CHAPTER ONE
“Sacre blieu! What a dump!” Remy dropped his duffel in the hall outside the apartment, secretly hoping Logan was joking about staying here, and that the sudden movement had scared off some crawling things that’d come out to investigate the new arrivals.
Logan growled a snort. “Ah, looks like somebody got used to the high life at Chuck’s.”
Remy waved off that crack as Logan dug in his jeans pocket for the keys. “Remy don’ tink it’s too much t’ask for a place not already bein’ sublet by three species o’ insect. Thought you said a lawyer friend of yers owns dis place?”
As they stepped inside the small 2 bedroom complex in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen, Logan tossed his duffel on the nearest chair on his way to the fridge. “Hey, the place may not be the Ritz, but a man can still be proud to call somethin’ his own. Besides, he’s not one o’ those stuff-shirt corporate-type lawyers. He does a lot of free shit…among other things.”
Remy shrugged, carefully stepping inside the room and mindful not to come into physical contact with anything. It wasn’t the type of place even a street urchin like LeBeau wished to call a haunt. He had definitely still seen worse in his lifetime, but that didn’t mean he wanted to relive those years. “Only f’you, mon ami…only f’you…” he chuckled, mumbling to no one in particular.
Logan wasn’t paying attention anyway, his wild hair hidden by the open refrigerator. Sounds of a few spare items being moved carelessly in great empty space met Gambit’s ears, then joined by a series of swear words. “Sunuva”y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. That rat-bastard--!”
“Uh, are we damning anyone Gambit knows?” Remy leaned against the fridge door, peeking over it as Logan continued rummaging hopelessly.
“He said he’d refill my stash. Ain’t nothin’ in ‘ere but sports drink, moldy cheese and a box o’ bakin’ soda.” Logan leaned up, a very dissatisfied expression coloring his face.
“Ah, de lawyer.”
Dismissing the disappointing contents of the ancient fridge, Logan retreated from its hollow depths, mumbling, “Man shares his beer with a friend that’s hurtin’, look how he repays ya. Ppfft.”
Remy suddenly perks up, following Logan to the tall window in the small living room area. “Ey, it’s a drink you lookin’ for, ami, Gambit knows where to find one. Close enough, too.”
A wiry dark brow rose from its brooding post above Logan’s eye. “Yeh? Cajun, you treatin’?”
Dark crimson irises sparkling mischievously, Remy suddenly produced a glittering piece of plastic in silver; one of Xavier Institute’s Platinum cards. He took it only because he thought to use it in paying for their lodging, but the way he figured it this could be considered a business expense as well…Besides, he couldn’t dare be caught short of funds with Logan as a drinking buddy (he’d learned that the hard way, of course). “With an open credit-line, even you couldn’t dent.”
Grabbing his worn leather jacket and the keys to Scott’s pilfered cherry-red Viper, Logan was already half-way to the door when he threw over his shoulder, “Wanna make a bet?”
-----
Half the night and several bars later…
Logan, who was just getting started, spun the expensive sports car around the street corner, catching the edge of the curb and nearly a pedestrian or two. He was by no means inebriated but the amount of alcohol warring with his mutated metabolism definitely had him about to piss himself. As the car slowed, Remy gave an adrenaline-charged cheer beside him, then promptly let his head fall between his knees to puke.
“Shit, Cajun! I told ya to aim for the glove compartment, didn’t I? ‘Supposed t’leave ol’ One Eye a nice surprise.” Logan chuckled, then gave his friend a few sympathetic pats on the back before jumping out of the convertible. He stood on the sidewalk several seconds as he looked for the nearest open establishment. Usually a man like Logan could be content to ‘go’ anywhere, but for some reason then he wanted to piss and drink almost simultaneously.
Across the street, there was a line of people at the entrance to a local club, The Xile, and even from that distance Logan could feel the pulsating beat within. Maybe it was the slight buzz he’d managed to obtain from three kegs, but he felt something call to him. As Gambit finally finished retching and seemed to collect himself, wobbling close to Logan’s side, the Wolverine started to cross the street. “This place is new. Don’t ‘member it being here last time I was in town. C’mon, Cajun. Let’s Christen it.”
With a surprising amount of jovialness despite his precarious position, Remy followed, desperately trying to clear his head. “De ‘Egg-sile’, huh? Sound like Remy kind a’ place…”
Definitely as an after-thought, Logan paused, turning to the car to remotely activate the Shiar-inspired security system. After all, he didn’t think he was done fucking up Scott’s favorite ride before he’d feel like having it returned to the mansion.
