The Witness

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 3: A Bargain Struck

Catherine shivered at the blast of cold air that hit her when she opened the shower door. It was, after all, comparatively cold in the small bathroom compared to the steam that filled the shower stall. Groping blindly to her left, Catherine snagged a white towel off a nearby rack and wrapped it around herself, checking and double-checking to make sure the bizarre young man she'd left downstairs had stayed there.

The door of the bathroom squeaked in protest as Catherine nudged it ajar just a touch, and she almost stepped on the shirt and pair of trousers that Kurt had apparently left for her. Catherine took a half-pace backward and scooped the clothes up, but she felt a twinge of guilt for suspecting Kurt of such juvenility so quickly. He had, after all, offered her a place to stay (albeit temporarily), and he seemed like a decent sort, but even so…

Catherine sighed. She was no longer sure that there was anyone she could trust within Chicago's city limits. The tentacles of Capone's organization, his legions of spies and watchers and listeners, were literally everywhere. How could Catherine be sure that Kurt had been telling the truth? It seemed as if there was no one left in Chicago who was not on Capone's payroll, so why should he be any different?

Catherine felt a pang of fear that made her blood run cold. There was no doubt that Capone was still looking for her; she was the only person who could place his name on the murder of her parents, since one of the thugs who'd invaded her home had stated that he was acting on Capone's orders, and this fact made her a serious liability to Capone's entire operation. Her testimony, assuming that there was yet a lawyer who was brave enough to prosecute, might very well send Scarface's criminal empire tumbling into ruin around him, and so Capone had, by now, probably made a big priority of shutting Catherine up for good.

Inwardly, she knew she couldn't outrun him for long.

But this Kurt fellow might be of some help, Catherine thought, assuming that he was telling the truth. Private investigators are not employed by the city, so there's a chance that Capone hasn't put Kurt in his pocket yet. And his underworld connections, which he undoubtedly has, may yet prove useful.

She pulled the shirt over her head, her fertile mind buzzing with the beginnings of a strategy. Kurt might be persuaded to help smuggle me out of the city for the right price, she thought, riffling through her purse absently. But I think I should gauge him a little further before I decide to tell him about my predicament. He may be tempted to hand me in for Capone's blood money…

Catherine felt her chest tighten with guilt again. Kurt had been nothing but gracious and kind to her, and yet she still held him in distrust. Although the crisis in which Catherine found herself demanded such caution, it was nevertheless unfair and unjust and she privately hated herself for it.

A world-weary sigh escaped Catherine's lips as she headed down the small flight of winding, wrought-metal staircase, her footsteps clanking on the cold steel as she descended into Kurt's combination of an office, living room and tiny kitchen. The heavy scent of spent tobacco hung in the air, and the small fan in the corner did little to banish it; it hung in gray, winding, ghost-like wisps, and its potency made Catherine dizzy for just a moment before a quick shake of her fair head reasserted her equilibrium.

Kurt, seated at the small metal folding table upon which he seemed to take his meals, hastily plucked the thick cigar out of his mouth and ground it in a nearby ashtray. "I didn't think you'd be done in there so quickly," he said by way of apology. "I don't usually light one up if I have clients or, uh, company."

From the uncertain look on his face (and that face, Catherine thought, would still take some getting used to), she guessed that Kurt didn't have "company" very often, if ever. "Please, don't hold back on my account," she said, waving Kurt's words aside. "You've done…far more than enough already."

He gestured toward the steaming bowl of…something that lay atop the old-fashioned wood-burning stove. "You must be hungry."

Catherine needed no second encouragement, but her face registered doubt as she dipped her spoon into the thick, viscous, chunky glop. "What is it?"

"Sauerbraten," Kurt explained. "A little taste of the old country. Made it myself, you know."

Catherine took a spoonful of the dish and, mustering her courage, shoved it into her mouth. After the ordeal she'd been through, she was hungry enough to brave such a meal. Of course, Catherine didn't have high expectations since this was foreign cuisine, but again, it was better than nothing.

Her lips closed around the spoon, and Catherine's eyes lit up in delight. "Not bad," she conceded. "Not bad at all."

"I'm self-taught," Kurt explained, digging into his own portion. "I do pro bono work, mostly, so I can't exactly afford to eat out all the time."

There was a moment of quiet as both people concentrated on the food in front of them, and Kurt dug a small, shiny flask from his pants pocket and pulled the stopper out with his teeth. "I think it's about time you tell me," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his blue, furry hand and looking at Catherine intensely, "exactly what it is you're running from, sweet cheeks."

She stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about," Catherine said after a short pause.

"Lady, I track down people with something to hide for a living," Kurt grinned roguishly. "It wasn't that hard to figure out, actually. I suspected it the moment I met you; your eyes keep darting to the windows, which tells me that you're afraid of being watched or tailed by whoever is pursuing you, but my theory was confirmed when you refused to tell me your name. And don't try denying what we both already know," he added, holding up a hand to stall Catherine's protestations, "I've been doing this gig long enough to smell a liar a mile away, miss. Don't take me for an idiot."

Catherine sagged like a deflated balloon, her mind racing. Option one: she could stay here, spill the beans to Kurt and pray that he was indeed who he said he was.

Option two: get up from the table and run like hell.

The girl almost chose the latter course of action, but a nagging at the back of her head stopped her. Catherine had already considered using Kurt's unique talents to go below the proverbial radar and flee the city, and now that the jig was up, she realized that there was no way she could escape Capone's reach without Kurt's aid. She'd be gunned down on the sidewalk before she had walked ten paces.

And more importantly, even if she managed to survive out in the open, where else could she go?

Catherine sighed and looked him in the eye. "Even if your accusation is correct,, why should you care? It's none of your business."

That last sentence had been added on to test Kurt's resolve. Catherine wanted to gauge Kurt's mettle, and gauge it accurately, before Catherine let him in on the plan that was forming inside of her head.

"Actually, considering how you're staying in my house, eating my food and wearing my clothes, I'd say that it was very much my business, peppermint," Kurt replied, arching an eyebrow. "Not to mention that it's my hide I seem to be risking by letting you stay here. C'mon, out with it!"

Catherine put her hands in her lap and stared downwards. What was the point in pretending anymore?

"My name," she began, taking a deep breath, "is Catherine Pryde. My father-"

"I know who your father is, cake-slice," Kurt leaned forward, intrigued. "The fire-eating new DA, right? Seems like a decent enough fellow."

"My father is dead," Catherine kept her voice devoid of emotion, but nevertheless she was starting to tremble. "As is my mother."

"How?" Kurt asked, his eyes softening for a moment.

"They were murdered," Catherine replied. "By some thugs in the employ of a gangster named Al Capone. No doubt you've heard of him. My father was a vocal opponent of Capone and his organization, and as the district attorney, he'd made taking down the gangster a top priority."

Kurt choked on his cigar. "Capone? The Capone? That's who's after you? Well, I can see why you didn't tell me who you were earlier; he's got eyes and ears everywhere."

"I know," Catherine nodded. "But my father was going to-"

"Your daddy may have meant well, peach-pie, but he should have known better," Kurt shook his head. "Nobody touches Capone and lives to see the sun go down. I mean, the guy has half this city bought and paid for. He's even got Senators in his back pocket, and he doesn't take kindly to challengers. So what's Capone want with you?" he added. "Seems to me like he's already cut the heart out of the opposition, as it were."

"I am the only witness to my parents' murder," Catherine told him. "If I were to testify in open court, Capone could be implicated."

"Assuming that you can find a lawyer, a judge and a jury in this town who hasn't already been bought or intimidated by Scarface," Kurt said scornfully. "Which is unlikely, by the way. Hate to say it, cinnamon stick, but you're up to your ears in trouble."

She glared at him. "I'm hardly helpless, Kurt. I escaped my home when Capone's apes tried to kill me, didn't I?"

"True, but you won't give him the slip for long, especially not if you stay in the city," Kurt advised. "And even if you don't, Capone has his share of enforcers in other places. I hear Europe is nice this time of year. I'd flee across the Atlantic or perhaps to Mexico if I were you, but even then there's no guarantee that he'll ever stop looking."

"Then if I can't outrun him, I have to defeat him," Catherine said firmly, fierce determination welling up inside her. The girl's heart swelled with righteous anger and vengeful fury, a burning desire to avenge the wrong that had been done to her family that seemed to make every cell in Catherine's body cry out for justice. "If I do this right, then this could be Capone's downfall, just as he fears, and my parents will not have died for nothing. But I need your help, Kurt."

