Disclaimer: Not mine, just playin' with 'em. Suing me would be completely pointless as I have no money but many ferrets………..

: Telepathic communication. I'm sure you would guess that, but hey…….

Feedback: Oh, God, yes. Either on here or to andreaslaymaker@hotmail.com. But please be nice – this is (the second chapter of) my VERY FIRST fic and I have no beta!! (Any and all offers gladly and gratefully received…..!)

On with the show……..

Chapter 2

Long Way From Home

The bar was like a million others he'd been in over the years; grubby, smoke stained, and smelling strongly of stale sweat and beer. Very familiar. He felt his shoulders relax a little, even as he spotted the cage in the corner.

Ha! If this dumbass 'mission' was as big a waste of his time as he thought it might be, then he could at least work off some frustrations and make a little money before he rolled on back home.

Home? He paused. When had he started to think of Westchester as 'home'? Seeing the tired looking woman behind the bar raise an eyebrow at him, he decided to file that thought away for later perusal, moved up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. Some gruff questions established that the rumpled bottle - blonde behind the bar did indeed co-own the place, and that the cage was in use twice a week, Fridays and Saturdays. All comers, apparently, even little guys like him.

Logan grinned wolfishly around his cigar and made no comment. Then he broached his next subject.

"Mind if I leave the vehicle here?"

The woman leaned on her side of the bar and ran her eyes over him.

"Do as you please. No guarantee it'll still be here when you come back though."

He slid a hundred dollar bill over the sticky bar, noting with some amusement the speed with which it disappeared.

"That make a difference?"

"It'll be here."

"I'll be in the mountains for a week or so - maybe longer."

The woman shook her head, then snorted in derision.

"Goin' after the dire wolf, are you? Shit, you won't last a day out there. Can I sell your truck if you ain't back by spring?"

Logan sat up sharply. Perhaps this woman knew something useful after all. God only knows what she was referring to; she'd pronounced it 'dy-arrr ulf' and he'd sure as shit never heard of one of those. Hoping to draw her out, he leaned a little closer and gave her a smouldering look - the one that Marie said would make an angel strip and fling herself at his feet (although she hadn't yet) - pushed another fifty across the bar, and said that maybe he was, and then again maybe he wasn't.

His look got the desired result. The woman slid up to him, wiggling her hips in a manner he supposed she thought was seductive, and breathed into his face a mix of whiskey, halitosis and stale tobacco.

"Well, we've had all sorts up here hunting it. Some say it don't exist, some say it's a gov'ment experiment gone wrong, or a rogue wolf, or a ghost…" she paused, looking him up and down and licking her lips, "but what sort of wolf slashes tyres and scatters ammo? And a ghost don't trip some traps, then sets it's own."

"So what's your theory, darlin'?" Damn, but the smell of her was beginning to turn his stomach. Staleness and rot, with undercurrents of arousal spiced with too much cheap perfume and hair dye. Vile.

"Reckon it's one o' they mutant things. If it is, then I just hope someone shoots the damn thing - I'd pay big to have it's head on the wall. Just over the bar, where all us humans can see it! So, what do you think, sweet stuff?"

Logan just smiled at her. It was, he figured, probably better than punching her in the face.

"So," he almost purred, "d'you know where it was last seen? If it's mutant, it should be close, huh?"

"Nah. Last thing I heard, it was forty miles west of here, place called Bear Lake. Can't get there in the winter so I 'spect someone'll find it's bones in the spring"

Don't bet on it, Logan thought sourly. Those mutants can be tricky damn things, always turnin' up where you least expect them. He swung to his feet, grabbed his bag and gave her a much forced smile.

"Gotta be goin'. See you in a couple of weeks, OK?"

Her disappointment was palpable. She pouted painted lips at him and asked if he wouldn't rather start in the morning, after a good nights …sleep?

He shook his head, and turned to go -

"Hey!"

He turned back, framed in the doorway.

"Don't forget you promised me it's head!"

Keep walking Logan, he told himself. Get your gear, and just go. Before your temper gets out of control and you do something really, really stupid. Like torch the damn place.

He stamped back to the truck, and began to sort his gear out. Attitudes like hers wouldn't have bothered him much, until he met Rogue and became tangled up with the X-Men. After all, all he had to do was keep his head down and no-one need know that he was…different. And now?

"Regular little crusader, huh?" he muttered to himself gloomily. Taking his bearings and looking up in the direction he had to go, he decided to try and elicit a little extra help. He took a deep breath, and mentally yelled as loud as he could - HEY! WHEELS!

Logan. There is no need to shout

He snorted, and set off into the snow, figuring he might as well walk while he got his helping hand.

Any idea where this thing is now?

I'll look. But the last glimpse of it I got, it was heading more or less in your direction. But, Logan……..

What?

He could sense a reluctance in Xavier's voice, as though the man was struggling to decide whether to impart the next piece of information.

…I hesitate to use the word insane, but the mind I have touched seems very…unstable. Be careful, Logan, please

Well, he thought, that's just perfect. Out of contact with just about everything and everyone, hunting a possible mutant with totally unknown powers, probably insane, almost certainly very dangerous, who'd been hunted all summer and autumn, and would be trying to avoid him in some of the most difficult terrain on the planet.

This assignment just got better and better.

He put his head down and slogged on, grinning.