[Reviews - 15]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story |
Printer Chapter or Story |
ePub eBook Chapter or Story |

Has been viewed 893 times

- Text Size +




Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue.

Warning: There is a mild instance of drug consumption in this chapter.






Chapter.5.


Ororo turned her head to look at the man who was stood, leaning on the door frame at the main entrance of Smokey’s. “And who might you be?”


The man walked into the club, but only half way towards her. Standing in the centre of the room, between all the unset tables, he said, “I’m an associate of your husbands.”


“He has rather a few of those. Would you mind being a bit more specific?”


“The names Logan, Jimmy Logan but you can call me Logan. Everybody else does.”


“So it’s not a specific honour to me then.” She quipped as she finished her soda and slipped off her bar stool. “And in answer to your question---no, I don’t treat all the employee’s like that.” Logan found himself staring like a pubescent teenager as she strode towards him, like a model down a catwalk, all swaying hips and endless legs. As she neared him she smiled and said, “That kind of treatment is only for the ones I REALLY like.” She offered her hand to him. “Ororo Munroe, but I’m sure you know that already---being a ‘friend’ of my husbands.”


Logan hesitantly took her hand; he’d been watching her in awe for so long now that the thought of actually touching her---for one stupid second he wondered whether or not he could do it. Surely such heavenly creatures were not for the likes of him to touch. But eventually he took it and to his disbelief did something that he never, EVER did. He raised the slender object to his lips and kissed it like the most gallant of gentlemen.


“Why thank-you sir.” It was clearly a bit of a shock to her also. Especially seen as he seemed anything but a gentleman---his rough appearance and the faint odour of scotch around him told her that much.


“Is your husband about?” He asked suddenly looking slightly ill at ease, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers nervously.


Ororo smiled briefly, she knew full well that she could often be intimidating to men but some how she didn’t peg Mr. Logan as the type to be intimidated---by anyone. But it made her feel confidant enough to put aside his question for a moment and say, “I’ve seen you before.”


“Well I was in the club a couple of weeks ago---talkin’ to yer husband. We were watchin’ ya from the front table.”


Ororo nodded, “Yes, that’s true but no---I’ve definitely seen you somewhere else.”


#Shit! # He suddenly thought to himself, #must be loosing my touch#. He’d never been spotted by his subject before. “I get around the clubs quite often,” he lied. “Maybe ya saw me in one.”


“No, I’ve got it. The rally yesterday, you were in the corridor at the after party.” Ororo’s gaze drifted to his unruly hair. “It was definitely you, how could I mistake such a---unique hairstyle.” She grinned.


“Uh, yeah, anyway---is Mr. Forge here?” He stumbled over his words


“No, I’m sorry. I’m afraid work has claimed him. A meeting with Mayor Worthington. Shall I give him a message?”



“No that’s fine, I’ll catch him another time, it’s really not important.” He said dismissively.


“Well if you’re sure?”


“Yeah, it was nice to meet you Ms. Munroe.” He reached up and shook her hand---just one last touch before he left.


Logan was about to walk away when Ororo suddenly asked, “Are you free?”


“Excuse me?” He asked, totally perplexed.


“I mean for lunch, are you free? It’s just that I’m at a loose end and I’m sure any friend of my husbands will be appropriate for me to dine with. I hate to eat alone.”


Logan didn’t quite know how to reply for a moment. He knew he hadn’t exactly been strictly professional with this case from the start but taking his subject out for dinner? Surely that would be crossing the line. “Well I’m not a friend as such, more a”a---.”


“A---a---a what?, ‘Associate’?” She asked, mocking his nervous stuttering and gazing at him with those stunning blue eyes, making it extremely difficult for him to concentrate on a convincing lie. “Please?” She pouted playfully.


With that his resolve and any piqué of conscience about the matter dissolved. Shrugging his shoulders he replied, “Why not, can’t let a dame eat out all on her own in this part of town.” He offered her his arm, she accepted it, raising her eyebrow slightly at being referred to as a ‘dame’ but she didn’t protest---she’d been called worse.


Logan graciously helped her into her mink coat and they left for Ororo’s favourite haunt; ‘Elaine’s’.


* * *


“Forge never comes here with me.” She said looking around the quaint little cafe.


“Is that so?”


“Um, he says it’s to ‘down-market’,” she laughed, a sound that was glorious to his ears. “He can be such a snob at times---and all because he knows one or two politicians!”



Logan gave a wry smile, “Yeah, you’ll find that can give a man strange ideas about his place in life.” At that point the waiter, who had taken their order at the counter on entering, came back with their order.


They ate in relative silence for a while, just exchanging small talk about her career how Logan had come to meet Forge, etc, etc... Of course, he’d lied about the exact circumstances that he’d come to be acquainted with Forge but she seemed to believe him.


