SIX

I woke to a miserable downpour the next day. The apartment building was deathly quiet. Usually I would have heard a baby screaming or a couple shouting down the hall, but today, all I could hear were the depressing sounds of my own movement; the bedsprings creaking, my boots over the bare wooden floors, water boiling, the chink of crockery as I placed my coffee mug beside the mountain of soiled dishes. I looked out at the grey sheets of rain slithering their way down the window and resolved to make headway on the Xavier case. I should have jumped straight onto it once I walked out of that mansion, but the strange goings on leading up to my meeting with Charles Xavier had my interest. As if my life needed any more complications.

I flipped open my notebook, looked at the scribbles I had made during my talk with Xavier, and reached for the folder containing mainly receipts and correspondence from the facility that stored his files. I jotted down the address from a letterhead and shoved the notepad into my breast pocket as I made my way out the door.

I was met at the facility by a pleasantly bland little man in an old linen suit. He was a man prone to quick, nervous movements, just like a bird. He led me to his office which was situated on the floor above the storage space. The industrial sound filled the whole building, a jarring effect after this morning's eerie silence. "We were naturally very concerned when we learned of the theft," He said as he unlocked the office, his keys jangling with the slight tremor in his hand. "We do not usually have such incidents, as security is one of our main priorities. Break-ins are very rare."

"Do you know how the thieves broke in?" I asked.

He nodded. "Near as we can tell, they dug under out electric fence evaded the guard dogs and security patrolmen, then used a device to cut a hole in the side of Professor Xavier's storage unit. Our guards discovered the theft in the morning and alerted the authorities."

I scribbled down a few details. "Not everything was taken?"

He shook his head. "No. When we inventoried the contents after the theft, we discovered only a few items missing, which was puzzling, to say the least."

I had a good idea where this was heading. "How are Professor Xavier's files stored? Any particular order…Like chronologically, by content…?"

He smiled. I was cruising right into his area of expertise, and he was puffing up like a peacock. "Professor Xavier had very specific requirements regarding the storage of his documents," He replied. "There were reports about individual students, by name and years attended at the school, then financial documents by year only, and some older files that he asked be stored by date, month, year, marked by peculiar titles. Research papers, mostly."

"Have you read any of the files?"

He drew back, offended. "Of course not! We value the privacy of our clients and guard it zealously. We require out clients to provide us with information that better helps us store their goods in the most efficient manner. Professor Xavier volunteered this information so he could readily access that material later." He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and shook his head as if he were lamenting my stupidity, which he probably was. I knew my unintended offence would cost me information.

My next question had to count. "Did Professor Xavier give you a list of people with permission to access the material?"

He sat back and looked at me shrewdly. For a moment I thought he was going to refuse to answer, but to my relief, he did. "I have a copy of the list somewhere." He waved to his filing cabinets behind me.

"Do you have a ledger or something…Something that lists all the people who have accessed the material since it had been stored here?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have that on hand. The police department still has it."

"May I have a copy of the list of permissions?"

He nodded. "Although I don't know that it will give you any new leads," He stood and took off his glasses. "The police have already questioned everybody on the list."

"All the same, I'd like to get a copy."

He nodded his head. "Wait here." His courteousness had disappeared and he was now getting quite annoyed by my presence. He returned a few moments later with a single sheet of paper, handing it to me on the way to his chair behind the desk. He sat heavily and sighed. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

I glanced at the list, folded it and slipped it into my pocket with a smile. "No, thank you."

I slid onto my usual barstool at Harry's, pulled one of the laminated menus from the rack to the left of my elbow, like I always do, and in a few minutes Marie is standing before me, pad and pencil in hand, like always. My life had become so unpredictable that coming to Harry's was the only constant, the one thing I could count on. Marie sighed and looked at me with a semi smile. "Cheeseburger, Side of fries, bud." She shakes her head and plucks the menu from me, sliding my beer towards me already. I picked it up and took a deep gulp. "How did you guess?" I said, looking into my beer, then smiling up at her.

"You look tired Logan," She said after placing the order with the cook. "Everything OK?"

I nod, because I do not want the worries of my life anywhere near her. She looked as if she had suffered enough in her short life. "Just had a hard few days."

"Maybe you should take a few days off, relax a bit," She leaned against the bar and put her hand on her hip. The bar was quiet today and she had little else to do but talk to me. "Go to one of those resorts where you forget all your cares."

I hold up my beer. "All I need is a cold glass of beer and a good meal and I forget my cares anyway."

She started wiping the bar absently, to give the illusion she was working. "Have you traveled much, Sugah? You look like a man who travels a lot."

"Marie! Cheeseburger!" The cook barked from behind her. Marie collected my meal and placed it in front of me. She waits while I take a chunk out of the burger, a frown cutting across my forehead. "You know, I can't remember the last time I…" something stopped me. Images flood into my mind's eye: A jungle, a palace, an underground tunnel. The desert. A cabin in the snow. "Probably Madripoor," I reply slowly. "My last holiday that I remember."

"I hear they don't like Americans none too much down there."

"They don't."

"Not much of a holiday, Logan."

The funny thing is, I can't remember a time when I was happier. I can recall vague scenes in my past, grey faces misting over my vision from time to time. They look like ghosts. I see them in my dreams, and sometimes I get the feeling I've been a bad man, that these demons are haunting me for a reason, and nothing I can do now can repair that. I just nod at Marie and keep chewing my burger. "Can't say I disagree with you, Marie."

She laughed softly, and when I looked up from the Honey colored wooden bar, she was gone. Bad music filtered through the smoke filled room, the owner, the famous Harry, barking orders over the top. Only a few patrons propped up the bar, far away from me, looking as if they are having about as much fun. I stabbed at my fried with a fork and shoveled them into my mouth. I stared back at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, intently trying to ignore how bad I looked, when Marie plonked the phone down in front of my, holding the receiver out with a look I couldn't decipher. "For you," She said.

I stared at the phone for w few minutes, wondering if she was kidding. She held the receiver out still and I could tell she was as puzzled as I was. I dropped my fork with a clatter and tentatively held the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"

I instantly recognized the voice on the other end. "Logan, hope I didn't interrupt your lunch." Johnnie Wraith said.

My response came out calmer than I felt. "Not at all. What do you want?"

"I need to arrange a meeting. I need to talk to you."

I gripped the receiver. Part of me wanted to hang up in his ear and ignore his delusional fantasies. Another part of me somehow knew that this man was on the level. I let my pause linger a bit too long, my gaze flicking up to Marie's worried face. "OK. Where?"

"Do you know where St Mark's cemetery is?" I told him I did. "I'll meet you there at 1am. Make sure nobody tails you this time, Logan. Things are getting outta hand."

I hear a click as he hangs up, and stare at the phone for a moment, then replace it in its cradle. Marie looks down at me with inquisitive eyes. "It was your friend from the other day, wasn't it?" She asked. "Ah remember his voice." I couldn't be sure but I think she shuddered.

"Yeah, it was him," I replied softly.

She didn't ask what the call was about, and I wasn't going to tell her. She scooped up the phone wordlessly and walked away, leaving me with half a plate of food I couldn't stomach and a head full of questions that screamed for answers.