The Witness

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 8: Declaration of War

Gray-bruised and dark though it was, dawn proved to be a most welcome sight to both Catherine and the PI at whose residence she was staying. The banks of dark, rolling thunderclouds that for the past several days had blackened the skies now receded into a solid mass of steel-colored, low-lying mist that brushed the top of Chicago's cityscape.

Catherine Pryde's eyelids fluttered open as she lay afloat in her dress on Kurt's bed, and she sat up groggily, rubbing sleep from her eyes as her slightly-mussed brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in a brown wavy of shining locks.

She pushed the blanket aside before realizing, with a start, that she had not pulled it over her body before she'd finally come to terms with her grief the previous evening. She had fallen into a deep, dark and dreamless slumber after the tears had finally stopped, and she had been so tired that she hadn't realized that she'd fallen to sleep before Kurt had even left the bedroom. It was Kurt, Catherine concluded, that had pulled the thick quilt over her sleeping form, and her mouth split into a small smile as she shyly smoothed a lock of hair away from her eyes.

Her mouth opened wide with a cavernous yawn, and Catherine gave a sound reminiscent of a small kitten as she arched her back lazily. Shaking her head to clear away any remnants of grogginess, Catherine tried her best to make herself presentable and headed downstairs.

The loud pounding of her bare feet caused Kurt to look up from the small, wood-burning stove that he had been hunched over. A hot skillet lay in his palm, and Kurt's customary trenchcoat had been replaced with a comical-looking apron that said, "Kiss the Cook" in large, red letters.

Though he would hardly admit it, Kurt had come to look at Catherine a bit differently after their narrow escape from Capone's clutches. Privately, he admired her strong sense of right and wrong, her formidable willpower and her utter determination to avenge the deaths of her parents. Gradually, he had come to notice how well-toned and curvaceous her figure was, how her hair reflected the lantern's glow, and how the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled-

-Kurt blinked and gave himself a mental slap before his mind ran away with him. I need to get out more, he told himself dryly, if I start looking to my clients for companionship, I must really be hitting rock bottom.

"It's about time you woke up," Kurt disguised his discomfort by keeping a mocking edge in his tone. "I was about to go up there and throw a pan of water on you. The day's wasting, and we have work to do. Hope you like sausage and eggs," he added, gesturing toward the sizzling frying pan. "I made breakfast."

Catherine remembered the sauerbraten she'd eaten the night before, but her appetite was forgotten as she glanced at Kurt's injured shoulder. The injury still bore the filthy, hastily-wrapped and bloodstained strip of cloth, and from the stiff way that he moved his arm, Catherine could tell that he was in great pain.

"You're injured," she stated, pointing to the wound. "Honestly, Kurt, did you treat that at all last night?"

"What, this?" Kurt seemed to notice his injury for the first time. "I meant to, but I was, uh, distracted."

Catherine walked over to him and took the skillet from his hands, but Kurt tightened his grip and refused to let go.

"Sit down," Catherine told him commandingly. "If you don't change those bandages, you could catch gangrene."

"Oh, please-" Kurt snorted. "I'm not some weak-"

"Sit," Catherine repeated in a more forceful tone.

"Make me," Kurt poked his tongue out childishly at her.

Catherine promptly seized a nearby cooking ladle and whacked Kurt squarely on the head with it.

The mutant yelped in surprise and pain. "Get that out of my face, dammit!"

"It's not in your face, it's in my hand," Catherine told him sweetly.

"Get what's in your hand out of my face," Kurt retorted, pulling up a chair and taking a seat with an exasperated look. "And there was no call to hit me."

"I believe there was," Catherine grinned. "You were being-"

"Tough? Stoic? Manly?" Kurt puffed out his chest playfully.

"I was going to say chauvinistic pig, but that works too."

Kurt glared at her. "You're cold, you know that?"

"Shut up and let me change your bandages, would you? Honestly…." She muttered under her breath, rummaging carelessly through Kurt's cabinets in search of linen strips. Once the large roll of bandages had been extracted, Catherine took a seat by Kurt's side with a small container of fresh water and rubbing alcohol close at hand.

"This might sting a bit," she warned him, dipping a rag into the strong-smelling solution. "Just grin and bear it, okay?"

Kurt bit his lip so hard that it almost bled as Catherine peeled the sticky, blood-stained rags off of his fur, and when the wet rag began dabbing on his wound, he only just managed to refrain from flinching away and uttering an agonized hiss. His eyes watered with stinging tears, but Catherine had to give him credit; he never made a single sound.

"So I was thinking," Kurt said through clenched teeth.

"About what?" Catherine glanced at him.

"Our next move, of course," he replied, as though it were obvious. "You still want Capone, right?"

"Yes."

"Then we need a new plan of action," Kurt closed his eyes briefly as another shockwave of sharp pain arced across his chest. "Last night went according to plan, but we can't just lay around and wait for Capone to find us."

"What do you mean it went 'according to plan'?" Catherine demanded. "He tried to kill you!"