As other patrons waited patiently to be admitted in by the club’s freakishly-muscled bouncers, Gambit followed the brazen Wolverine straight up to the door, moving people aside”in some cases with more than just the funk of Budweiser rolling off of them.
“Hold it, Dumb and Dumber,” one of the two bouncers held a meaty paw out to stay the two slammed X-men. “End of the line’s round the corner.”
“Then you’d better hurry on back there, dumbass.” Wolverine didn’t even slow down as he dragged Remy by the collar behind him. The Cajun”apparently unaware of the potential danger”laughed the ugly laugh of a seriously-intoxicated individual.
“Yeah, ‘Tiny’. Hey, you got eh’twin, monmi! Wolvie, de be 2 of ‘em!”
“You talkin’ ta me, you fuckin’ French reject?” The other bouncer stepped forward then, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.
“Hold it, you two.”
Logan paused long enough to give this new younger man a once over. He was standing in the shadows behind the bouncers, and his command had stopped them cold. As he came forward with a small (but noticeable) limp, he regarded Logan and Remy as if they were the worst level of Euro-trash. “’S’alright, kid, trust me we don’t need no saves.”
This seemed to amuse the man, as he looked at them for a moment. Logan could’ve sworn the man recognized them. “I’m sure. However, if you’re not too drunk to see, this establishment is for mutants only. Inebriated Flat-Liners with attitude need not apply.”
Something about the way the man said that raised Logan’s ‘bullshit’ meter, but he only smirked as this prompted the bouncers to advance. With barely a thought he raised his fist, the middle claw suddenly extending in the bright moonlight. Several of the waiting patrons gasped, and all of them gave the two a wider berth. “Is that mutated enough for ya, Junior?”
The man’s eyes narrowed briefly, though his thin tanned lips stretched into a perfect smile. He nodded once, the bouncers stepped back grudgingly, and Logan advanced the steps. They moved to intercept Gambit, however.
Rolling his eyes, Logan sneered, “The kid’s with me. He blows shit up, ‘kay? Jesus…all this for a piss and a pint??”
With the second approval, the X-men disappeared into the club’s smoky interior. The first bouncer grimaced, turning to the ‘maitre d’. “You want me to keep an eye on them, Mr. Forge?”
The man with the limp only shook his head, still smiling. “Don’t bother, Lucas. I’ll take care of it. Next!”
Inside Club Xile…
Several minutes, two loosened bladders and emptied stomach later, Logan and Remy emerged from the men’s room newly refreshed and thirsty. Their need for drinks was temporarily halted, however, as the two noticed the club for the first time. Or, more to the point, the people inside.
On the wide dance floor stationed ground level of the multi-tiered room, the mass of moving bodies ebbed and flowed like a wave. As new patrons entered from outside, each one seemed to go through a transformation of sorts, displaying their X-genome given powers as a sort of badge. Even those apparently unfamiliar with one another seemed to acknowledge this and give an approval, if in nothing more than the nod of a
head.
Young men and women who were obviously not simple homo-sapiens twisted and turned, cheering the D.J. above them on a raised dais who orchestrated the unusual tempest of mutant bodies like Apollo on the storm of the seas. All over the dance floor, people were openly displaying mutant powers”a pyro-tech over on the left; a young girl on the right dancing and remerging with 3 ‘clones’ of herself; the speed-freak who zipped across the floor taking orders for drinks, apparently an employee.
Remy and Logan exchanged glances, then slowly turned back to look again. “Logan…where de’ fuck are we??”
“Cajun, ya got me.”
Just then, the speedster zipped past them, then came back, a wide smile on his young face. The boy couldn’t have been older than 21. “Firsttime, huh?Youguys’lllovethisplaceCanIgetchaadrinkcigarcigarettes?”
Remy just blinked at the boy, his beer-drowned brain still uncomprehending. Logan watched the antsy kid with near amusement, and said, “Show us where the bar’s at, kid.”
“Rightthisway, sir!”
After the kid had found them open space at the wide bar, right above the dance floor, Logan and Remy settled on the bar chairs each with a drink in hand.
“Remy never seen anythin’ like dis before, ami.”
Logan nodded, lip-deep in his domestic, as one of the bartenders came up behind them. A young woman around college-age, she gave Wolverine an appreciative glance. “Got meself two newbies, eh see. Ye fellahs will never find a place quite like The X-ile. Ev’ry mutant in th’ five Burroughs makes th’ place th’ hottest nightspot on the east coast.”