The PI's mouth stopped in middle of forming words. He opened it, closed it, and opened it again, almost like that of a fish, and his stunned expression seemed to be etched in stone before a strangled snigger escaped his lips. His giggles turned into howls of laughter that shook the walls of the building, an Kurt's fist pounded the table as he burst into gales of merriment. Tears streamed from his eyes as his chest heaved, but Catherine waited patiently for the noise to die down as Kurt took a moment to regain his composure.

"Take down Capone? You want me to help you take down Capone?" Kurt asked, snickering. "Oh, that's funny. For a minute there, I could have sworn you were serious."

"I have never been more serious, Kurt."

"Catherine, I'm a PI, not a cop," he explained, turning serious. "I spy on wives and husbands who cheat on their spouses, I find lost pets and occasionally I track down a kid who's run away from home. If you think of Sherlock Holmes as the quintessential private detective, you need to get a reality check. Don't get me wrong, I don't like Capone any more than the next guy, but what you're suggesting simply can't be done. It should be done, but it can't be done. If we went after Capone, he'd vaporize us before we even got close. You think that because your mother and father got murdered that you know what he's capable of? You have no idea what Capone is willing to do to hang on to his power; I've seen alleys that have been painted red with blood after he's finished bulldozing over anyone who stands in his way. What you are suggesting can only lead to death."

"You fear him, then?" Catherine asked accusingly.

"I most certainly do," Kurt nodded, unashamed. "Everyone fears Scarface Al Capone, strudel, and rightly so."

"I am not among them. Capone is nothing more than a bully and a thug who's gotten on his high horse," Catherine retorted. "And stop calling me pastries," she added, frowning.

"Whatever you say, sweet cheeks," Kurt winked smarmily.

Catherine bristled at his snarky tone. "Enough! Are you going to help me or not?"

Kurt steepled his fingers over the table, his golden eyes intense. "Well, I'll tell you this much: I sure as hell ain't gonna do it for free. PI business isn't charity work, lady."

"Name your price."

Kurt leaned his chair back and took a deep puff on his cigar, thinking deeply. "Trust me, I will. But only when I've filled my end of the bargain."

"Then we have an agreement," Catherine said. It was a statement rather than a question.

Kurt's eyes burned into hers, and he blew a perfect smoke ring as he reached for his coat. "Yeah, I guess we do. It probably won't work and I don't really expect us to have any large measure of success, but in case this does work out, it could be my ticket to the big time. I could make a name for myself, maybe even get hired as a liaison to the Chicago PD and move out of this shit-hole tenement of an office. But all of that aside…" Kurt paused and grinned slyly, showcasing those long teeth. "Capone has it coming after what he did to you, and the challenge of getting back at him is just too good to resist."

He took a deep drink from his flask. "But first we need to get Capone to call off his goons. We can't even begin to move against him if he knows you're still alive. Once we've done that, then I'll see what I can do about getting Capone behind bars. Don't expect any miracles, by the way," Kurt warned. "I'll do what I can, but the chances of actually getting Scarface into a prison cell are slim at best."

"We'll worry about that when the time comes," Catherine shook off Kurt's disclaimer casually.

I like her style, Kurt thought, grinning inwardly as he strode over to his desk and reached into a drawer. The PI slowly withdrew a semi-automatic pistol and stroked it lovingly before stuffing it into a holster on his hip.

"You have something in mind, don't you?" she said, glancing at the weapon without the slightest hint of fear.

"Yup." Kurt's tone was short as he walked back across the room, his expression grim.

Catherine never noticed his left hand vanishing up the sleeve of his trenchcoat, and with a skilled flick of his wrist, the PI sent something blurring through the air.

WHIIZZZ!

A sound like an angrily buzzing bee made Catherine flinch by force of habit, and she stiffened with a jolt of stinging pain as she clasped a hand to the small dart that protruded from her neck. "What...?" she gurgled, tottering almost drunkenly as her words became slurred. "Kurt..."

"I am sorry about this, but I didn't think you'd approve if I told you what I had in mind," he shrugged. "The drug that I've administered will slow your heartbeat and breathing; for all intents and purposes, you will appear to be quite dead."

"But...why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Kurt caught Catherine as she staggered and lost her balance, and he bore her weight with ease as he lowered her gently to the floor. "If you want to give Capone the slip..."

Her eyes fluttered and began to glaze over, and as Catherine lost consciousness, she heard Kurt finish his sentence in her ear.

"We have to fake your own death."

A/N: Looks like things are getting interesting! But what does Kurt have in mind? You'll have to read the next chapter to find out! ^^ And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque