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Disclaimer: Entirely Marvel and 20th Century Fox’s---nowt ta do with me.


A/N; I forgot to credit the Swahili song I used in the last chapter. It was called ‘Malaika’ (Angel) and it was written by Fadhili William, although there is a bit of a dispute over whether or not he wrote it apparently, but hey, that’s not my concern...


Thank-you to Pookie, Tough Spirit, Missi, Jezabel, JamesGirl0512, Penpal, Saki, TigerStorm, Anon and thewinderider278! xx


Chapter.10.


A roadhouse outside of Zama City, northern Alberta Province, eight days later...


The crowd was familiar. The noise was familiar. The smell was familiar...everything about this cramped roadhouse with a high barn-like roof left Ororo with a distinctly odd feeling. She blended into the thronging mass with ease this time round as she waited for the fighters to come out. A woolly sailor’s ‘roll’ hat covered up her distinctive ‘barnet’, and a thick black jacket covered most of her body from view, having ditched her leather a couple of days ago for something a little warmer. There was a fight going on in the ring presently but she was paying no attention to it, more immediate things on her mind. Her hands were stuffed into her pockets, holding loosely onto the booty she’d already managed to collect from the drunken hoard. It was really quite amazing how easy it was to fleece these mugs; so easy that she almost felt sorry for them---almost. Slipping past one man, about even or eight loose rows from the front, she deftly slipped her hand into the pocket of his padded plaid jacket and there was yet another easy catch in the bag. To use a lazy cliché it really was like taking the proverbial candy from the baby. It was the best nights ‘work’ in a long time. Perhaps accompanying Logan to fights wouldn’t be so bad after all if there were going to be such rich pickings all the time.


A tremendous roar went up from the crowd as one half of the unfortunate losers face practically splattered across the grubby canvas of the ring. With a wet thump he landed onto the rough off-white surface. Ororo spared the spectacle no more than a fleeting glance as he moved on to the next ‘pay-check’, only briefly pondering how easily one could become desensitised to these things. Her hand found the next victim...


*


Logan watched from the side lines as the heavily bleeding man was pulled from the ring---not blanching at the sight for a second. It was like water off a duck’s back as the saying goes. Two men had the defeated fighter by each arm, more-or-less dragging the bloodied and bruised mess from the ring, down the steps and out of the small room without much care for the man’s obvious injuries. Logan followed their with his hard hazel eyes until the man disappeared out of sight, through the fire-doors at the back and then turned back to the ring; probably the last time he would ever see him and not a thought spared from now on. He’d seen hundreds of defeated men in his time and they’d all sort of blurred into on big mesh of blood and bruises”even the ones he’d put in that state. His mind instantly focused on the man still in the ring. That was what was important now.


This fight was a free-for-all and any one who wanted to could get into the ring if they’d signed up---they were the rules. It was the way that Logan himself had first got into fighting, after he’d left the army; taken a pasting or two like that in his time as well in the early days, if his memory served him correctly. But his mind wasn’t on that right now, he was waiting in the wings, absently balling his fists into each palm alternately; the gauze that Ororo had strapped on earlier still wrapped as tight as when she’d first wound it around. He tugged at their ends that peaked out from beneath the secure bindings, just to make sure that they wouldn’t come lose as one of he fight organisers made his way over to him, barging his way shoulder first through the throng.


“Yer up next buddy.” The short---exceptionally short---red haired man with rather pronounced jowls and fair freckled skin called as he neared Logan. “Ya ready?” Logan nodded curtly and then followed the organiser over to the ring as he pushed the punters out of his way without fear of reprisal, cutting a clear path through. “Move it will ya!” He bellowed at the last unfortunate in his way, shoving the rather unsteady elderly man to the side without a care. He hopped up into the ring deftly and held the blue and red ropes open in order for Logan to climb through.


Logan did just that, hoisting himself up via the blue top rope and quickly making his way over to face up to his opponent. They were evenly matched at a casual glance; same build and height. There was really nothing between them. No announcements, no pomp”no contest, Logan thought wryly. With a thundering punch the fight began amid the blood stained canvas.


