logan-porter

[logan-porter]

"Har dee har har," Logan replied. He pulled at the other end of the garbage bag, pleasantly surprised that nothing smelled or leaked out. He felt Chuck's eyes on him even inside the dark of the hole. At her question, he looked up with a slight laugh.

"I'm a loan collector in a small town filled with ranchers and farmers. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that," he answered back in riddles. "The Cowboy Mafia and my family go way back. I intend on outlasting them out of spite at this point. How'd you get roped into working for suits?"

~~*~~

"No I specifically went out of my way to buy an obnoxious colored garbage bag that could be traced back to me," she rolled her eyes as she crouched down to brush some of the dirt away and find the edge of the plastic that was starting to age and become brittle. "Yes, a black garbage bag."

Chuck used the shovel at the edge of the plastic to start lifting what was left in the bag. This whole process that had landed this body in this whole specifically had been planned out in detail but then hastily executed. Even she was disappointed with how it had gone, for multiple reasons. Still, at least she wasn't alone. She had been sent on one of these trying errands so many times she was starting to forget there were other people involved. "How'd you get roped into this anyway? I normally get stuck doing the dirty work on my own."

[logan-porter]

"No reason to say 'hi' to me -- we're not friends even if you apparently were with both of my shit-stain uncles," Logan said. He reached for one of the little candles on the bar's countertop, holding it towards TJ. "There's your lighter."

He stopped carrying Zippos years ago. Technically, he once watched his father get in a fight with one of them, Lester or Johnny, and they torched the old bastard's hand after tossing their drink on him with none other than a Zippo. It was a core memory for Logan.

The bartender placed two peers on the countertop for Logan, shooting him a nasty glare. Logan blew them a kiss in response and laid two crumbled bills out. He glanced over at the group of girls and then back to TJ. "No, not really. You have more chances to shoot your shot -- enjoy. Unless you're lying and you're not just here to say, 'hi.'"

For all the challenges of being behind bars, for everything it had robbed them of in life, TJ at least had a couple of friends they'd made there. It was too bad Lester couldn't keep his nose clean. His parole meant he couldn't hang out with other known felons, but since TJ's conviction had been completely overturned, they weren't on that list. Now the dumbass had gone and got himself locked up again.

"Shit. They do say heart attacks are on a concerning rise for younger adults. RIP, bro." TJ didn't know Logan too well. He was mostly a friend of friends, or to be more accurate, an associate of associates. "Well, I wasn't following you. I was saying hi, and also, I wanted to know if you have a lighter I can borrow. Mine must have fallen out of my pocket or something."

TJ glanced over to the bachelorette party again, meeting eyes with one of them with a smile. "Oh, come on, those rugged handsome looks and you don't want to say hi to some pretty girls? They're definitely looking over here."

[logan-porter]

Logan wrinkled his nose at the use of his last name. He vaguely remembered Rhett Hawkins like he vaguely remembered most of the kids from high school. Perks of being a small town boy, he supposed. Well, a perk for him, he wasn't exactly sure if Rhett felt the same. Even in a nice monkey suit, he still had to rub shoulders with the likes of him; no one ever really escaped their roots did they?

"The western front is particularly Clint Eastwood-esque," Logan replied. He was never one to waste time or words. Time was money as the saying went. "It's as cliche as ever."

He reached for his own glass of scotch. The warm amber made him feel content for a moment. Slowly, his gaze drifted back to Rhett. A floating tray drifted by like they weren't even there. Anonymity tended to blanket him. "I'm sure Obsidian is happy with that article; lets the good people of Paxton know the truth; not that they want it if you ask me."

starter for @logan-porter

at la hacienda's private cigar lounge

Rhett wasn't so far removed from Paxton that he didn't remember the Porter family. If memory served him correctly, there was whole heap of them and they infested the trailer park that the community clung to much like their old traditions. It was all terribly storybook, but that was only as long as you liked old westerns — which Rhett found to be terribly boring. While the Cowboy Mafia certainly made this whole thing interesting, Rhett was slowly losing his patience. Not in the same sense as them, though. He wasn't the type to raise a fist. No, he was the type to slowly suck the lifeblood from someone and watch them suffer.

Which was how he ended up sat across from Logan. Some times the most interesting battles involved somewhat interesting ways to complete mission. Logan was... somewhat interesting. Not in his person, but in his motives. "Porter," Rhett said with a somewhat muted smile. The backroom of the La Hacienda was filled only with friendly company. It involved a private invitation and appointment. "How's the western front?" He asked, and moved to take a sip from his scotch.

[logan-porter]

"Didn't even know they made degrees in that," Logan quipped. He chewed on pieces of ice from his glass. Watered down drinks but decent ice, he thought. Rather than say all of that -- interrupting Corey to talk about ice was stupid -- he listened. It was apparent that Andie's name struck a nerve. Logan crunched on another nugget of ice.

"Yeah, something like that," Logan answered after a moment. He turned on his stool to face Corey more directly. If there was one thing he appreciated about Corey Jensen in that moment was that they didn't waste time, their questions were direct. So, Logan's answers were direct. "We were friendly enough for her to get a loan for about 20k or so from me; a loan she hasn't paid back, so she skipped town again?"

Logan heaved a sigh at that. He was getting tired of everyone thinking loans were gifts. He was also tired of Andie Sorenson's bullshit -- sick kid sister or not. "That's why she's an ex?"

"Take it up with the manager," Corey snickered. "I get the bottled beers. Ain't no water in those." Corey thought it was illegal to water down the drinks, but they didn't put it past the place to break the law. Prices, they couldn't really do anything about, and it wasn't like they got paid outta the profits. "Well, nobody sounds good playing a recorder," Corey chuckled. Wind instruments were never their thing. "My mom always wanted me to play the piano. She thought it was classier. I can still play it, but nothin' feels like guitar." They scoffed. "Even studied classical guitar at college. Going to college for music is a scam too. But I was eighteen and stupid." Some might argue they still were.

At the mention of Andie's name, Corey stiffened. Their relationship hadn't necessarily been a secret, even if Andie had been on the paranoid side. Still, it wasn't very often people came up to Corey to ask about her. Actually, this was the first time. Something about it didn't feel right. "You a friend of hers or something?" Corey asked, sipping their beer. "She's my ex-girlfriend. If you wanna interpret the songs that way, I'm not gonna say you're wrong." Corey had added a lot to their catalogue over the weeks since Andie had left. Emotions were on the heavy side. It helped them to get it out. "Why you asking?"

[logan-porter]

Logan hesitated for a moment. He technically needed to go to the construction site tonight. Yet, it would be nice if someone came around asking to have an alibi of sorts in someone else. It was the way Mati offered that ultimately made Logan nod. "Sure, I kind of want to see my cousin's face when they realize I do in fact have people that enjoy my company."

He said this with a grin. The site wasn't going anywhere, but his alibi was. "I know there's all that shit going on with the renovation, but you'd think they'd spare a couple of dollars to fix the cameras. How many people come by every day bitching at all of you for that one?"

"That it has," Mat replied with a small grin, leaning against the door frame. He nodded at the explanation of the other's visit then looked towards the screen they pointed to, "Yeah, it is. I doubt it's getting fixed any time soon." It usually took a little bit for things to get fixed at times, sometimes that was on purpose.

"You wouldn't happen to want some company on your walk to your cousin's apartment, would you?" It was around the time he usually did his rounds anyway, might as well have some company for a little bit of it. "You caught me during my turn to do rounds, so..."

He chuckled, "But look, I swear there's no hard feelings if you decide you'd rather not have my company. " And really, he would probably just pop one headphone in and listen to a podcast on low volume as he patrolled the area.

[logan-porter]

"Something like that," Logan said after a moment. He didn't offer more details about Lester than that. He learned a long time ago that shutting up was an art. In a different life, he'd probably have been a great lawyer for being one of the biggest supporters of the right to silence.

He hopped down from the truck bed, stalking towards the bar's doors for another beer. As TJ asked about Johnny, he glanced over, brows arching. For someone who was so reformed, TJ seemed to rub elbows with the "riff-raff" of Paxton. "Nothing except a heart attack -- sometimes, people just drop dead," Logan pointed out not too gently.