“So, Logan what is it you do?” She said then took a mouth full of pasta.


“Oh ya know, a bit of this, a bit of that.” He replied in a none-committal manner.


Ororo swallowed her food, nodding her head and smiling, “Ah, that well known profession. It’s odd; my husband seems to know a lot of people in that circle.”


Logan chuckled lightly, this broad had spunk, he liked that in a gal. “Yeah, well---it’s the best kind of profession to have in this city.”


She took a sip of her white wine before asking, “What did you do before you did ‘this and that’?” Logan’s face darkened a fraction and Ororo picked up on it straight away. She instantly regretted asking the question. “I’m sorry, I---I shouldn’t have asked.” She turned her face down to her meal and carried on eating. They both ate in silence for a little while longer when Logan suddenly said,


“I was with the NYPD.” Ororo looked up at him curiously but he was still concentrating on his lunch. She couldn’t see him working for the ‘boys in blue’ somehow. But then again obviously neither could he or he’d still be with them.


“Oh. If you don’t mind me asking why did you leave?”

Logan swallowed the piece of stake he was chewing then cleared his throat. “Actually, seen as I don’t really know you at all, yeah, I do mind you askin’” He tried not to sound gruff and defensive but it was a hard habit to break. After a moment he looked up at Ororo, hoping she hadn’t taken offence. But to his relief he found she was trying to hold off a smirk. Obviously his grouchy display had amused her. He gave a confused laugh before asking, “What?”


She shook her head, her hair brushing against her neck and shoulders beautifully. She held her hand to her mouth for a moment, to stop a full on laugh he assumed. “I meet so many men like you through my husband. All defensive with the ‘I don’t want to talk about my past’ routine.” She did laugh then.

#I’m sure you wouldn’t be too thrilled if I asked you about your past either#, is what he thought. But what he said was, “Well your husband doesn’t exactly run with savoury types lady---you know that.”


“And are you one of those ‘types’?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, a mischievous smile playing on her smooth lips.


He gave her a lopsided grin and holding her gaze with a dark look he asked, “What’d you think?” She gazed into his eyes a little longer before shaking her head and turning her attention back down to her meal.


The rest of lunch carried on in the same manner as before, inane banter about nothing in particular. But Logan had to catch himself from staring at her, fight the urge to reach out and touch her hair or the soft skin of her flawless face. The scent, that musky sandalwood scent that came from her skin was simply intoxicating and then there was the vanilla that came from her glorious hair. He’d truly never known another woman like her. Once they’d finished Logan had paid the bill and took her back to the club, hoping that Forge hadn’t returned already. How would he have explained this?


* * *


Across town in the Worthington’s apartment overlooking Central Park...


Elizabeth Braddock-Worthington was sat at her dressing table, desperately trying to keep her eyes open. She ran the soft bristled brush through her wavy, brown hair slowly. Each stroke seeming to take the utmost concentration. It was three in the afternoon now and she was still in her silk night gown and robe. She held a cigarette and holder in her left hand---though she wasn’t really smoking it. She couldn’t manage one simple task such as brushing her hair without a struggle. So smoking at the same time would have been a trifle too hard. Eventually she gave up on the hair---it was too much effort and it wasn’t like she was going anywhere today. She never went anywhere anymore---unless it was to act as the loyal, loving wife at a public engagement.


Betsy stared at herself in the mirror from under drowsy lids; she’d been so pretty once upon a time. She supposed underneath it all she probably still was but things had taken their toll. Her once bright green eyes no longer shone, her high and defined cheek bones appeared sharper than they used too. Her actual cheeks were more sunken now, than defined. She ran a finger over the contours of her features; her eyelids, her nose, her rapidly thinning lips. As she regarded herself she suddenly thought---how could I have let this happen?


Setting her cigarette down in the large blue glass ashtray on the dresser top she pulled open her top draw. Taking out a small, beautifully carved black, ivory box she twisted the catch at its front and with a flick of her thumb flipped the lid open. It was a snuff box. She had to keep it hidden these days because Warren refused to let her use it but she didn’t care what he thought anymore. Dabbing her finger inside she placed it under her nose and breathed in sharply. She took another couple of fast in takes of air before rubbing at the underside of her nose with the same finger. Then she put the box back in the draw and picked up the half full champagne flute to her left. She finished its contents in one long swig, all the time staring at her empty face in the mirror.


Betsy Braddock was slowly slipping away day by day, hour by hour and the worst thing of all was that she knew it. She could see it happening almost in slow motion---but she felt powerless to stop it.


She picked up the bottle that was near her glass, “Empty.” She sighed as she tipped it up and only a few dregs dropped into the waiting glass. “JESSICA!” She waited a second for her maid to reply, but patience was never her virtue. “JESSICA!” Still no response.