*


*THWACK!*


With one last ‘wet’ bone grinding punch, Ororo watched impassively as the man went down, connecting most ungracefully with the ground. That was the fourth one in the space of just over half-an-hour and Logan was showing no signs of tiring. But no sooner had the last unfortunate been taken half-conscious from the fray than the next one was wheeled in to take the punishment. The last one having been downed by a well placed blow to the left side of his jaw that rattled his entire skull like it had been placed in a soda stream machine.


Not wanting to push her luck, she decided it was about time they bailed. Slowly, so as not to grab any unwanted attention, she sidled her way over to the doorway that led into the normal bar area, away from gnashing teeth and baying shouts. As she leant as casually as-you-like against the splintered frame, hands in her pockets, she made certain she was in Logan’s line of vision as he came around the other side of the latest ‘chancer’ to push his luck.


Logan’s ever watchful attention picked her up immediately. He didn’t need to fix her for any length of time, the merest glance and the faint, unassuming nod from her told him all he needed to know. Quickly he looked back up at his opponent, a pug-ugly bruiser, built like a brick-shit house. There were worse things than conceding a fight to someone like him, he mused nobly. On the strength of his recent performances at least it would appear convincing. It looked like it was this loser’s lucky day.


*WHUMP* A astonishingly powerful punch on the right side of his face sent Logan spinning around and clumsily into the springing ropes of the ring. Now he was pissed---that had taken him by surprise; a turn of events that never”never happened. Not to him anyway. There was no way he could let that one lie.


With all his body weight behind him, Logan pushed himself back up right, using the buoyancy of the ropes to give him extra leverage as he came up swinging; a sweet right hook catching the other guy in the jaw. It threw him off balance sure enough, but didn’t quite have the impact Logan was hoping for. No matter.


*BAM*, *BAM*. Two lightening fast sucker punches to the stomach, left then right, had pug-boy doubled over and staggering backwards.


Wiping away a thin trickle of blood that had started from the small gash just on his cheek bone Logan was sportsman enough to wait for the other man to disentangle his arms from blue and red to right himself before he landed one last blow, square on the guy’s---prominent, to say the least, nose. That was enough, Logan thought as he pulled back and waited for reprisal, showing some restraint finally. If that hadn’t riled him enough to lie a truly convincing punch on him then there was no way he was going down to this fucker.


And...*WHAM!* Logan was down; suppressing a wince at the keen slap of the bottom of the ring against the side of his face as he connected with it. His immediate instinct told him to get the hell up and sock it to him but he fought against it---the rage in his blood much less rife these days, though still there. Instead he let the roar of the crowd deafen him, his eyes closed and he allowed his body to go limp. It was only now that he realised that his head was in fact pounding and there was a sharp pain in his jaw accompanied by the familiar metalic taste. He subtly tongued his back teeth on the left side of his mouth. The bastard had chipped a damn tooth.


Suddenly, amid the shouting of the ginger man with jowls calling for the next contestant to be brought forth, Logan felt himself being hoisted up by two people at each side of him, slinging his arms over their shoulders. He opened his eyes just barely, allowing them to squint. His misty focus glided over the sea of shaded heads, covered by a cloak of smoky blackness over to the doorway, where she stood waiting still. Even with her scarf pulled up so that it more-or-less covered her mouth like it had on that first night, months ago, he could tell from her eyes that she was smirking; impressed by his Oscar-esque performance. He let his eyes shut again as he was dragged from the ring and manoeuvred through the ropes.


*


“Fifty, hundred, one fifty, two hundred, two fifty, three hundred, three fifty,” and with a flamboyant rise of tone he slapped the last note down on top of the others Logan held in his out stretched palm and declared, “four hundred. That’s a hundred bucks per fight.”


Logan didn’t offer thanks; he simply rolled the notes up and put them in the breast pocket of his denim beneath his leather, buttoning the pocket shut once he’d done so.


“They were some good fights.” the man on the other side of the desk said almost thoughtfully. Logan regarded him with dark features set in stone, finding it impossible not to consider everything that strangers said to him as having ulterior motives. It was the type of sentence that begged to foster a conversation on the back of it. “What did you say yer name was again?”


“I didn’t.”


“Funny guy.” The bar-owner said flatly ad then looked down at the signing-up sheet on his desk that detailed which fighter had won what. You had to last at least two fights in a row to win anything and then it was one hundred per fight after that point. “Urr---,” he ran his finger down the list, “Logan right?”


“Right.”


The balding man scratched at his white whiskered chin as his eyes rolled to the ceiling in the universal pose for; I’m thinking. “You---you been in New York lately?”


“Yeah,” Logan shrugged, his hands in his pockets, “What’s it to ya?”


“The Kowalski fight,” He smiled knowingly up at Logan from his desk jammed in the corner of the box room that he classed an office, “That you?---the ‘Wolverine’?” Logan remained stubbornly silent and the man erupted into a husky laughter that soon burst into a chesty cough. “That was you, wasn’t it?” He said hoarsely, balling his fist near to his mouth ready for a renewed coughing fit, but none came. “Damn---Ricky told me about that.” He laughed, albeit a little more placidly this time, “You know Ricky Thomas?”


“I’ve met him---few years back.”


The bar-owner carried on like he hadn’t registered his answer, “Yeah, I saw him at a fight a couple o’ weeks back---he said it was a helluva fight, said you damn near ripped the guy apart.” This fact the man seemed to find particularly amusing, a broad smile on his red face. “Ya know he’s still got his jaw wired shut?”


“No. I didn’t.” He didn’t especially feel anything on finding this out. In fact, Logan hadn’t really thought about the guy at all since that night. No conscience, no regret---not so far as Kowalski was concerned, at least.


“Hell yeah,” the man shook his head and looked down, his eyes focused on something unseen, then he looked up at Logan again, “it’ll be awhile until he gets back on the merry-go-round, that’s fer sure.”


That was it for the chit-chat, Logan had heard enough of this bull-shit for one night. He made to leave, until another question held him there, “Ricky said you ain’t been ‘round after that---just kinda fell off the radar.” He gave him a quizzical look, “Woulda thought after gettin’ a notch that big you’da been chalkin’ up the fights, huh?”


“Something came up.” Logan muttered gruffly, like it was any of his goddamn business anyway.


“What---urr---brings you up inta this neck of the woods anyhow?”


“Stuff.”


The white whiskered man raised an eyebrow, “Conversational fella ain’t ya?”


“What’s it to ya?” This was getting increasingly irritating, but then it came to him that he could be asking one or two questions of his own. He shifted slightly, his hand coming from his pocket and absently ghosting over the gash that had formed into a bruised bump. Changing tack, he asked, “You get many locals fightin’ in here, bub?”


The man nodded, leaning forwards on his desk and lacing his rough fingers together, “Yeah, plenty.”


“What about guy’s from outside the area?”


“What? Ya mean passin’ through?”


“Logan shook his head, “No. I mean the surroundin’ area---Steen River? Chateh?” then added, his voice remaining low yet casual, “Bistcho?”


The bar-owner leant back, taking himself out of the bright pool of pale yellow light that cascaded down from the lamp on the shelf next to the desk, “Sure, why not.” Casually waving his hand to the side he said, “We get people from all over comin’ in here on open fight nights---what the hell else can a guy do fer kicks on a weekend out here?”


Logan nodded, but his whole demeanour seemed like he was somewhere far off, away from this dank little room with it’s over flowing ashtray and smell of damp carpet. Pulling back to the moment, he muttered a quiet “Thanks” and then left.


“Sure thing.” He said quietly to the back of the now closed door, his brow furrowed. But brushing the stranger from his mind with a dismissive shake of his head he looked down at his signing-up sheet to see who was to be paid next.


* * *


Ororo’s eyes smiled above the checked scarf and she yanked it down from over her mouth as Logan came over to the car. She was leant back against the passenger door, waiting for him to emerge from the roadhouse. “Did you get it?”


“Yeah.”


“Did he suspect?” She asked with the naughty enthusiasm of a school kid asking their friend if they’d just had a ticking off after being summoned to the headmaster’s office.


He shook his head, “Nah.” He stated with a slight grin. “What about you---catch anythin’?” She reached into her pockets and held out three wallets in each hand, a devilish smile on her lips as she peered up at him from beneath lusciously long, dark lashes. “That’s my girl.” He remarked and then caught those curving lips with his, quick and hard, pressing her back against the car. She almost dropped the contents in her hands as her grip slackened in light of the kiss, weakening not just her knees but her entire body. A sigh of disappointment elicited from her mouth, turning quickly into a thick stream of vapour as he pulled away. “Let’s get outta here.” Putting the wallets away they both got into the car.


*


As they sped down the dark highway in the maroon Sudan, the pick-up truck (and much to Logan’s chagrin, his bike too) having been dumped in a lay-by somewhere Saskatchewan, Ororo opened up the wallets one by one. She flipped open the third, a rough black leather affair, and pulled out all the papers that were stuffed into the back of it. Quickly she sorted through them separating the green from the rest of the crap and then threw the useless paper and the wallet out of the window, only glancing behind quickly as the discarded items bounced down the road and scuttle around in the back draft of the car until they were blotted out by night.


Logan looked at her, taking his eyes off the road for a moment as she repeated the action with the next wallet; watching briefly as with a flurry of whipping paper; a small chunk of someone’s life flying out into the night. Turning back to the road he gave a small shake of his head, a knowing, feral smile on his face. “You got no mores?”


Ororo made an incredulous noise, “Why? Have you?” She used the slim plastic handle to wind the window back up.


He shook his head again and concentrated on the road. “How much we got there anyways?


Ororo flicked through the notes quickly and then bunched them all together neatly, curving them in the middle. “Five hundred and sixty eight.” She relayed proudly, “Plus your four hundred and thhhhat’s...nine hundred and sixty eight. Not bad for an hours work.”


“Beats waitin’ tables,” He sniffed, “You sure know how ta pick ‘em ‘Ro, I’ll give you that.”


“It’s called practice my love,” she told him boldly, “practice.”


“Oh yeah? So what made you pick me that night?”


Ororo gave an embarrassed laugh and feigned shyness, hiding her face beneath her loose silver locks. Pulling her head back up sharply, she inclined it towards him, “You really want to know?”


“Yeah sure,” he said lightly, placing his right hand on her slim jean clad thigh, squeezing firmly, “why not?”


“I found you attractive.” She admitted rather coyly, “despite the black eye.”


“Hmph! Sounds a very methodical way ta choose yer marks darlin’.” He said bemused, rubbing the hand that lay on her leg back and forth a few times; relishing the firm, lithe feel of it.


“Well let’s just say I had a---.” She turned her eyes skywards as she thought, “moment of madness.” She concluded finally. “That, plus I saw that wad the short man gave you, remember? That was incentive enough.”


He gave a placid sound of amusement, then after a moment of silence said, “I’m glad ya did beautiful...I’m real glad ya did.”


“So am I.” She said wistfully, placing her creamy, dusky hand over his as it moved slowly to rest at the very top of her thigh, almost touching her crotch. The hard, rough texture of it beneath her soft palm and the reassuring heat felt gorgeous to her. Then it sparked a familiar thought, “I think we should find somewhere to stay.”


“Motel?”


“Yes.” She replied as she took her hand from his and then and ran it through his untameable hair. Then she let her had run down, lightly brushing the tips of two fingers over the cut on his cheek bone that didn’t look too bad now that the blood had been wiped away from it, although it was starting to swell and a purple shadow was starting all around it. “Does it hurt?”


There was no answer; he was staring straight ahead as if he was in a world entirely of his own suddenly. “ Logan?” Still nothing. “Logan?” A little louder.


“Yeah darlin’?”


“You were a million miles away then.” She laughed uncertainly.


“Sorry babe,” He squeezed her thigh again, “I was in a world of my own, what did you say?”


Ororo shook her head as she eyed him carefully, “It doesn’t matter.” She replied quietly and then turned back to the front. A silence settled then as small flakes of snow started outside, rushing towards the windshield of the car like stars speeding past in light-years. They were few and far between at first until more and more joined the fray, bouncing of the large maroon bonnet and into the windshield, rapidly reducing visibility.


“I think there’s a motel in about a mile from here.” Logan said quietly. Though, he didn’t think, he knew...His dark eyes flicked to the left hand side of the road as a sign gradually became illuminated it the pools of the car’s headlamps.


‘Welcome to Bistcho.’...


-TBC-


Sorry this one was a bit short, the next one will probably be much longer and with a bit more...heat!





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