Chapter Fifteen:
Along a winding stretch of road in upstate New York, a lone motorcycle roared through the early evening. The sky was dark and starless, the clouds thick enough to hide the nearly full moon.
However, the twilight rider moved effortlessly along the black asphalt, able to see the road in the dark with more ease than most people could in the daylight. The rumble of the engine as he tore towards his destination was very soothing for the traveler, though must have sounded like a jet to anyone nearby.
Logan could have driven this stretch of highway with his eyes closed. It was a road he had traveled many times over the past two years since first coming to Xavier's School for the Gifted, and now he was heading home again.
In his fifteen years of wandering, Logan had never thought of any place as home, not even the ramshackle trailer he had hauled all over northern Alberta. But, for many reasons, he found himself drawn back again and again to Xavier's school, and he figured it was as good a place to think of as 'home base' as any where else.
Logan approached a crossroad, where the highway divided, and instead of turning right towards the school, he made a left. There was one more place he needed to stop before he ended his journey.
After another mile, Logan pulled into a small lot and parked his bike under a dim neon sign. There were only a few other cars parked next to the aging cement walls of the bar. It was too early in the evening for the larger groups of regular patrons and Logan preferred to finish his business here before the nightly crowds rolled in.
RUSTY'S, the sign read in glowing blue letters, and Logan glanced up and grinned. Now, he knew he was home.
Pushing the windowless door inward, Logan instinctively took stock of the people around him. There were two couples seated in booths along the back wall and two men at the bar, watching ESPN as they had an after-work beer. They were all locals, and Logan knew each of them by scent, if not by name.
Logan moved quickly through a small maze of tables and greeted the bartender with a nod before sitting at the last stool. The middle aged man put down the glasses he had been drying and pulled a beer out of one cooler. He walked over to the end of the bar and handed the bottle to Logan without being asked.
"Hey, there, friend," the bartender said, "So, you're back again…"
Logan glanced at the man and took the drink appreciatively.
"Thanks, Rus," he grumbled more than said, and took three quick swallows before handing over his money.
The bartender grinned broadly and shook his head as he headed to the cash register. Logan had been one of his regular patrons for a couple of years and Rus learned his routine quickly. He would come in around this same time, order a few beers and then leave. Never really talked to anybody (except Rus himself) and always came alone.
Strange part was, Logan was not really a 'regular,' in the true sense of the word. Months could go by without seeing the quiet dark haired man, then he would appear again, almost as if he had never been away. But, he seemed civil enough, never caused any trouble and always paid his tab. In Rusty's book, that made him a good guy, and a great customer.
And, of course, there was another item which Rusty frequently procured for Logan, an under the table and mostly unspoken business arrangement they had.
"Has the shipment come in yet?" Logan asked as Rus handed over his change.
"Not yet," he replied, "Frankly, I wasn't expectin' you for a while. Just put the order in this morning after you called. But, it should be here soon."
Logan nodded and took another drink from his bottle. He did not mind waiting. Merchandise of that quality was worth waiting for.
A few quiet moments past, when the front door swung open again. Logan did not turn around, but noticed a strange smile touch Rus's face. The bartender reached for a bottle on a high shelf, and placed a small glass on the bar, as the new arrival sat down.
"Bourbon, mon ami," the man said, with a strong accent, as he took a seat a few feet down from Logan. He seemed surprised as the bartender placed the glass before him, almost before he asked for it, but smiled gratefully.
"Merci," he said, and finished the glass quickly. The man glanced around the bar, and seemed disappointed. He tipped his glass in greeting to the two men watching the television, only to be met with hard glares. The man sighed and shook his head.
"Quiet tonight, no?" he asked Rus with a friendly grin as the bartender refilled his glass.
"You should know by now," Rus replied, "Most folks don't come way out here 'til later, friend."
"Oui, I do," the man replied, "Unfortunately, I don't have the freedom to stay out as late as I would like. Which you should know…"
"I see," Rus said, and then grinned, "Gotta woman waitin' for you?"
The man with the accent laughed, "One or two. Though not quite how you mean."
"Kids waitin' then?" Rus asked.
"Dozens…" the man said with a sigh, warranting another laugh from his host.
Logan rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the television instead of the new arrival's ramblings. Unfortunately, the man glanced up at Rus and, to Logan's complete annoyance, began to speak again.
"Don't suppose you know any place I could get a round of five-card in, eh?" the man asked, "I know you don't like cards here, ami, but is there anywhere closer than the A.C. that a man could play a straight hand?"
Rus shook his head, "Sorry, aside from getting' some regular poker buddies to meet at your house, I think you're shit out of luck."
The man chuckled, "Not at my house…no, definitely not. Management there doesn't like gambling either, if you get what I mean…"
Logan finished his first beer, and motioned to Rus for another. Outside, the squeal of truck tires could be heard. Rus gave Logan a quick nod. Merchandise was here. Rus dried his hands on the towel hanging from his belt and headed out back.
The accented man glanced over, as if noticing Logan for the first time, and tipped his glass towards him in greeting.
Oh, shit, Logan thought, realizing a moment too late that the chatty guest was about to turn on him.
"What about you, ami," the man called, "Know any place a guy could find an honest hand of poker?"
Logan glared over at him, "No."
"Fair enough," the man replied disappointed, and then added, "How about a dishonest one?"
Logan did not reply, but continued glaring until the man shrugged.
"Doesn't hurt to ask?" the man said, and then sighed, "Sure does help clear the head, though. I wasn't exaggerating when I said I have dozens of children to go home to."
"Good for you," Logan said, trying to end the conversation.
"Not my children, par bon-heur," the man continued, "But still dozens under the same roof. Not exactly the best place for a free man, such as myself, which is why I search for solace elsewhere."
Logan remained visibly uninterested, but listened to the man carefully. Something in his description of 'home' sounded very familiar.
"Mais," the man continued, giving Logan a wicked grin, "There are some benefits. There are a few very beaux femmes there, which makes up for all the petits…"
"Really?" Logan said darkly, "You must think you're a pretty lucky guy…"
The man laughed, "Not until I get lucky, mon ami."
"I'm not your ami, bub," Logan shot back, disliking the man more and more. He suddenly hoped this 'home' the man described was not where Logan was thinking of.
The accented man shrugged and gave Logan a cold grin, "No insult to me…"
As he finished his drink, Rus came back into the bar with a small wrapped parcel. The accented man took a twenty out of his long jacket and slid it across the bar towards him.
"Thanks for the drinks, mon ami," he said, stressing the last two words significantly, "I certainly hope the troux de cul clear up before your other customers show up."
The man stood, letting his long coat swirl dramatically around, and headed out the door. Logan frowned as he watched the man leave, and then smirked as Rus wandered toward him. Logan had spent enough time in Canada to pick up some French, and he knew he had just been called an 'asshole.'
The bartender handed him his third beer, and Logan looked up at him with disgruntled amusement.
"So, that guy around a lot?" Logan asked, and Rus nodded.
"Yeah, showed up about a month ago," he said, "Comes in a few times a week…"
"Could you do me a favor and let me know when he's not here," Logan replied.
Rus laughed, "No problem…here's your stuff."
Logan grumbled in acknowledgement and took the parcel in exchange for several rolled bills. He tore open the brown paper and lifted the box's lid. He pulled out one fresh cigar and rolled it in his fingers.
Rus passed him a few packs of matches and Logan grinned before lighting it.