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Disclaimer: Don’t own, Marvel does, so don’t sue.


Thank-you to all my reviewers, especially Amanda. I admit, there was a bit of guess work going on there!!


Chapter.12.


“I’ve been here fer nearly an hour you prick! Jus’ tell me where she is!” At this point Logan had the young officer at the reception desk by the collar of his uniform, pulling him so he was leant across the polished length of mahogany, bringing the boy’s face down to meet his.


“I---I can only tell you again sir; you will have to wait until Chief Summers has finished talking with her.” He said as calm as he could, though his voice was shaky with obvious fear. The rookie was still perturbed from his first encounter with Logan, when he’d stormed into the station and grabbed the first policeman he’d come across and demanded to know where Ororo Munroe was and why she’d been arrested. Then, when that officer had told him to ask the desk clerk, he’d strode over, literally jumped over the fickle barrier that separated them and gotten hold of him by the windpipe, slamming him against the wall. It was a good job that Detective Henry McCoy had come along at that point because the eighteen year old had thought he was a goner.


“Please sir, I’ll have to ask you---.”


“Come on Jimmy, what have I told you already?” Detective McCoy shouted over as jovially as possible as he came into the reception area, just in the nick of time once again. He made his way over to the pair, throwing the over loaded file he was holding down onto the desk and forcibly prying his old friends fingers from Officer Jones shirt. “Will you please give it a rest?” After Logan had eventually let go, Henry or Hank as everyone called him, gave his ex-partner a friendly slap on the back, “Haven’t changed a bit have you my friend?”


Logan coughed as the wind was practically knocked out of him by Hank’s ‘friendly gesture’, the big lummox didn’t know his own strength at times; the guy had hands like shovels. “Cut the crap Hank and tell me what you’ve found out.” He said huskily as he cleared his throat.


Hank scratched his head, ruffling his cropped, immaculately combed mousey coloured hair and looked around like he’d been put in an impossibly awkward position, reaching over to pick up the file he’d just placed on the desk. “This is difficult Logan; you know that technically you’re not even supposed to be in this station.”


“Not unless it’s the other side of a cell door, right?”


Hank gave a nervous yet richly toned laugh, “Look, you’re an old friend---all I can give you is that she was brought in with Remy Le Beau.”


Logan scowled, “On what charge?”


“As far as I can tell Ms. Munroe has yet to be charged with anything.” He said hopefully, maybe that would appease him a little bit at least.


“And Le Beau?”


“Logan, you know I can’t share that information with---.”


“And Le Beau?” He growled, determined to have his answer.


Hank took his glasses off, pinching the skin at the bridge of his nose as he sighed with resignation. He’d known Logan long enough to realise that the stubborn little bastard wouldn’t give up until he told him. “Fine Logan, have it your way,” he replaced his glasses and gave a small shake of his head, “You do realise I’m putting my neck on the line telling you this?” No reaction; he just continued to stare up at him with his customary steely gaze. “Remington Le Beau has been arrested for murder.”


“Who?” Logan didn’t sound in the least bit surprised.


“Oh come on Logan! Do you really need to know that?”


“Who?” He persisted.


“Creed,” Hank said quietly, annoyed that he’d been backed into a corner; act professionally or be loyal to a good friend. “We have strong reason to believe that he was responsible for the fatal shooting of Victor Creed earlier tonight.”


* * *


“Do you understand what I’m asking you to do?” Scott lent forwards on his desk, hands clasped together with an air of subtle authority.


“I’m not an imbecile Scott.” Ororo replied flatly. “But do you really believe that a man as shrewd as Magnus will be so easily deceived?”


“You’re the master of deception Ms. Munroe---you tell me.”


Ororo narrowed her eyes at Summers, resisting the sudden urge to belt him around his smug face. It was just so infuriating to realise that you couldn’t run from your past forever. “So want me to go to Lensherr under the guise that I want my husband killed?”


“Yes.”


“And then to find and destroy the ‘Tufano’ documents?”


“It’s as simple as that Ororo. The only way you’ll breach his defences is if you’re invited in. Even for an ex-thief as apt as you, it’s the only way to gain safe entry. Once in, you can find a way to look for the loot.” He gave her a knowing sideways grin, “I’m sure a crook as experienced as you can find a way to get them.”


