Page 28 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Logan

Logan watched as Eddie Flynn pulled a roll of cash from his pocket, peeled off a twenty-dollar bill and held it out to the Starbucks cashier.

She said they only take cards.

Flynn was embarrassed. He patted his pockets and turned to his companion, who said he didn’t have a card with him.

‘Please, allow me,’ said Logan.

Logan pulled down the bucket hat on his head, leaned over and tapped his phone on the card-payment machine.

Eleven dollars and seventy-five cents to buy Eddie Flynn and his companion a coffee and a green tea. But Logan knew he would be buying a lot more for his money.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Flynn, offering Logan the twenty-dollar bill.

Flynn was the same height as Logan. Perhaps a little slimmer, not as much muscle development, but he was fit and Logan knew he could be fast. You could see it.

He had that way of moving, every footstep sure, body in perfect balance, shoulders back.

The lawyer exuded confidence like an aura that glowed off his skin.

He wasn’t cocky. This wasn’t false swagger. This was the real thing.

Logan waved away the twenty bucks.

A polite first refusal was customary. It was made in the knowledge that Logan’s act of generosity was genuine. He didn’t wish to diminish this selfless act, because he didn’t wish Flynn to guess at an alternative move.

‘Please, I insist,’ said Flynn.

Various studies have been done on this very human, everyday scenario.

Most of these behavioral studies had been commissioned by major charities – what makes people donate money?

Why do people commit an act of generosity and in what circumstances?

This precise scenario, buying a stranger a cup of coffee when they didn’t have the correct method of payment, had been one such study.

Logan knew from the statistics that only twenty per cent of the sample study would be insistent, at this stage, on reimbursing the person who paid for their coffee.

Logan decided to push the interaction further.

‘It’s fine. Anyway, I don’t have change,’ said Logan.

‘Don’t worry about it. Please, for your kindness,’ said Flynn, with a handsome smile.

A third and final offer.

Only eight per cent of the sample in the behavioral study offered to reimburse the person buying them coffee a third time.

When he followed Flynn and Lake into the coffee shop, Logan had simply wanted to eyeball Flynn.

Man to man. You can observe someone forever.

You can know their routines, listen to their conversations, watch their every move until you understand exactly how they think and interact with the world, but Logan believed that you never truly know what is in someone’s mind and heart until you look them in the eye.

Perhaps this was his psychology training. Perhaps it was some deeper knowledge.

But he needed that look from Flynn. To hold those eyes in his vision for a moment, stare into them and glean their secrets. He took as much from that as the experiment in paying for the coffee.

Logan nodded, took the twenty with a smile.

The entire interaction with Flynn had taken less than ten seconds. In that time, Logan had learned much.

Flynn was in the top eighth percentile of the population when it came to selflessness and generosity. This percentile group were also known for high intelligence, morality and empathy.

This fitted with Flynn’s job – he was a lawyer.

His entire career was dedicated to helping his clients.

Given his talents as a lawyer, Flynn had to be a student of human behavior too.

He would know Logan’s initial refusal to take the money meant his initial act of paying for their drinks was a sincere act of kindness, made selflessly without expectations.

And that, now, taking the money from Flynn was the polite thing to do.

Reciprocal acts of kindness – so that both men could take the dopamine hit from goodwill.

Flynn and Lake took their drinks to a table.

Logan ordered an espresso, paid with his phone again and then took a seat behind Flynn and Lake, a few tables away.

The tables in between them were dirty, with used cups, plates and napkins on them.

No one would sit there and block his view while there were clean tables free behind him and at the window.

He could watch them, unobserved as they kept an eye on the cop’s Ford Taurus.

Only problem was the coffee spill on one of the tables.

And the drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . onto the floor.

Logan gritted his teeth, tried to ignore it.

Sound can evoke powerful memories. For some, it’s a song – usually from childhood. For Logan, that particular sound brought back memories that he would rather stayed buried.

His mind flashed on an image.

Red.

So much red.

He shook his head, tossed a napkin onto that table to stem the dripping and listened hard.

The coffee shop was busy, like everywhere in the city, so listening in was more difficult.

They kept their voices low and their eyes on the street.

Logan was good at listening – part of his job.

The man sitting with Flynn was about five-ten, wearing a creased white shirt, open at the collar, and a black suit, which could have used a press and dry-clean.

His hair was curly and kind of wild, and he had a large shopping bag at his feet.

Logan caught some of their conversation.

Enough to discern their relationship. The man was a private investigator.

They had been looking for security footage to corroborate Elly’s story.

They had found none so far. Logan knew their search would find nothing.

He had been careful. It was clear from their conversation they were also looking for someone.

A witness. The homeless man. They had spoken to two men and gotten a name.

Joseph Novak.

They had tried the VA. They would keep looking.

The homeless man was still eluding Logan’s efforts to find him. He was the only living witness who could corroborate Elly’s story. It was essential that this man disappear, permanently.

Now Logan had a name to go with the face. Joseph Novak had helped a woman in the street, a stranger who was in trouble. Who was sick.

He would pay for that act of kindness with his life.

An NYPD patrol car pulled up outside the Starbucks and it drew the attention of Flynn and his companion.

Just before they had come into the coffee shop, Logan had watched Flynn cover the windshield of a Ford Taurus with flyers, and Lake had removed and discarded the vehicle plates.

Shortly after, a tow truck arrived.

Flynn was a serious player.

Smart. A risky move to pull, but one where the risk could be assessed and minimized.

Logan leaned back in his seat, took a sip of espresso and smiled.

In all these years, he had never felt in any real danger. With this project, Elly had survived. And she had asked a stranger for help – Eddie Flynn.

This man, Flynn, was a clear threat. He would have to be neutralized.

And now, having bought him a cup of coffee, Logan knew Flynn’s weakness.

And exactly how to exploit it.

He opened the browser on his phone, accessed the public-records website and typed in Flynn’s name, paying the search fee on the credit card he’d saved to his phone.

First, he searched birth records. There were not many Flynns in the database, and only one equating to Flynn’s approximate age.

He paid the fee for the birth record, made a mental note of Flynn’s date of birth and then paid for another search.

He had needed Flynn’s date of birth for a criminal records check.

No results.

He typed in Flynn’s name and date of birth into a general public records database, and paid another ninety-five dollars for a search.

Flynn had been married. Christine White. Birth records flagged his name again as the father of Amy Flynn. The last entry was for a divorce. Christine White and Eddie Flynn had gone their separate ways just two years ago.

Logan searched under the name Christine White.

She had remarried a year ago. There was an additional entry, with today’s date.

Restraining order. Christine White is not to be within one hundred yards of Arthur Cross. There was an arrest record for yesterday.

Logan leaned forward. He searched the internet for Arthur Cross.

And he read all that he could on this new, intriguing individual.

Mr. Cross had potential.

Logan left the Starbucks, dipped his head, using his hat to obscure his face as he passed the cop arguing with the tow-truck driver. Logan crossed the street and turned a corner, heading back to the lot where he had parked his rental car.

Cross would have to wait. Tonight, Logan had a date.