It was dimly lit and despite the boss’s break from the families in New York, it still maintained that Old World feel - which just ended up looking and feeling dusty, in Peter’s opinion.

The dark-haired man nodded to one of his fellows, a man named Bernie, who casually made his way over to Peter as he took a seat at the bar - ordering a glass of red wine and some pasta.

“How’s the pier tonight, Pete?” Bernie asked, joining him at the bar and motioning to the waitress that she should bring two glasses for the wine.

“Don’t call me that - and the pier was fine. Job’s done.” Peter said nonchalantly as he pulled apart his utensils and napkin; sticking the cloth into his collar to protect his suit.

“Good, good, Peter. Boss has some more work for ya, if you’re interested.”

Peter looked at the other man incredulously.

“Can’t I even get a fuckin’ meal before we talk more business?”

Bernie looked non-plussed at Peter’s complaint, shaking his head in refusal.

“This one’s time-sensitive. You remember that logging camp we lost about seven years ago upstate?”

Peter shrugged, nodding to the waitress as she deposited a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses in front of him.

“You know, the one where all those sons of bitches got killed like someone forgot they was supposed to be cuttin’ trees instead a’ people?”

The wine was decent; but Peter could tell they’d changed house labels.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, I recall. Big to-do. No one could figure out what the fuck happened.”

Bernie leaned in close, like he was about to impart some vital information to the taller man.

“Well, turns out, some little bum-fuck town up there is havin’ a problem with some psycho choppin’ loggers up with an axe.”

Peter turned in his seat to face Bernie, a glint of interest in his eye.

“You don’t say.”

The man nodded, grinning.

“I do say - and now the law up there is asking for help from the governor.”

“I’m guessin’ the boss would rather we got there first?”

Chuckling, Bernie nodded once more.

“Help ‘em out. Solve their little chop-chop issue; and if it happens to be the same guy? Well, the boss would like a word.”

A steaming plate was set in front of Peter, and the man leaned in to smell it appreciatively before sighing.

“Fine, when do I leave?”

Bernie leaned back against his chair.