As the men stepped outside, Logan slipped on his mirrored aviator sunglasses now that the rain had stopped and the sun was trying to peek through. The aviators were standard issue throughout law enforcement, hiding the officer's eyes to his advantage, and Logan's sky blue orbs disappeared behind the frames. His undercover vehicle was standard issue as well, although the word undercover was a bit of a misnomer. The piece of shit black Ford Crown Victoria with missing hubcaps, government plates and a computer terminal attached to the dash screamed "COP CAR" to anyone who bothered to glance at it.<br/><br/>A half second before he unlocked the department issued vehicle, Logan remembered its slightly disheveled state. Oh well, it wasn't like these guys hadn't seen a bit of a mess before. He opened the passenger side front door, and an empty Red Bull can came rolling out to clatter onto the asphalt, along with an crumpled Wendy's bag and a discarded box of Nicorette. Staring at the clutter that hadn't fallen out yet, Logan had to admit it was a bit more than disheveled, the result of a week-long stakeout that ended two days ago. He had simply grown used to the mess and hadn't bothered cleaning it out yet. Shrugging, he turned to his two companions. "Why don't you two get all cozy in the back." As soon as he said it, visions of what he would really like to do to the other two men in the backseat of the car flitted across his consciousness. Grinning to himself, he unlocked the rear passenger door, then rounded the Ford to climb into the driver's seat.<br/><br/>Unfortunately for the Doc and the ADA, the back seat wasn't exactly pristine, as the floorboard was littered with more empty Red Bull cans, discarded tissues, one page of Logan's bank statement showing a negative balance, a copy of Men's Health magazine that Logan surreptitiously lifted from his dentist's office because it had Tom Brady on the cover, and a month old flyer from the Cuff Complex, a gay bar and dance club in the Capitol Hill area of Seattle. He started the engine and the Crown Vic rumbled to life as he threw the car into gear and weaved through the parking lot before pulling out into the city streets. They were headed for the Queen Anne neighborhood, a snobby, old money area where all the mansions were probably mortgaged to the teeth by their inbred, weak-chinned owners. Logan hated going to Queen Anne, although he figured lawyer-boy would fit right in. He glanced in the rear view mirror at his two passengers. Christ, Simons was practically drooling over the expensive real estate. The Doc was...well, he hadn't quite figured the Doc out yet, although the little strip tease the man performed back at the stiff shop was awfully tasty.<br/><br/>Simons obviously wanted to make chit-chat and Logan frowned; the only work he wanted to see the other man doing with his mouth would be happening a lot further south. On the other hand, it couldn't hurt to try and make nice for once. "Been on the job eight years, right out of college. I've been doing undercover assignments for the last eighteen months, mostly out in Rainier Valley. Just transferred back up here."