“How long has this place been ‘round?” Logan’s interest was temporarily piqued.
The bartender continued wiping out the shot-glass she was holding. “Oh, ‘bout te celebrate its three year anniversary, she is. Took a lotta B.S. & T to see her up an’ runnin’, but that’s the sort o’ thing Eh’ve come t’expect from the blokes who run the joint.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed at that. “Yeah? And just what type o’ people open a mutants-only night club in the middle o’ NYC? They ain’t afraid of being messed with?”
Before the bartender could answer, the song being played ended, and the DJ suddenly came over the mic: “Ladies and gentlemen, Club Xile thanks you and welcomes all our new patrons! Here at Xile, you don’t have to be anyone but exactly who you are. So let it all hang out, New York!” The crowd cheered. “And lose all control!!!”
The crowd roared suddenly, many heads turning to the entrance. “What’s goin’ on? Some celebrity?”
The bartender nodded at Logan, her dark eyes glittering in the artificial light. “Ye
asked t’bout the type o’ people it took te run this place. Well, there’s one o’em now.”
Logan turned in his seat, leaning over the rail of the platform to see below, where a spotlight was poised at the entrance to the club. The crowd hushed momentarily, expectantly, until the DJ began the new song, at which point the whole place seemed to erupt. As they sang along to the haunting song, She walked in, straight through the swaying masses, enveloped by them, touching them, one of them. Logan watched, unaware he’d come to stand at the railing above her.
“Oh, the night is my worldCity light painted girl
In the day nothing matters
It’s the night time that flatters
In the night, no control
Through the wall something’s breaking
Wearing white as you’re walkin
Down the street of my soul…
You take my self, you take my self control
You got me livin’ only for the night
Before the morning comes, the story’s told
You take my self, you take my self control…”
With short-cut hair white as a Ghost, that seemed to float in waves over one eye but tapered to a v-cut at the nape of her neck, this vision seemed to float among the denizens of Xile like a queen above her loyal subjects. As Logan did a double-take, he realized she was floating. The woman wore an outfit of the finest leather, from the form-fitting bodice and long-sleeved, tailed jacket to the skin-tight pants and stiletto-heeled boots. At first he thought it was all black, but as the spotlight stayed with her, it shone a dark blue that complimented her haunting eyes. Skin the color of milk chocolate rose in the swell of her breasts over the tight, obviously constricting top bodice.
“Logan? Logan??” Remy struggled to stand with the pulsing in his chest and head matching the rhythmic beat of the music. Logan probably couldn’t hear him over the den, or more likely chose to ignore him, as his grey eyes bore into the sight of the woman below them…
She moved purposefully, acknowledging the many patrons of the club who stopped her, to praise her, to worship her.
‘Wait. Blue eyes??’ Logan suddenly shook his head to clear it, abruptly coming to the embarrassing realization the woman had raised her face and was staring directly at him.
I never stop myself to wonder why
You help me to forget to play my role
You take my self, you take my self control
I, I live among the creatures of the night
I haven’t got the will to try and fight
Against a new tomorrow, so I guess I’ll just believe it
That tomorrow never comes
A safe night, I’m living in the forest of my dreamI know the night is not as it would seem
I must believe in something, so I’ll make myself believe it
That this night will never go…”
As the woman made rounds in the dancing patrons, eventually making her way up to the V.I.P. tables in the upper tiers, their eye contact broke. Logan wasn’t at all sure what it was about her that sped his heart rate, but it also raised the hackles at the nape of his neck.
“The chere down there”she runs this place?” Remy immediately regretted the quick act of swinging around toward the bartender as he asked the question, squinting his eyes momentarily from the pain.
The female ‘tender smiled broadly, nodding with the pride of someone pleased with their status of association. “That’s our Boss. She owns the joint. Most of the day-t’-day nonsense is handled by her business partner, though. Ye prob’ly met’tim out front, ye did.”
Logan grimaced at the fresh memory of the snobbish man vainly attempting to hide some malady in his own person. But he couldn’t keep from looking at the woman who owned the place. She seemed to be taking her time getting up to the higher tiers, but definitely on a collision course with them. As he settled back down at the bar counter beside Remy, Logan reacquainted himself with his mug, which the bartender had thoughtfully refreshed. “The lady have a name?”
The bartender absently refilled the drinks of two other patrons, then slid Remy another Vodka-straight as she answered, “Well, you kin’ call ‘er Miss Munroe. Meself an’ the general manager, Mr. Forge, are of the few blokes round here what knows ‘er proper name. Is alright, she’s good te’ the staff. We all love’r round ‘ere.”
More info than Logan asked, he shrugged, dismissing the exotic club owner and her pinched GM as he finished his 3rd beer. He turned to Remy, who was contemplating the distance to the bathroom again. “Well, Cajun, ye ready to hit the road? I’ve had enough of the ‘club scene’ for one lifetime.”
Remy held up one hand, then quickly escaped to the restroom. Logan laughed, a real, robust sound that he hadn’t heard come out of himself in weeks.
“Friend canne’ andle his ale, eh see…” the bartender grinned and scooped up their glasses.
Logan tossed her the Platinum card to pay for the drinks. “Oh, he did pretty well. You didn’t have to drive over here with me on a gut full o’ whiskey.”
The woman chuckled, handing Logan the receipt to sign and the card. As Logan swiveled around on his barstool, he caught sight of a flash of white to his right. As he looked up, the Xile’s owner was coming his way.
She stopped at several tables to laugh and greet her patrons, every few steps her blue gaze flirting back to meet his. Logan wasn’t sure if it was just the liquor thinking for him or not, but the closer she got, the Hotter she looked to him. A career drinker, Logan wasn’t the type to automatically trust the alcohol-aided senses. Even though he had a definite advantage with his quick healing factor, the barrage of alcohol still threatened to give him an altered sense or two.
Her sultry steps seemed to slow as she neared their area of the bar, and she tossed her head in a vain attempt to get her cream-colored locks out of her eyes. Sliding along the counter to a stop just a foot or two from Logan’s chair, she leaned over the bar and smiled a smile that showed no teeth toward Logan’s bartender. “Angela, how are you doing tonight?”
The bartender smiled a toothy grin, immediately handing Miss Munroe a dry martini. “Ev’rythin’s fine, Miss Munroe. I’m doin’ just fine.”
Nodding, the dark blue-clad mistress plucked the olive from the glass, popping it into her mouth before she began to move on. As she passed Logan, he felt her intentional brush against his body, turning slightly to meet his gaze with a small grin. Logan felt the adamantium blades beneath his knuckles begin to itch; something that rarely happened unless he sensed a fight. That look she gave him was hardly threatening; as a matter-of-fact, it did the exact opposite to certain parts of him (still unaffected by the alcohol in his system). As he watched her disappear through a set of guarded doors marked ‘authorized personnel only’, Logan shook his head with a wry grin. He’d leave that one alone, he thought. ‘I ain’t got time for that kind o’ trouble…’
As Remy came tumbling up to him, Logan patted the Cajun on the shoulder. “Alright, Remy, I’ll have pity on ya. Let’s hit the road.”
Behind them, Angela picked up the phone posted on the bar’s wall. “Yes’m. Aye ma’am, their leavin’ right now…”
“Good. Thank you, Angela.”
---
A few moments later, Logan led Remy back across the street where a group of young thugs were appreciatively casing the Viper. Evidently stumped as to why they couldn’t get it to start, a few of them considered just jacking the expensive tires instead.
Logan chuckled his trademark gruff laugh as he activated the remote, several beeps sounding off the car. The hoods jumped, some of them scattering like so many cockroaches.
“Hey, man, didn’t mean no trouble…just checkin’ out your ride is all…” One of the youths, a tall kid in his late teens and obviously a mutant if his greenish-brown skin was any indication, waved in a placating fashion as he backed away from where he’d been admiring the 20 CD disc-changer and the XM-radio.
Logan paused from hopping in, holding Remy back. He suddenly changed his mind about riding back to the apartment. He turned and gave the kid a hard stare. “Oh yeah? How old’re you, kid?”
“Sixteen, bro. What of it?”
Logan suddenly tossed the keys the boy’s way, the youth catching them in surprise. “Close enough, I guess. You want it, you can have it.” With that, Logan started walking off in the direction of the apartment. Remy did a triple-take, then came after him.
“Ye sure you wanna do that, ami? That’s Sc”“
“I know what it is. I also found out who was done in it. C’mon, Gumbo, a walk’ll do ya some good.” Logan smirked, hanging an arm over Gambit’s shoulder as the boy and his friends suddenly erupted in cheers and piled in the car (one of them groaned as he realized he’d stepped in three inches of puke).
Logan turned away as the teens peeled away with the cherry-red sports car, wildly driving down the street. He grinned wider at Gambit’s hesitant expression. “Besides, ol’ One Eye and I got an even trade: One Red Viper for another.”
To Be Continued…