Him and Johnny weren't exactly buddies. He actually hated his guts and hadn't felt one way or the other about Johnny's death, so much so that his ashes were in an empty Folgers can on top the fridge. Logan raised his hand for a beer, glancing over at TJ and back to the group of women. "You can be a gentleman if you want -- I'm not interested in entertaining anyone, which leads to this: why are you following me?"

"Lester?" Toby shook their head. "Fuck. That dumbass. What'd he do? Cross state lines without permission to go to hook up with that girl from Texas again? I told him that if she cared that much, she'd come visit." Lester and Toby had been behind bars together, years ago, before Toby's release. It'd taken Lester a little longer to get released on so-called good behavior, but apparently, the guy couldn't stay 'good' for very long.

"Wait, Johnny is dead? The fuck happened in Phoenix?" Life happened fast, and apparently, it ended fast too. Damn. TJ was going to have to do a better job staying in touch with people if they were gonna vanish this often. "D'you think any of those girls are single?" TJ pondered, looking over to the party, lighting their own cigarette. "We could be a couple of gentleman and try to teach them to play. Before one of them puts the cue through the felt."

[logan-porter]

"First show over here -- drinks are watered down and pricey," Logan quipped. Most of the places Obsidian opened were pricey, which Logan assumed was meant to chase the undesirables -- like him -- far away. Problem was, Logan only ran when he wanted to and for now he liked his rotten roots.

A genuine smile crossed his face at Corey's question. "No. Y'know that plastic recorder they tried to get all of us to play in school before they'd let us into band? Failed it. Couldn't even play twinkle twinkle little star on it."

He also broke the damn thing and let his dad's dogs that year play fetch with the pieces. Logan had a feeling if he ever got under the trailer he'd find bits of the plastic buried in the dirt. Sometimes, Logan missed those dogs. They felt more like his than Tom and Jerry who were the leftovers after his dad's death.

"I'll take your word for it, though, not having a choice in the matter. Some of those songs, though -- they wouldn't have to do with Andie Sorenson would they?"

"Thanks. First show?" It was a small town. Corey had seen the guy around before, maybe, but he didn't especially stand out. Corey didn't tend to get overly involved in the true crime novel-esque drama in Paxton. Their life had been largely separate from it, not having any real ties with the Cowboy Mafia. Prior to the news articles over the last few days, Corey wouldn't have even considered them to be real. Corey simply lived their life, fed their cat, played their music, made wooden bird houses to sell at the market, so if this guy was involved in anything, Corey would be none the wiser.

"Pays better tending bar," Corey scoffed, gesturing to the girl behind to get her attention, ordering a beer. "Least they get tips." Especially the hot ones. Drunk guys who thought they could buy their way into someone's pants. Corey took on a bar tending shift from time to time when the overtime pay was good enough, but God, they hated it.

"You a musician?" Corey asked. "I wouldn't recommend it. But I guess if you're an artist, you don't usually get a choice in the matter. Art either explodes outta you or it doesn't." They'd added a few annoyingly painful love songs and break-up songs to their catalogue recently. "So, no, the answer is it doesn't pay well. Not at all. But it keeps me playing music and writing music, so suppose there're worse things."

[logan-porter]

Starter for @matidelacruz

When: Pre-Plot Drop

Where: Oceanview Apartments

The thing about being a subcontractor for Obsidian Holdings, well really, Hector Santiago, was that he didn't really know what he was being tasked to do until he was in the middle of it. Logan could deduce this was a setup of sorts, though. Of who? That Logan didn't know or care to answer. He made sure to walk through the central area of the apartment building, then, if anyone asked he was on footage passing the front desk to see a friend. He did have a handful of those.

Logan just ensured the camera's blinking red eye saw him when the security guard came out. He waved. Hector technically paid them a pretty penny, too. Just maybe not as directly. "Been a minute," Logan said with a lopsided grin. "Just stopping by to visit a cousin."

A partial lie and a partial truth. He nodded towards one of the screens. All black and missing footage. "That one still broken?"