“Making sure you keep a distance between you, him...and Warren---through using me to do your dirty work.” Ororo stated before scowling at him for his previous statement, but she knew he only spoke the truth. All the years of ‘going straight’ had not dulled the fact that in her heart she was a thief. It ran in the blood, just like it did for Remy. They were very similar in that respect, that’s why they’d become so close in the first place, they’d grown up on it and there was no escaping that. “And if I refuse your...kind offer?” She questioned sarcastically.


Scott straightened his back; becoming stern, his face a deadly serious mask. “Then I’ll make sure Remy Le Beau receives the harshest punishment available for his crime---and you know what that means.”


“You really have the power to do that?” Ororo was beyond sceptical, but then again some of the things she knew these men could get away with, it was shocking. Maybe the Chief really did have Remy’s life in his hands. If she refused to collude in his subterfuge would Remy pay the ultimate price for her reluctance? “How to you intend to clear Remy’s name if I go through with this?”


“Leave that to me---you just worry about what you’re doing and everything will be fine.” Ororo sincerely doubted that...she doubted it very much, though she agreed to the plan anyway with the merest nod of her head. But even as she gave her consent, she knew this could only end in tears, most likely her own...


* * *


“So...we’re agreed?” Forge was tense, it was apparent in his stance: his fists subconsciously clenched at his sides, the overall look of his posture was as rigid as a plank of wood.


Cain Marco stood at the other side of the table from him at the back of the gambling den that was the heart of his Brooklyn operation. The impossibly large man smirked at the slimmer one that on any other day would have been his most fierce adversary, but since his call just over a day ago, they’d suddenly become mutually indispensable. Forge wanted revenge; Marco wanted a formidable foe and rival out of the way. The arrangement was of equal benefit to both, so why would Cain bother to refuse? Absently straightening the lapels of his specially made pin-striped suite (he needed almost three times the amount of material than most of the tailor’s patrons and only a few would be so generous. The few that knew crossing Cain Marco would cost them dearly that was.) “You propose an all-out attack on Lensherr’s compound in Westchester?” His baritone tones rumbled ominously in the confined space from which the idle chatter of the illegal gamblers could be heard from the next room, along with the infuriating muffled clatter of drinking glasses and random laughter.


“Yes.” Forge was deadly serious.


Marco couldn’t suppress a minor chuckle in his cautious disbelief “I know you were gunnin’ for him the other night,” he shrugged his broad shoulders as he referred to the impromptu meeting, “But wantin’ to ice the guy completely? That’s pretty strong.” Cain’s thuggish face bore a slightly sceptical yet thoughtful look as he took a seat at the shoddy table.


“Just as strong as rubbing out an active police chief?” Forge suddenly gained some balls through his nervous apprehension; relishing the dark look Cain gave him in return for his out spoken comment. It wasn’t official that Marco was responsible for Charles Xavier’s death, but all avenues pointed that way.


“Whatever---I’ll help you, but only because gettin’ that Polack fuck outta my hair will make life a lot easier.” Cain grabbed at the cigar that sat on the table, ready and waiting to be lit. Popping the smoke in his mouth, he brought the lighter that had nestled at its side to the waiting tip. But before he lit it, he flicked his dark eyes up to Forge, eyeing him with a subtle concern. “I don’t wanna start a mob war here, ya know?” He took the lighter away from his cigar, putting it back onto the marked pine table for a moment whilst the task of getting the stogie lit was temporarily forgotten. “This ain’t gonna stir up trouble with the Cassidy’s or Mancini’s is it?”

Forge allowed himself to laugh briefly, letting a little cockiness show over the stunted rage that was all but consuming him. “Cain, they’ll be grateful, believe me. Getting ‘Magnus’ Lensherr out of the picture will be best for all concerned.” He felt confident that Marco believed him but that was because he believed it too. Once he’d gotten Erik out of the way, his path to power was that much clearer. True, it wasn’t anywhere near the type of power he had been hoping for but at this point, any sort would do. If he couldn’t sit with the ‘great and the good’, he decided, then he would push for more power in the underworld. Not the place he had expected to be at this point but he was happy to make be. Besides, from this more dubious position he could make those that had crossed him pay much more...severely. But the best thing about all this, he thought to himself in one of his darkest moments, was that he could make that bitch pay. Oh yes, Ororo Munroe would rue the day she turned her back on him and that little sneak, Logan, they both would. But Erik was first on the agenda and after tonight, Forge was most certain that he’d set an example that would terrify generations to come and consolidate his position.