"True, but our basic objective was accomplished," Kurt reminded her, pointing to the briefcase of money that lay in the corner. "Capone is convinced that you're dead, and the money that he gave me for your head will help, too."

"But now he's after both of us," Catherine pointed out. "And Capone wants that money back."

"It doesn't matter," Kurt grinned. "The cash itself is as good as spent."

"Spent?" Catherine had no idea where Kurt was going with this. "On what?"

"Think of it this way," Kurt explained. "We're David, and Capone's Goliath. We're gonna need a hell of a lot more than a slingstone to bring him down. Capone has resources at his disposal, spies and listeners that act as his eyes and ears, and enough enforcers to form a private army. We're outnumbered and outgunned, Catherine. We can't bring down Capone without help from outside."

"Didn't you say that there's no one left in Chicago who isn't in Capone's pocket?"

"That's true, for the most part," Kurt nodded in agreement. "But I can think of a few who would be willing to help us, if only to serve their own interests. We need allies, Catherine. We can't do this all by ourselves, and I can't fight a one-man war. Manpower, connections, resources…we must have all of these things before we take the fight to them."

"Who did you have in mind, then?" Catherine asked suspiciously.

"I have an old friend in the Chicago PD who I think we can trust," Kurt said after a moment's thought. "He and I aren't on the best of terms, but he's a good man and he'll work with us for the right price. The second one, however…." He cleared his throat. "Let's just say that he'll be a bit more difficult to approach."

Catherine turned her seat around and leant over its back. "Do tell."

"There's only one person in Chicago who stands a chance against Scarface Al Capone," Kurt sighed. "Capone's grip on the city isn't as concrete as he likes everyone to think. There is still opposition from the other criminal syndicates, perhaps strength enough to challenge him if they united against a common foe. And if anyone can bring the other organizations together, it's Bugs Moran, Capone's sworn enemy."

Catherine stood up with an incredulous look on her face. "Are you insane?" she yelled. "Bugs Moran and those other men are no better than Capone himself! They are loyal to nothing and no one but money and their own interests! They don't care about the problems of others! What makes you think they'll go out of their way to help us? What makes you think an audience with Moran will go any better than your little meet-up with Capone the other night? You almost died last time! This time around, you may not be so lucky!"

"I can understand why you'd be opposed to the idea," Kurt held up a hand to stall Catherine's tirade, "but hear me out. Capone and Moran have been fighting for Chicago for years. Capone eventually won out, but although Moran's power was weakened in the gang war, it wasn't broken. If I know his type, and I do, then he'll have spent this time rebuilding his organization, marshalling his forces and preparing to take on Capone again, this time for keeps. What Moran and the other crime lords want is to overthrow Capone and carve up the city for themselves; if we can offer them a way to do that, then they'll have no qualms about helping us. Moran has the things we need to wage our war: the money, resources, connections and manpower that serve his purpose will be made to serve ours…if we can persuade him to do it. Trust me, if anyone stands a chance of taking down Scarface, it's Moran, and if we get him on board, then the other crime families will follow his example because they want to be on the winning side."

Catherine stared, taken completely aback by Kurt's cunning. "You had this planned all along." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Wheels within wheels, my dear," Kurt winked roguishly.

"When will you go to see him?"

"As soon as the heat from Capone dies down," Kurt's tone was firm. "Which, knowing him, won't be for a few weeks at the very least. Until then, we lay low. Stay away from the windows and doors; I'll have food delivered to us. We cannot afford to let ourselves be seen outside right now.

"How do we know Moran won't hand me over for the price on my head?"

"If there's one thing Moran has in abundance, it's spite," Kurt laughed. "He hates Capone so much that he'd keep him from having you just to spit in his eye, which is exactly what I'm counting on."

"And Capone won't find us, right?" Catherine tried to reassure herself.

"Oh, ye of little faith," Kurt grinned, picking up his telephone and dialing a number. "Fret not, Catherine. I've taken care of everything…"

Meanwhile…

As Kurt outlined his master scheme to Catherine, Al Capone was already pressing his advantage. He had risen early that morning, clad in an impeccable Italian suit that cost more than some men made in an entire year, and with a thick cigar champed between his teeth and a white hat upon his head, the gangster exited the elaborate, five-star hotel that he'd bought as his private residence and walked outside to the sputtering car that awaited him. Two of his men stood by to open the passenger side door as their boss entered the shiny black vehicle, and Capone spared a cold glance at a peculiarly-shaped briefcase that lay at his feet.

"Drive," he told his henchman shortly, mopping his forehead with a scarlet hankerchief. "And pray that the tip we received is accurate."

"It's accurate, boss," the thug at the wheel replied as he stamped on the accelerator. "The tipster said that he saw Wagner enter the building only an hour after the shindig last night. That's probably where he lives, so shouldn't we strike early to take 'im by surprise?"

"I'm well aware of the details, my simple-minded friend," Capone smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Your job, however, does not involve talking. Your job is to do whatever I say and not ask questions."