[logan-porter]

Starter for @coreyjensen

When: Post Plot Drop 4

Where: The Glass Cactus

The thing about loans was that they weren’t gifts bound by compassion towards someone. Logan didn’t know these people anymore than they knew him. They didn’t trust him, even though they apparently did enough to “sell their souls” to him. He personally thought that was all a bit mellow dramatic. Souls didn’t pay his bills; returns on his loans did. Plenty of problems could be prevented if people remembered that.

Andie Sorensen had been one of those borrowers that looked at Logan like he was the devil, but still came around with her hand out. Now, she disappeared but her bills didn’t. He decided against going to her family — Andie did tell him the sob story about her sister and he wasn’t angry enough to turn over that stone quite yet — but to pay a visit to her ex: Corey Jensen.

“Nice set,” Logan complimented when Corey went up to the bar. He swiveled on his stool to face Corey more fully. “How’s the gig here? A while ago, I heard this place paid like shit.”

[logan-porter]

Starter for @toby-jarvis

When: Post Plot Drop 4

Where: Outside the Lost Horse Saloon

Logan flicked his cigarette butt onto the dirt. He was in a bit of a sour mood tonight and hadn’t felt like sitting around listening to a bachelorette party try to play pool. Instead, he sat in his truck bed and enjoyed his beer. He was getting ready to jump out to get another one when he noticed someone drawing closer.

“If you’re looking for Lester he violated his probation,” Logan said with a nonchalant shrug. Lester was one of his uncles and always had a parade of people drifting by. Usually, it was for kava or some other fake medicinal bullshit — the Cowboys didn’t really care about substances unless they were drugs. “If you’re looking for Johnny, he dropped dead in Phoenix five months ago.”

[logan-porter]

Starter for @nishroy

When: Post Plot Drop 4

Where: Winnebago Heights

Logan’s dogs, well his father’s old dogs, lunged on their chains. The two dogs, Tom and Jerry, were in decent shape. They had new kennels with shade and got brought in with the AC when he left for the day and at night. They just liked acting like junkyard dogs climbing on the skeletons or old cars and trucks and barking at every soul that got within a certain radius of the trailer.

Logan came out from under the car port. He sprayed the dogs with some mist from the hose as the dust clouds they kicked up relaxed. At the sight of Nish, former neighbor of sorts, he arched a brow. “If the animal welfare folks tried tattling on me — they’re fine. They don’t even bite like Carl’s pack down the street,” Logan said.

Tom and Jerry whined in agreement, chains jingling as they wrestled. Logan crossed his arms, eyeing Nish carefully. “What thing have you come to accuse me of today?”

[logan-porter]

“I disagree. I’m about to start sending over invoices for all this extra shit,” like moving a body in the middle of the night. As Chuck kept trying to get him to look on the brightside, he looked over, eyes blank. It was hard to look on the brightside when n the dark of night.

���Coyotes and the ghosts might be more helpful,” he quipped. He came to the edge, still glancing up at the horizon every couple of minutes for headlights, and shook his head. Somewhere just underneath the surface they’d find the garbage bag.

He hopped down after a moment, using his hands to sift through the top layer. He didn’t even know whose body they were unearthing. They just got told what landmark to look for and what to expect. “A black garbage bag, yeah?”

~~*~~

"I think he pays you just fine." And for discretion more than anything else which they were both aware of. You needed to command fierce loyalty, which Hector attempted to do but mostly failed, or have deep pockets, which Hector did. Chuck stood to grab the shovel and sauntered over to the edge of the large hole, dropping herself in with a soft thud. It wasn't the first grave that she had dug and she knew it wasn't going to be the last. Even if she was starting to question the need. At least this one she wasn't digging alone. "Besides, it could be worse. You could be out here with nothing but the coyotes and ghosts to keep you company. At least you have me to entertain you."

She missed this. The dust and manual labor were refreshing to her soul even if the errand was nefarious. There was something so familiar and comforting about it. Before she knew it, she had cleared out much more of the dirt and widened the hole enough that a body could lay in it easily. "This wasn't nearly as hard as you were making it look."