* * *


“Wait here ma’am.” ‘Shortie’ Malone let his grip on his Tommy loosen as he allowed himself one more liberal look at this most unexpected late caller. Pushing his grey Trilby back on his balding head, he gave a low whistle of appreciation before turning on his heel and sauntering casually down the hallway from the checked-floor reception area to his ‘boss’s’ evening parlour.


Ororo bore the disgusting little man’s sickeningly libidinous looks with an utter indifference. But it was more a coldness that was allowing her to not get too panicked about what she was doing here. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other; feeling a mild concern at the hard coldness that pressed on the inside of her left thigh. Shifting again as she remembered exactly what was securely strapped into the top of her stocking; the small black revolver that Scott had provided her with was alarmingly heavy for such a tiny firearm. Like a solid piece of lead. Having never had cause to use one before, it had been the quickest crash-course in gun handling ever that she had received before being dispatched with five, ten-strong armed units that were currently dotted about the grounds of the compound. Ororo had been surprised, very surprised indeed to find that Scott was among them, over seeing the entire operation; he didn’t want to take any chances that this whole get-up might go wrong, so he’d wanted to be on hand to make sure that it didn’t.


Ororo clutched subconsciously at her small shell-shaped black leather purse, and she could feel the clamminess of her fingers under her white gloves. The storm was as wild as ever outside and the old house echoed and creaked with its indelible force. No doubt its tumultuous hostility would cover any police movements from Lensherr’s ground guard’s shrewd ears.


“Ma’am?”


Ororo looked up from her daydream state, composure smoothing her face like a true pro. The little balding man was back, but with a much more insidious look this time round. She still picked it up non-the-less; not showing a jot that it bothered her. In a most uncouth gesture, the man jerked his head in the direction he wished her to follow him and simply set off on it.


Fighting to control the jitters that had suddenly taken hold of her stomach, Ororo set off after him with a cool-as-you-like stride. Clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop...the rhythm of her heels filled her ears, sounding for all the world like the awful beat of the executioners drum as one was led to the lethal embrace of Madam Guillotine.



* * *


“I still say this looks suspect, father.” Pietro persisted in voicing his misgivings, despite Magnus’s utter distain for any opinion his son might hold; sensible or otherwise.


He waved a large, weathered hand in the white haired young man’s general direction, creasing his brow in almost comic dismissal. “Pietro, Pietro, Pietro,” Magnus laughed richly yet somehow derogatorily. “What possible ‘threat’ could the girl impose?”


Exasperated, Pietro, whose gaunt, deathly pale face made him look as if he’d had no sleep for a month, turned to his twin sister for support. Wanda sat in the far corner of the parlour, looking impassive and dark with her ebony hair falling about her face in large, buoyant curls and the glittering fullness of bloodied scarlet lips. She appeared to be considering her choice for a moment, which side to take, until she simply held her left hand out nonchalantly, her elbow resting on the knee of her crossed leg.


“Pietro...I don’t know---like father said---what threat could she be?” She spied Magnus’s slight smile of satisfaction in the corner of her eye, though it didn’t particularly please her. In fact, she felt like she’d let her brother down---again. “After all, why would Forge send her now? To do what exactly?”


Pietro dropped his gaze from her, trying to conceal the hurt and bitter disappointment as best he could. Sucking in a frustrated breath, he gave a minor shake of his head, before lifting his wounded eyes back up to face his father, who’d now lit up a filterless cigarette and was puffing on it disinterestedly. “She’s a thief for Christ’s sake! Doesn’t it strike you as a little bit odd that she would want to see you?!”


Pietro’s words finally struck some kind of cord with Magnus as he held the thin white stick paused, just before his waiting mouth, with its small creases at the corners, like well worn leather. But just as quickly the tip came to his lips and he took a large drag and any doubts drifted away with the blue tinged exhale of smoke mere seconds later. He wanted to see what it was Ororo Munroe wanted before he took any notice of his son’s suspicions. That’s just how much Erik Lensherr thought of his boy---although the devil be damned why; Wanda could never fathom it, to be truthful, neither could Magnus himself. It was just one of those father and son anomalies.


