[size="2"][/size]Logan never felt the hard edge of the baseball bat that glanced off his thick skull, or the ground that rushed up to kiss him hard.

He opened his eyes. The darkness was absolute. He was lying on a hard but padded surface on his side, his wrists shackled behind him (with his own cuffs, he figured), and his ankles bound with plastic wire ties. Quick on the heels of his return to consciousness came a hundred twinges and prickles of pain. Good. Pain was good. Pain meant life. Okay.

With ears strained to hear the slightest sound, Logan barely moved as he tested each limb in turn. Pins and needles aside, not bad. With his movement came a shifting of springs and the godawful reek of old human sweat from the mattress that covered the floor of the van that was his prison. When he tried to turn his head a starburst of agony shot through his skull. Bad idea.

In a minute or so the pain subsided. He shut his eyes and reached out listening. He felt as much as heard that omnipresent, almost subsonic hum that was the city’s soundtrack, which meant he was still within the five boroughs. He could hear the diminishing drone of highway traffic – faint and far away. Logan sensed he hadn’t been out for that long. He took a deep breath, held it, expelled it, and felt marginally less helpless now that he had some information, however minute.

He was alone here. The air in the van felt dead, empty. That was also a relief, but he had a feeling the evening’s festivities were just beginning. If they – whoever they were – had wanted him dead, he’d be dead. He figured he really didn’t want to stick around for the floor show, especially one starring yours truly. Time to go, Mike-o.

Logan rolled on to his knees. His pounding head paid him off in pain, but if he was going to help himself, it had to be now.

First things first; he had to get his hands and feet loose. There was no help for the cuffs, but if he could find something with even a little edge, he could, given time, saw through the ties at his ankles. Logan figured time was one thing he didn’t have; but it couldn’t have been more than three or four minutes since he’d come to.

He began feeling his way backwards around the van’s side walls, seeking a sharp edge of metal or a stray tool, all the while listening keenly for any sound outside that would indicate the return of his attackers.

Niknik nik.

Logan wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined the soft tap on the van’s back door. He waited, straining to hear it repeated. It came again, slightly louder and accompanied by a stage-whispered -

“Pssst! Are you in there? Can you hear me?”

A flood of adrenalin washed through Logan, dissipating his fatigue in an instant. Probabilities were sorted and discarded almost too quickly for thought. Both gut and brain told him that this was not an enemy.

“I’m here! Can you open the door?”

“It’s locked. There’s a padlock and chain on it! I can’t open it. I already tried.”

Look, I’m a police officer; call 911! “

No cell -- and there’s not a phone for miles. Besides, there’s no time. Those external rectal openings are around front, but they’ll be back.”

“Where are we?”

“Long Island City, near the docks.”

“Look, I’m trussed up like a chicken in here. I’m gonna find something to cut my feet loose with. You look around for something you can use on the door – but quick!”

“Okay – I’ll – I’ll be right back!”

“Wait!”

“What!?”

“If you hear anything, like those guys coming, you get outta here, you hear me? You run and get help!”

Silence.

“Hey, are you hearing me?”

"Yeah – Yes, Okay!”

Logan felt along the van with renewed purpose. His questing fingers brushed against a sharp edge of metal sticking out from a cargo latch on the floor. He lay down, set his bonds against the jagged edge, and sawed furiously for almost a minute. After a vicious yank that left furrows in his skin, Logan was free. He crawled to the back door, turned, and felt along the middle seam, seeking a trace of the thick, rubberized weatherstripping usual for older model vans. When it aged it became brittle or got holes; if he could find a bit sticking out... There!

Logan gripped the trailing bit of rubbery stripping and eased it carefully away until it threatened to tear off. He bent it back, revealing a six inch-long gap where the doors met in the middle. Now if he could only get his hands on a prybar or tire iron. Yeah, right.

“Hey, officer, you there?” came a raspy whisper.

He turned to face the doors. At least he could hear better.

“Yeah, I’m here”. What’s going on out there? Any luck?”

“The guys who dropped you off here are around the front of the building. They’re waiting for someone, I think. Not exactly pros. I mean, I think they’re pretty lit. Hang on, I’ve got -–“

The sudden rise of voices cut the conversation abruptly short. Someone was coming. A brief, muttered expletive was followed by a scraping noise at the side of the van. Logan cursed luridly, angry that he had failed to free his hands, and suddenly afraid for his unknown ally. He lay down on the mattress, close to the doors and drew his knees up, as ready as he’d ever be for whoever came through. He lay still, coiled and alert.

A loud clank was followed by the groan of old metal as the van doors swung open. A head was thrust into the space, the stink of stale beer wafting before it. The bulky figure leaned into the van, angling his flashlight toward Logan’s face.

“Ay! Pig – wake up, puto! Strong hand grasped Logan’s legs.

This was it. Logan didn’t even stop to think about his chances. He pushed up from the mattress like a juggernaut, smashing his feet into the figure and throwing it backward out through the door. They fell in a heap on the ground. Logan head-butted the man beneath him. Suddenly an arm snaked around his neck from behind, choking him and pulling him back. Logan’s odds had just dropped by half. He tried to make himself go limp, hoping the guy would overcompensate and go off balance. In the next moment, though, there was a dull thudding sound, and the pressure around his neck slackened and fell away. The man who’d been choking him lay on the ground, out cold.

Ohh, very good. I wonder who grabbed Logan. I hope he gets free...

Ooh this is good. I agree with Amanda. I am wondering who grabbed Logan.

I love your writing style, you really create atmosphere. The story has me hooked - I wanna know who the guy is who's helping Logan!

Ok, I'm on the edge of my seat. Great chapter. I'll be back for more.

I'm guessing from the dialog that it wasn't the Albanian mob that took Logan.

I like this story and can't wait to find out what happens to Mikey! Oh and thanks for writing a Logan fic!!!!!!

OK I'm on the edge of my seat here. I'm gonna need to bring some tacos and Triple Chocolate Cheesecake in to keep me calm until the next installment. Anyone else want some?

I need the next chapter! please.

::takes tacos and cheesecake from ciaddict::

mmmmm, yum! Thanks, Cousin!

This is great writing. I'm also on the edge of my seat here. I wonder who that is that saved Logan? (Nicole Wallace, maybe? )

Can you pass them down my way, please? I brought some chocolate zucchini cake to share!

What a way to leave a girl hanging.......where's the next chapter? This....is.....great!