“Damn it!” She slammed the bottle back down and stood from her dresser. Pulling her robe tighter she started for the door muttering angrily, “Do I have to do everything around here myself!”


*


Striding down the lofty hall way of her expensive and beautifully decorated home Betsy continued to call for her maid on the way to the drinks cabinet in the parlour.
She was about to push open the large, white Georgian style doors when she heard voices. Voices in what sounded like heated discussion. Ever so gently Betsy managed to soundlessly nudge open the door, just a crack. She peered through it and could see her husband pacing back and forth in front of Kenny Forge. She couldn’t see where Chief Summers was but she could hear him.


“You know what we want Forge.” She heard Scott say with his usually authority.


“We? Since when has this been ‘we’ Summers?” Forge looked at the police chief and then at the Mayor. “I mean this is really Warren’s problem after all.”


Warren stopped pacing, standing right in front of Forge. “Look, this game of yours has gone on long enough. If you don’t---.”


“No Mr. Worthington if you don’t oblige me---this whole thing gets blown wide open.” Forge stood up, practically eyeball to eyeball with the Mayor. “You’re in no position to threaten me.”


“You know you’ll never hold any real position of power Forge.” Scott started. “If I were you I’d take the money and be satisfied.”


Forge turned to Scott, a look of almost complete contempt in his eyes, “What if that offer wasn’t good enough? What if I’ve found some one who wants them more than you do?”


Scott came into Betsy’s view then, leaning forwards in the chair to the left of Forge. “You’re playing with the big boys now Forge. You got lucky---it’s time to back down before you get burnt.”


Forge said nothing for a moment before he started to laugh quietly. Looking from one man to the other it got louder and louder until coming to a rather abrupt stop. “I know exactly what I’m doing---don’t make the mistake of underestimating me. We all know you two have the most to loose here. The Mayor and the Chief of Police and their campaign against organized crime---you hypocritical bastards make me sick!”


“Don’t be so naive Forge,” Warren started. “This is exactly what this is about---just because the methods aren’t very pretty. There comes a time when you realise you have to do what you have to do---whether it sits well with your morals or not.”


“Well, it’s been interesting gentlemen. Now if you’ll excuse me I have plans for this afternoon.” Forge started towards the door so Betsy pulled away and spirited off down the hall way.


She’d never trusted Forge and now she had real reason not to. But she was learning a painful lesson in fact had been leaning it over the past ten years of her marriage that what he husband preached in public wasn’t necessarily how he lived his life. So it was no real surprise to her that Warren had got himself involved with a man like that---he was just like his father. Betsy headed to the kitchen, she was sure there was a leftover bottle of champagne from their last party still in the fridge.


*


“What do you suggest I do about this situation Scott?” Warren loosened his neck tie as he sat in one of the parlours many reading chairs.


Scott ran his hand through his hair and walked over to the floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto the park. Folding his hands behind his back, rocking lightly on the balls of his feet he took in a deep breath, releasing it audibly. “I think you know what needs to be done.” His tone was completely neutral.


“Scott, don’t be so stupid, we can’t---.”


“We can’t what? He could drop you in it---not to mention me.” Scott turned sharply to face Warren. For the first time in a long while the great, unshakable Scott Summers looked worried. “Let’s face it Warren he’s a crook, he’s nothing more than a petty gangster. He’s the type of rat bastard we’ve been trying to kick out of this city since you came to office.”


“And stooping to their level is really the answer? What ever happened to integrity Scott---the better future that you and I hoped for?” He pulled himself up roughly from the chair. “For Christ’s sake Scott what would Charles say if he were still here today?”


“Leave my father out of this!” Scott warned angrily, jabbing a finger in the other man’s direction.


“The man that adopted you,” he continued regardless. “The man that held the position that you now hold he had a dream. He had ideals that he was prepared to give his life for to keep this city clean. What would Charles Xavier think if he could see you now?”


Scott’s face was an angry shade of red by now, Warren’s words cutting a little too close to the bone. “He’d understand,” he began quietly, turning back to the window. “Like you said to Forge, the methods might not be pretty but sometimes you have to do what you have to do.” Scott brought his arm up against the window and then leant his forehead on it. Looking down at the crowds rushing by and the people milling around the park he then closed his eyes to it. Repeating to himself in barely a whisper, “He’d understand.”


Warren stared at his best friends back---if only he hadn’t involved him in his problems. Scott had always been a man of principles, principles that had been strongly rooted in him by one of the most dignified men to ever walk the earth---so unlike his own father. Now he’d sullied those principles by dragging him into his world and he was sinking deeper by the minute.


With a rueful sigh he got up from the chair and went over to the phone on the coffee table to make a call.


-TBC-





You must login () to review.