[logan-porter]

Starter for @chuckcharlesley

When: A Night in March

Where: Undisclosed Location

Every couple of minutes the shovel rang out as it hit rock. Logan was covered in red dust. He knew for days that his sinuses would be dry and his throat would scratch. The sinew in his back protested as he continued to dig through feet of desert dirt. Logan muttered a curse under his breath, chest deep in the hole, an animal skeleton shattered under the blade's edge. "Y'know if I wanted to be a grave digger, I'd have just went to the hillbilly mountains of West Virginia to go work for my loser uncle," Logan grunted.

He fingers itched for a cigarette, but he wasn't about to get put behind bars for good because of a damn cigarette butt. He wasn't about to get put behind bars period. Definitely not for Obsidian Holdings.

"Hello?" Logan tossed the shovel out and climbed out. Chuck could dig the rest of the way -- the earth was probably more malleable by now. "Your turn. Santiago doesn't pay me enough to play graveyard keeper all night."

[logan-porter]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

Name: Logan Porter

Age: 40

Occupation: Loan Agent

Affiliation: Obsidian Holdings Employee

Gender & Pronouns: Man (he/him)

Faceclaim: Boyd Holbrook

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

Logan was one of those kids that came from trash and never expected to be much more. His family's reputation clung to him like rot and ate away whatever potential he had from the inside out. So, could anyone blame him for not striving for more?

Truancy officers were a common theme throughout his childhood and adolescence. Logan's mother disappeared (he doesn't know if she's dead or if she just ran off) when he was still in diapers. It was always just him and his dad and whatever extended family was laying around the trailer.

Logan knew early-on that his father wasn't the salt of the Earth kind of man. His father was a shark -- blind to good and bad (it's all relative anyways) and focused on whatever would keep food on the table. 

Money came with certain ties, but somehow, some way, they always had enough of it to loan out to everyone else (with interest of course). While everyone around his father fell victim to their vices, his father pursued survival. Sometimes, to stay on top, you have to stab a few backs so there's something to stand on.

So, was it a surprise that Logan followed in his footsteps? Of course not. 

It started small. He would issue reminders to those who were late on their payments. Most of the time, his reminders weren't physically violent -- at least not directly. His messages were heard, though.

It wasn't that Logan thought his dad was invincible. No one burned that many bridges and didn't wind up falling to their death. He just didn't expect his father's death to be at the hands of some kid: a fingers for the Cowboy Mafia. 

It was only by dumb chance that Logan wasn't there when the explosion happened. He went to the grocery store for some ice and returned home to a blaze that rivaled the pits of Hell.

Unlike some of his peers, Logan knew the Cowboy Mafia was more than campfire stories and Wyatt Earp. Similar to the police, the Cowboy Mafia fashioned themselves heroes, but Logan saw his father in enough fights with them to know they were all one and the same: outlaws. 

The only difference between Logan's family and the Cowboy Mafia was their public image. At the end of the day, they were all criminals. 

So, as the years have passed, and Logan's circle has grown smaller and smaller (less people to keep tabs on), he's developed a vendetta of sorts. 

Why does the Cowboy Mafia get to control the drug trade in Paxton, why do they get to be judge and jury, why are they the heroes? Logan will stop at nothing to burn the veil that protects the Cowboy Mafia and those affiliated with them from winding up behind bars. 

After all, if they're going to be criminals, just like him and just like his father, why do they get to avoid the consequences?

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐂

To say Logan's over the hypocrisy of Paxton and their people is an understatement. You can put lipstick on a pig, but a it's still a pig. You can put a cowboy hat on a criminal, but they still belong behind bars. It's only been over the past year or so that Logan's made deals with Obsidian Holdings. They give him a cloak of protection and Logan does some business deals for them. He "trusts" Obsidian more than the false promises of the Cowboy Mafia and the people like them. Everyone wants to avoid the consequences of their actions; Logan's not going to let that happen. He doesn't want justice. He wants revenge. They've earned it.

[logan-porter]

Boyd Holbrook as Clement Mansell JUSTIFIED: CITY PRIMEVAL (1x03)