"Right you are, boss," the enforcer bowed his head, suitably chastised, as he turned the corner and increased the vehicle's speed. "You want I should go in and get your money first?"

"No," Capone shook his head. "The money is of little consequence. The purpose of this little outing is to remind those who reside in this city that no one defies me and lives to brag about it. It matters not that Wagner stole from me; it's the principle of the thing."

"Wagner'll have to wake up earlier t'pull the wool over your eyes, boss," the thug agreed.

"Spare me your efforts to gain favor," Capone sighed. "Otherwise I might decide that I no longer have any need of you."

The man turned pale and promptly shut his mouth, and the rest of the drive continued in stony silence until the driver pulled the vehicle by the curbside in front of a worn-down tenement residence. The car slowed to almost a craw as Capone reached for the briefcase, and as he opened it and slid a drum into the Tommy gun that it contained, his expression was so calm that he might as well have been discussing the weather.

It happened in a flash. Capone rolled the window down, stuck the barrel of his firearm outside, and squeezed the trigger. The Tommy instantly began spitting bullets at a round a second as spent shell cartridges piled up on the sidewalk with a rapid clink-clinking sound, and the air was filled with the horrible cacophony of shattering glass as Capone thoroughly hosed down Kurt's place of residence. The doors, walls and windows were so riddled with holes that they looked like Swiss cheese, but the mobster kept firing until the cartridge was completely empty before he ceased his relentless assault and took a deep pull on his cigar.

Capone blew a perfect smoke ring into the air and opened the car door.

"Where are you going, boss?" his man asked him curiously.

"To make sure that Wagner does not escape me this time," Capone smiled calmly. "Stay here and keep the car running. I'll be back shortly."

Capone shoved his hands in his pockets and approached Kurt's front door, but the door itself was so smashed and ruined that it fell off its hinges as he tried to open it. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder as Capone stepped inside, expecting to see the ruins of Kurt's apartment-

-But there was nothing. The entire complex looked as though no one had lived there for years; dust covered the floor in a thick that smudged Capone's carefully shined shoes, and a few pieces of canvas-covered furniture were all that remained. The rooms were otherwise barren, and Capone was about to call for his enforcer when a strange sound reached his ears.

Tickticktickticktickticktick…

Capone's eyes narrowed, and, curious, he began to follow the sound. "What in the world…?"

Tickticktickticktickticktick…

The gangster slapped a fresh drum into his weapon and moved with caution into the abandoned sitting room that he'd deduced as the source of the noise, but his bewildered expression turned to surprise and outrage as he beheld a hastily scrawled note that had been pinned to an ancient couch by what was unmistakably one of Kurt's throwing knives.

Its message was simple:

YOUR NUMBER IS LISTED IN THE PHONE BOOK, YOU DUMBASS. YOU MIGHT WANT TO SCREEN YOUR TIPSTERS MORE CAREFULLY.

-KURT WAGNER

"So that's it?" Capone sneered, leaning over to see what lay on the sofa's cushions. "Does he seek to taunt me? As if I could be riled by such a pathetic-"

The sardonic sneer dropped to the floor and shattered into a million pieces as Capone beheld, with horrified comprehension, the parting gift that Kurt had left for him.

The "gift" took the form of nothing less than half a stick of dynamite, which, according to the small timer that was attached to it, had been set to explode in less than ten seconds.

For the first time in years, Al Capone turned on his heel and ran as though the Devil himself was nipping at his heels. He only just made it through the door when the timer went off with a comedic-sounding ding, and a single spark to the dynamite's explosive core caused it to erupt in a white-hot explosion that took the form of a massive, roiling fireball that virtually disintegrated the entire structure in less than a second. Pieces of shattered brick and other flaming debris were hurled skyward, trailing smoke and fire as the bomb went off with a deep, throat, bass-toned roar that one felt rather than heard, and rivulets of blood coursed down Capone's earlobes as his eardrums were damaged by the sound. The enormous, swirling, incandescent fireball sent out a shockwave that knocked Capone back onto the asphalt as he struggled to stand, and his beloved hat was virtually shredded as it was blown off his balding head. Capone's car, along with its unfortunate operator, were caught squarely in the blast radius and virtually incinerated into a twisted hunk of metal slag, and Capone himself barely escaped immolation because the shockwave knocked him off his feet and threw him clear into the air.

The echoes of the explosion were still ringing in Capone's ears as he got groggily to his feet, and his body was bruised and covered with lacerations that dripped blood onto the sidewalk. Sirens began wailing in the distance, and as Capone wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowed with sheer malice.

"Very well then, Mr. Wagner. Let the games...begin."

A/N: HELL, YEAH! Talk about being OWNED! But will Kurt's plan work? Will he get Bugs Moran on board with his scheme? And who is his old acquaintance in the Chicago PD? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! Seriously, I've only been getting a handful of reviews for each chapter, and I want to hear what YOU have to say! YOUR OPINION COUNTS, so if you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque