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Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue. (Plus nor do I own any of the lyrics belonging to the songs ‘Blue Moon’ or ‘I’m through with love’)


Author’s Note: This is a gritty film noir type detective story involving AU characters from the X-Men. As it is quite a dark piece (being Noir) some of the X-characters I use will do things that their usual comicverse personas would not. But having said that the essence of all the characters will be as true to what makes them individually them as I can be. Hope you can enjoy this as a bit of alternative fun, M’ikosan7,xx.


Devil Inside.


Chapter.1.


‘Smokey Jack’s Jazz Club’, New York City’s Lower East Side, 1939....


The rain had been lashing the streets of New York for days now. It’s relentless drive making the sidewalks and roads of the infamous city shimmer. These were dark days for people the world over and the ‘City that Never Sleeps’ was no exception. Organized crime, political corruption and illegal traffic in all manner of things were rapidly turning the city of so many people’s hopes and dreams into a nightmare. These were dark days indeed...


Jimmy ‘The Wolverine’ Logan: Private Investigator pried apart the thin metal blinds of the back room window with his thumb and his index finger. He looked out onto the dark ally way behind one of the city’s most frequented and notorious clubs. Watching with jaded eyes as the steam from underground vents billowed into the ally, rising up into the streetlamp-fogged, orange night. His dull eyes flicked to the right as he heard somewhere further down the ally, a cat screech as the noisy clatter of falling trashcans echoed off the grimy, wet walls.


Still gazing through the small opening, Logan brought his cigar he held in his right hand to his lips. Drawing on it slowly he removed his fingers from the blinds, letting them fall back together with a ping. The continued to reverberate as he turned his back to the window, bringing his free hand up to his neck tie that was already practically draped about his throat he tugged at the knot a couple of times, loosening it some more. It didn’t exactly do much to enhance his already shabby appearance. He hadn’t shaved for days and his hair that was usually a thick mess was now so bad that it stuck out in two distinctive tufts at either side of his head.


Glancing around the dimly lit office, he happened to catch sight of a clock on the far wall. It was twelve thirty already----his client was running half an hour late. He scowled as he turned his eyes down from the clock and moved further into the tiny space that contained nothing more than a desk, three tall, grey filing cabinets and a green velvet sofa. If there was one thing that Logan P. I. couldn’t abide, it was when people kept him waiting. A strange trait to have when your profession relied on your ability to play the waiting game, above all else.


Logan perched himself on the corner of the large, wooden desk, flipping the edges of his tatty suite jacket up and hitching his trousers at the knee slightly as he sat. He eyed its cluttered contents idly, various folders, documents, tax accounts---that were probably as ‘doctored’ as the day is long. Then he noticed the three day old New York Times folded in half right next to him. Picking it up, he gave it a short, sharp shake to unfold it. Scanning the banner headline a small and exceptionally rare grin tugged at the corners of his mouth around his smouldering cigar that was gripped between his teeth.


‘GANGLAND WAR CONTINUES: THREE MEMBERS OF THE MANCINI FAMILY FOUND SHOT DEAD.’


Logan plucked his cigar from his mouth, securing it between the bottom of his middle and index finger as he glanced through the article. Not that he didn’t know all the details already; in fact he knew a damn sight more about the incident than the tired hacks at the Times---or the NYPD. But being a P.I it helped to keep abreast of such matters, you never knew when such information might come in handy. But his attention was drawn from the paper when he heard voices close at the other side of the office door. He turned his head to it, watching it intently as he absently dropped the paper back onto the desk, climbing down from it as he did so.


“I know Victor, but what can you do, heh?” The door opened quickly and a rather dapper looking gentleman entered the room, but his attention was still on the other man he was having the conversation with. His hand still lay on the door knob as he finished up whatever business he’d had with the other man. He was tall, very tall in fact, at least seven foot Logan estimated casually---probably hired muscle. Most club owners in this town tended to have them these days, after all clubs were becoming an increasingly dangerous business. The large blond man said nothing, he simply shrugged his extraordinarily broad shoulders and walked of back into the swell of the club.


The darker gentleman came into the room then, shutting the door firmly behind him, cutting off the loud flow of conversation and laughter, the clatter of drinking glasses and the gentle lull of the five piece jazz band that were playing. The man made no move from the door for a moment, regarding Logan from the other side of the room. In complete contrast to Logan, his client was smartly turned out in a fawn coloured, expertly tailored suit and a neat pair of shinning, brown leather loafers. He hand long, jet black hair that was slicked back over his scalp and tied at the neck. Logan studied the man’s features closely, he did this every time he met someone new, especially clients, it had become second nature. His face was rather long and whilst not exactly thin he did have very sharp, angular features. His eyes very dark, almost as dark as his hair from this distance and a thin, pencil-style moustache ran atop his upper lip.


“Jimmy Logan, P. I. I presume?” The man gave Logan a lopsided smile by way of a greeting but it was merely a formality, devoid of any true warmth.


Logan nodded, just barely, in response. He then turned his body fully in the direction of the other man and asked in his deep, gravelly tone, “Yeah, now what do you want me for.” He placed his cigar back between his lips, but didn’t smoke it.


The darker man gave a short laugh, taking a few steps toward where Logan stood, he pulled a slim silver case from his jacket pocket. He pressed his finger lightly on the catch at it side and with a casual flick of his wrist flipped its lid open. A neat row of filterless cigarettes lay inside and he picked one out carefully, replacing the case in his pocket.


“Straight down to business----I like that.” He said slowly as he made the rest of the way over to Logan and extended his hand out to the smaller man. “Forge, the name’s Kenny Forge.”


After a short pause Logan excepted Kenny Forge’s offered hand, gripping it a little too tight, like he always did. He was a firm believer in the handshake being the measure of a man, so he never wanted to give an inaccurate first impression of himself. Forge gave Logan another cold smile as he released his hand. Logan noted the way he flexed it a couple of times afterwards and it almost brought a smile to his face then.


“So what’s this about Mr. Forge?” Logan really did prefer to get straight down to it, like Forge had observed, he wasn’t one for idle pleasantries or small talk. Not that he got much of that in his line of work.


“Why don’t I just show you Mr. Logan?” Forge reached down onto his desk, picking up a book of matches. Snapping one off it hissed into life a he drew it across the rough strip at the top of the book. He then retrieved the decanter of scotch and a small, crystal glass. Forge held it up to Logan, offering him one too but Logan shook his head briefly, making Forge’s eyes widen ever-so slightly in mild surprise. From what he’d heard Jimmy ‘The Wolverine’ Logan was quite the drinker. He may have been one of, if not the best in the P. I business, but quite frankly he was rumoured to be a first class drunk. That was the reason he’d been kicked off the force----amongst other things---allegedly.



“That suites me----and by the way, it’s just Logan. None of this ‘mister’ crap.” He exhaled a long stream of thick smoke as he spoke.


Forge laughed shortly, pouring his drink he said, “Logan it is then, and you can do me the same courtesy. Now if you’ll kindly follow me.” He placed the decanter back on its small silver holding basket and motioned his arm in the direction of the door as he walked swiftly past Logan.


Logan plucked his cigar from his mouth once more, stubbing it out in a large white ivory ashtray that sat on the desk. Thrusting both hands into the trouser pockets of his extremely ill-fitting grey suite he followed Forge’s lead from the room.


* * *


The club was a packed noisy hive of activity. Large groups of people were gathered around circular dinner tables that filled up the main area of the sizable room. Each one covered with a pristinely white table cloth and in its centre a sat a small candle in a red clear glass ‘vase’. The murky light they afforded only served to highlight the smoky atmosphere, practically every patron holding one. Although the men all seemed to be smoking on big, fat cigars and the ladies attempting to look fashionably sophisticated with slim white cigarettes in long black holders in their slim silk-gloved hands.


Logan scanned the room, making note of its cliental. Seeing all these Park Avenue wannabes swanning around in their fashionable but undoubtedly knock-off clothing, trying their best to affect an air of dapper sophistication made him nearly laugh out loud. He knew some of them, or at least he knew of them and they were every bit as gutter trash as he was. It was just that Logan never told any one he was anything else. In an odd way, that made him feel above them.


Forge led him through the throng and to the tables near the stage, stopping occasionally to talk to friends and acquaintances along the way. As soon as they’d reached the table right at the front a waiter, dressed in a claret coloured uniform, a white cloth draped over his left arm and a tray with a bottle of champagne scuttled over to the them. He looked like he was just out of short pants, nowhere near old enough to be working in a joint like this. That’s why he’d been swift to react to the boss’s presence, eager to impress.


“Shall I pour?” The boy said in a rather high pitched voice as he set the two flutes and the bottle down in front f the men.


“No, we’re fine Tony.” Forge didn’t even look at the boy as he waved him away dismissively, but he went away satisfied. At least the boss knew his name.


“Best seats in the house!” Forge said as he poured the drinks, even though he was yet to start on the one he’d fixed himself in the office. He handed Logan the first flute, he took it but immediately set it down in front of him. Forge grinned at the action, thinking maybe Logan was always on his best behaviour in front of his clients, true mark of a seasoned alcoholic. He sat back in his chair, sipping from his glass as he undid the buttons of his jacket, making himself comfortable. Logan observed him, wondering when he was likely to get around to explaining why he’d called on his services. But he was distracted from his thoughts when the band stopped playing and the stage lights went down, plunging the room into near darkness. Instantly the incessant muttering petered out and a smattering of applause flitted around the room. Then the room settled into almost silence as a shadowed figure stepped onto the stage.


Logan narrowed his eyes to try and make out some detail but could see none. The best he could make out was the seductively, curvaceous silhouette of a tall woman. She stepped close to the microphone at the front of the stage. At that point a spotlight from the gantry at the back of the club burst into life, shinning directly onto the immanent performer. He felt a fast burst of adrenaline rush through his chest; his heart beat sped up for just a second. The woman was stunning----simply stunning. And for one such as him to be taken aback like that, he knew this gal must be something else.


She was tall and although slender she had the curves, in all the right place. Her knee-length, strappy dress was sheer as silk and it clung to her body like a second skin. It highlighted her long, long thighs beautifully. He’d defy any man to look at those legs and not think about how it would feel to be between them. The deep violet of the dress was beautiful in itself, but what really made it seem rich was the way it played off her dusky coloured, smooth skin. The skin that Logan was now realising was almost luminous, and looked like it had been cut from the same cloth as her dress.


He continued to look on in wonder at the woman’s hair now. Never, in his entire life, had he seen anything quite like it. Its platinum shimmer as it curled about her bare shoulders was truly a sight to behold. She stepped closer to the large, silver radio-style microphone, taking its head in one, slender hand and tipping the stand ever so slightly in towards her. Her full, painted blood-red lips were a hairs breath away from its tip. As she opened her mouth just barely taking in a small breath a slow smile came to her lips and she said, “Take it away.” Her voice was perfect, it’s low, rich tone fit her to a tee.


That was the bands queue and they started up a softly hypnotic rhythm. Gently her supple hips began to sway to the beat, as her eyes remained hooded. They were not closed but her lusciously long eyelashes guarded them as she looked down at the microphone in an almost coyly, submissive manner.


“I am through with love, I’ll never fall again,

Said adieu to love, don’t ever call again”


It was then that her lids flipped up to reveal her jewel in the crown----eyes of pure sapphire. The hair had thrown him but this----it capped off the extraordinary impression she’d already made on him. Then he began to frown, this really wasn’t like him at all---what the hell was this woman doing to him?!


“For I must have you or no one,

And so I’m through with love.”



As she continued to sing, Forge glanced over at his companion, a wry smile coming to his lips. He took another sip of his champagne and returned his gaze to the stage act, eyeing her appreciatively. But there was something else going on behind those eyes--- they had the look of cold steel about them.


Logan watched the entire performance enthralled, he didn’t take his eyes from her once. He feared he couldn’t have even if he’d tried. As she sang the last line, its dulcet tone drifting out into the space of the club, instantly enthusiastic applause rang out around the room. Its sharp sound startled Logan back to the land of the living.


“Thank-you.” She said demurely, taking a small bow, that stunning slow smile coming back to her beautiful lips.


Still clapping and with his eyes still trained on the stage Forge leaned into Logan and asked, “So what do you think of the floor show?”


Logan cleared his throat and grasped his drink, taking a bigger gulp than social etiquette would allow. It was taking him a moment to get back into professional mode. “She’s good.” He said flatly and took another drink. “But I fail to see what this little show has to do with you giving me a job”


Forge laughed lowly, shaking his head----Logan wasn’t fooling him in the slightest. The accompanying smile dropped from his face quickly as he said almost right into his ear, “She is your job.”


Logan placed his empty glass back on the table, shooting Forge a dark look. The band began to play again and he had to fight to keep his attention from drifting. “How do you mean?” He asked rather too gruffly, trying to disguise his annoyance with himself by being defensive. He knew Forge could tell he’d been distracted.


Forge gave him that smile again but this time it was a bit more knowing----smug even. “Oh come, come Mr. Logan, it’s the oldest reason in the book.” He gave another short laugh. “Surely someone as experienced as you can guess why I’ve called you here tonight?”


“Blue moon, you saw me standing alone,

Without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own.”


“I’m not in the habit of playing guessing games MR Forge.” His emphasis on their sudden return to formality had a highly sarcastic ring.


Forge ignored it, he’d been warned Logan could get difficult if he wanted to. “Fine, let’s not beat about the bush any longer then. I want you to follow my wife.” He picked up the glass containing his scotch, taking a short sip. His eyes had turned truly dark now as he continued in a low conspiratorial tone. The music was just loud enough to block out any prying ears. “I want to know everything and I mean everything. Where she goes, who she sees, what she does----most of all who she does it with.”


Logan had to fight to stop himself from smirking at the man----jealous husbands were never a pretty sight. He’d seen it a thousand times before and they were all the same. No matter how much dignity or pride they had when they first met with him as the details of their problems came to light they all became seething wrecks.


#Grown men brought to their knees---all over a piece of skirt!# He thought wryly. But then his gaze went back to this particular piece and he had to admit; what a piece it was! He could almost understand----almost. “O. K. You got yourself a deal. You know my fee and that’s not including expenses.”


“Naturally” He said as he watched his wife finish her second song, the applause rippling through the room once more.


Logan stood up from the table, extending his hand down to his employer. “I’ll be in touch.” He stated simply as Forge took his hand briefly but not long enough for Logan to get another firm grip on it.


With that he sauntered off through the tables but before he left he couldn’t resist one quick glance back at his sultry subject. The door man gave Logan his hat and trench coat. He pulled it on, hitching up the collar and placed his hat over his wild hair.


Suddenly he had the terrible feeling that this one was going to cause him trouble.


-TBC-




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