Just then there was a faint rapping at the double pine doors. “Come in.” Magnus called over, glancing sideways at their pale, shiny finish from his seat next to the full-sized pool table, which hadn’t been graced with a game since Pietro and Wanda were children. The doors swung open just as an almighty crack of lightening ripped through the sky, turning it, and the Lensherr parlour, electric blue. In walked Ororo Munroe as that stroke of natural electricity lit up the vicinity, much more than the dozen small lamps that dotted the spacious room. She sashayed into the parlour, confident as you like; it was her stage persona to a certain degree. The usually shrewd and cynical Lensherr was taken with it immediately. Caught off guard by the swaying hips and oozing dignity of the unnaturally tall woman; he stood to greet her arrival.


“Ms. Munroe,” He took her extended hand as she came close, shaking it in a genteel manner, not taking note of its vaguely moist feel. “...and what brings you into our company?”


Ororo ignored the ice cold layer of sweat that clung to her back, internally chastising herself for feeling nervous. She was a player, always had been and it wasn’t all that long ago that she had men like Lensherr eating out of the palm of her hand. She could do his, she knew she could. It was just a matter of putting the old cap on... “Mr. Lensherr---it’s a pleasure to meet you.”


“Please---sit.” Magnus said jovially as he sat back down himself, gesturing with a sweep of his left hand to a vacant chair. Ororo smiled politely, offering her thanks as she sat tentatively on the edge of a well stuffed chair. Her clear blue eyes flickered over to take in the other occupants of the room; Wanda, enveloped in the shadows, looking quite sullen and Pietro, now seated upright on the green velvet chaise longue, his long, skinny legs crossed somewhat awkwardly over one another; the charcoal grey pinstriped suit he was sporting practically hanging from his emaciated body. Neither twin looked in the least bit impressed by her presence; they looked positively hostile in fact. But, the consummate professional, she didn’t let them faze her at all; sitting more confidently in her chair and giving Magnus a ghost of a sultry smile, being careful not over doing it too much though. The time had come for deciding how to play this; did she go for steely wronged wife out for revenge at all costs or weepy, feeble woman, coaxing Lensherr into suggesting the solution to her ‘dilemma’? The latter; degrading but practical, the former; easier and perhaps more convincing. No need for the crocodile tears then.


Magnus picked up the smooth, silver cigarette case from the small, light-veiled lacquer table by his seat, offering one to his guest but she declined with a small smile and shake of the head. “So---what can I do for you Ms. Munroe?” He persisted, rephrasing his question into a more direct point at issue.


“Ororo, please.”


“Ororo.” He corrected himself, rolling the sound off his tongue with a dubious pleasure; a wine taster sampling a fine claret. At the same time taking careful note of her second deflection.


“I’ve come to ask you a great favour.” Ororo said seriously, trying to ignore the cold lump positioned between her legs as she sat respectably, hands folded over each other on her knee. Remembering she still hand her gloves on, she set her shell purse down by her side, gently pulling off each silky, white casing, finger by finger.


“Go ahead.” Magnus said as he played with the tip of his nearly exhausted smoke, greatly intrigued as to the nature of Munroe’s request. Watching intently, the subtle disrobing of her slim, coffee hands.


Ororo sat stoic at first, before letting her back relax a little as she pulled in a steadying breath through her nose as inaudibly as she could, never letting the slightly cold smile drop from her lips. Still with her discarded gloves clasped in her right hand, dropping down like a pair of limp, dead lilies, she asked right out, “I want Forge...taken care of.”


All three Lensherr’s piqued at hearing Ororo’s rather---delicately put entreaty, though the change in their body language was minute but stifled swiftly. Magnus had taught his children well. Wanda was the first to react, lifting up from her chair quickly and emerging from the shadowy corner that she’d interned herself in to stand at her father’s side. “And why, Ms. Munroe, would you want us to do that?”


Ororo shifted her steely, blue gaze from its fixed position on Magnus to his scarlet clad daughter, with little change in its definition. She didn’t rush her reply though, leaving it a moment or two longer, just long enough to make Wanda feel uncomfortable at having asked. “I fear my husband has got himself into a situation that he can no longer handle and it has put my life at risk already. I’m not prepared to wait around for the next assassin, Miss. Lensherr. I think it better that I cut my losses now.” From Wanda, to Magnus, to Pietro, blue orbs traced a slow path to check for a reaction, a response, a trace of doubt.


“And that’s the only reason?” Pietro asked suspiciously, his hollow eyes narrowing a tad, set deep in their dark caves.


Ororo opened her mouth to speak but paused a moment instead. As the edges of her lips curved up into an uneasy, dark smile, “No. That is not the only reason.”


“So, what else?” Wanda asked impatiently, shifting the angle of her hips, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she stood at her father’s elbow.


“He’s been having an affair...with an actress.” It made Ororo feel that slight spark of pure anger and disgust to think of it, but was an absolute gem of an excuse. At least she needn’t lie about that. As they say, all the best lies are peppered with a smattering of truth.


Wanda couldn’t suppress a small smirk at Ororo’s misfortune, but Ororo was thankful for that, it meant she had ceased to question her authenticity. Magnus also appeared to have taken Ororo at face value, it was the son whom remained uneasy, she could see it in his sharp, angular face. So when she spoke next, she addresses her words towards him more than the other two. “It’s...embarrassing to say the least, I’ll admit that.” She was completely earnest on that front. “Even more so, given that he’d put a private investigator on my tail, having the audacity to suspect me of adultery.” A small bitter laugh came from nowhere, but it was more to herself as she thought about his hypocrisy. Oh how she hated him. “I want him out of the way Mr. Lensherr---and I am prepared to pay handsomely for the privilege.”


Magnus lent his elbow on the ample arm of the large embroidered chair; placing his index finger over his mouth as his other digits clasped around his noble chin and his thumb finding purchase supporting the underside of it. He thought for a moment; glacial blue eyes, with their heavy hoods and life weary under-rings holding a look of far off contemplation. Finally, he deigned to speak, moving the index finger over to the side of his mouth, allowing him to do so. “May I ask, what made you come to me for help?”


Ororo smiled, giving her the spilt second she needed to come up with an appropriate untruth. “I know you’ve never really cared for Forge, and his allegiances with most of the other ‘families’ in the city made it difficult to ask anybody else.”


“I see.” He seemed to believe her.


“I know this is a drastic step---I’ve thought about nothing else since this whole torrid business starte---.”


“What ‘torrid business’ Ms. Munroe?” Pietro cut in quickly.


“Well---my husband’s affair and whatever it is he’s got himself caught up in, what else?” She made a great effort to sound wounded. #You’ll have to be swifter than that to catch me off my guard child!# She thought smugly, though she admired his effort to catch her out. Pietro raised a snowy, sceptical eyebrow at her, but didn’t pursue the matter further. All three Lensherr’s seemed, to her at least, pretty much satisfied that she knew nothing of the more serious nature of the situation.


“Alright Ororo, we will see to your request, but a fee is quite unnecessary.” Ororo opened her mouth in order to protest but Lensherr stopped her by raising his hand, quickly adding, “To be truthful, my dear, it will be of great benefit to me personally to have your husband out of the way.” Ororo was relieved for a second, that was until he uttered his next sentence. “I will simply hold you to a favour, at some point in the future.” He shifted in his seat, taking up his cigarette case from the table. “Your expertise should come in handy.”


Was there nobody who wasn’t aware of her past as a professional thief? She began to see Remy’s petty attempts at blackmail as a trifling point, as everybody that knew Forge already appeared to be privy to that particular information. “Fine.” She agreed solemnly. “That is a fair bargain.” For the first time on this turbulent night, Ororo had thought of what would become of her once this whole ‘sting’ was over; Magnus wouldn’t take too kindly to her double-crossing ways. This was the one thing, through her unthinking selflessness that she hadn’t considered. What would become of her when Lensherr realised what she’d done? It was then that she became aware of the full extent of Chief Summers plan.


“Are you alright?” Magnus sounded genuinely concerned.


Ororo, realising she must have been wearing her troubled soul on her sleeve, quickly masked the expression, and came up with a swift excuse for it. “Yes, yes, I’m absolutely fine---it’s just this whole situation---it’s so trying.” Maybe a little show of ‘weakness’ wouldn’t hurt her cause.


“I understand.”


“Would you mind if I went to the bathroom to freshen up?” She gave him a weary yet endearing look.


“Not at all my dear.” He said, most accommodatingly. “The rest room is up the stairs, three doors on the left.”


“Thank-you.” Ororo stood from her chair, noticing the twins exchanging looks as she placed her gloves on the arm of the chair as retrieved her shell purse from the diamond patterned carpet. “Excuse me.” She gave a courteous nod to Magnus and a vaguely appreciative glance to Wanda and Pietro, taking her leave of the room quickly.


The three who remained stayed silent for a while; Wanda moving over to take a seat on the chaise longue next to her brother. Each wondering who would be the first to voice their opinion.


Wanda was the first. “Do you trust her father?”


“For now.” Was his flatly toned reply. He flipped open the silver case and took out a slim, white stick.


“Well I think you’re insane.” Pietro responded curtly as he stood from the chaise longue, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets.


“Do be quiet boy!” Magnus chastised patronisingly. But he hated to admit that his generally suspicious nature made him inclined to agree with his son. No matter how much that chagrined him. After a while, in which Pietro lit a cigarette and sucked on it furiously whilst pacing back and forth impatiently, he said, “Wanda---be a dear and go see if Ms. Munroe is O.K.” He wouldn’t concede outright defeat---not even if his life depended on it.


“Alright father.” Wanda stood, straightening out her mid shin length, body hugging silk dress and quickly making her way to the door. Magnus watched her go, settling back into the embroidered chair, taking up the long neglected gin and tonic that had nestled close to the silver cigarette case. He was sure that if Ororo Munroe had a game, he would soon find it out.



*


Rushing down the hallway, Ororo scrambled to open the gold clasp of her shell purse, pulling out a neatly folded scrap of paper. She glanced at the scribbled lay-out of the ground floor of the Lensherr compound. The office was just ahead, she could see the door right now. Coming up to it quickly, she used those expertise, so much talked about tonight, to ‘jimmy’ open the door. Safe in the knowledge that any noise she made would be hidden by the continuing storm. Once inside, it took her no time to locate where the papers where stashed. She rushed round to his desk and quickly solved the puzzle of the top draw; the lock was unbelievably feeble. (She guessed he didn’t expect anyone to even attempt to rob him at his strong hold, hence the lack of security around his prized possession.) The lightening was her guiding light in the task as she rifled through some meaningless papers and found the ones she was looking for at the bottom of the pile. It was a large brown envelope and it was addressed to the New York Times newspaper. So, Lensherr had decided that if traditional methods of justice did not work (as much as a career criminal can complain for justice), a national expose would suffice in its place. A smart move on his part, Ororo thought. For Lensherr this was about revenge; pure and simple. He could have been as sly as Forge had attempted to be, he could get Warren over a barrel with this, but he’d opted for an entirely different route. He wanted to see the ‘Great Worthington Family’ fall. It was obvious that he had expected his own children to be where Warren was right now, and Worthington the Second had robbed him of that. No matter how much Ororo was currently tempted to leave the document where it lay, she knew Remy’s life rested on it. But there was a nagging doubt in her mind over whether Scott would keep his promise.


Immediately shutting out such unsettling thoughts, Ororo grabbed the papers and a grey, metal bin that was at the foot of the large, leather chair and set it on the desk. Quickly going over to the lead-lined window at her back she pushed down on the handle-like catch, opening it outwards just enough, but not so that the driving rain could pile in. Returning to the desk, she retrieved her purse and snapped the golden clasp open, taking out a small, black cased lighter. Holding the weighty brown envelope over the bin she put the tip of the lighter to its hanging corner. Gulping down hard, Ororo laid her thumb on the two circular rivets that struck against the flint inside. She toyed for a moment with the idea of striking them back, pressing her long thumb on them until she felt the reassuring pressure of the digging into her flesh. Closing her sapphire eyes, Ororo was about to pull her digit back---


“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Her lids flipped up to see Wanda leaning on the door frame, her arms held out in front of her, coming to a point wherein she clasped a .45 with both hands, aimed directly at Ororo. “My father wouldn’t be pleased---he wouldn’t be pleased at all.”


-To Be Concluded-

(Conclusion and epilogue will come up soon.)





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