SEVEN

Johnnie Wraith arrived on time at St Mark's, trudging up a white gravel lane that lead to the stone bench I sat on. There was little light except for the moon hidden behind the clouds and the light from a faraway street lamp. He was dressed for the cold, in an expensive looking duffle coat and a bright red scarf. I wore my threadbare trench coat because it made me feel as if I was a real private eye. It offered no protection from the rain or the chill. He stood before me, then cast a few glances either side and sat beside me on the cold stone. "They found you, Logan. Goddamn it, they actually managed to track you down." His breath came out in white cloud puffs. When he looked at me I could see fear in his eyes. "Which means they ain't far behind me either. Look, You need to watch your back, seriously. I think what happened the other day was a test."

"What are you talking about?"

"They sent that little Geisha girl for you. They wanted to see if there was any chance you still had it on you."

I shook my head, looking every bit the stunned mullet, and then it dawned on me that he was talking about the purple haired assassin. "Had what in me?"

He sighed. "She wasn't sent to kill you Logan, although that's what they told her. The real reason she was sent was to see if you would kill her." He reached into his coat and produced a series of black and white photos. In the half light I see the face of my would-be assassin. She had cuts and bruises all over her face, her body a twisted wreckage of bloody cuts. The photos were taken at several angles in a small alleyway. I handed them back to Wraith. "I didn't do this."

He shoved them back into his coat and sighed. "Somebody did, Logan." He let that thought hang for a little while, and then sighed. "What happened?"

"She attacked me from behind, wielding a samurai sword. She was sloppy, undisciplined. I was able to anticipate her and pinned her."

"And then what?"

"I let her go." I held his gaze for a few moments before continuing. "I told her to go and take the money she was given, and run as far and as fast as she could from whoever employed her."

"Looks like they caught up with her then, if what you say is true. Point is, no matter how this situation played out, she was going to end up in a body bag. They thought you would kill her. They were wrong. When you let her go, what were they gonna do? Let a paid assassin get away after seeing their faces? No way would they, or could they, let that happen."

"She was playing a dangerous game to begin with. More fool her for taking on an assignment where she didn't do her research."

His head jerked up. "You really believe that?"

I had to think long and hard about this. She was no professional that was for sure. But she was no wide eyes innocent either. She was a woman who was paid to do a job, and that was to kill me. Maybe my bias took over when I answered. I wasn't quite sure. "I dunno anymore, Wraith. Things have been weird for me lately."

"You and me both, man."

"Who killed her, do you think?"

He shrugged. "Some two-bit goon they hired. It ain't important. These people will go through hell and high water to get you back. Ever since I got the tip off that you were in the city, I have been working my ass off trying to find you before they did.  This is what happens when these guys get serious, Logan. People die."

I held up an impatient hand to stem the flow of words. "Whoa. Wait. You said you were tipped off about my whereabouts?"

He regarded me for a long few moments, rubbed a hand over his face and suddenly looked very, very old. His sigh lifted his shoulders and sent an explosion of mist from his mouth. "Yeah, and I wasted too much time trying to think like you, then I remembered you ain't you anymore."

"You knew me from…"

"We worked together, Logan, many moons ago. Did some screwed up things that we thought were right at the time. Maybe we knew what we were doing was wrong. Tried to make ourselves believe that we were just following orders."

"Why can't I remember?" I leant in close, trying to read his face. He just looked away again.

"I don't know that. Why can't I forget?"

We contemplated each other in silence. The look in his eyes said it all: He wasn't lying. I had developed a pretty good bullshit receptor, and I knew he was telling me the truth. This is why I didn't automatically dismiss him as a crackpot. Some part of my mind that held the memories he spoke of wanted him to be believed. I drew back a little, thrust my hands deep into my pockets. "There's a lot you're not telling me, Wraith." It was a bald statement of fact.

He nodded. "I can't give you everything, Logan. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I need to work out some stuff for myself as well." He paused. "I should show you why I brought you here." He stood up and nodded ahead of us. "Take a walk with me."

Feeling a ball of apprehension burn into my gut, I stood and followed him. The only sounds were our boots crunching the loose gravel as we walked. We weaved through the gravestones in a seemingly random way, until Wraith held up his hand. "Here." He pointed to the grave at his feet. I looked down and read the inscribed words:

BOB JONES

"Rest in peace Mastodon"

 The name meant nothing to me. I looked at Wraith with questioning eyes. "I made up the name," He said softly, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him. "Never got to find out who he really was. Knew his codename though, and I wish to God I could have done him more justice."

The realization of Wraith's words was sinking in slowly. "We worked with him too."

"Yeah."

I thought about this for a while. I had no idea what this was meant to signify, if this was Wraith's way of showing me what would happen if they found me. He seemed like a man who believed in big symbols. "And his codename was Mastodon." I let the words hang in the air, the rest of the sentence unspoken. I wanted to ask him what was my codename? But I thought the better of it. It would probably just lead to another brick wall anyway. "They got to him, too?"

Wraith shook his head. "Naw. He went and died of natural causes, although he was fit and healthy when I tracked him down some years back. Then one day he said he was feeling off colour, and then he went down real quick. His whole body just kinda went into meltdown. Middle aged man one minute, looking like he's ninety the next. He literally wasted away in front of my eyes, man." Wraith looked away, his jaw muscles bulging. When he spoke again, his voice was low and harsh. "It's like his body just gave up, Logan. I don't have all the answers. Not yet. But I am looking real hard."

We stood in silence for a few long moments. "Why are you showing me this?"

Wraith shrugged. "I think he died from whatever they did to him. I think they meant it to happen, like they planned for him to die in this way. Like I said, I don't have all the answers…"

"….But you are looking," I finished for him. "Look, Wraith, this has been educational, but I really should be getting along."

He nodded. "Fair enough. Be careful, OK?"

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Logan?" Xavier asked as he led me through the labyrinth of hallways inside his mansion.

"Coffee would be good."

"Excellent." We entered his office and he wheeled behind his desk, pressing a button on his intercom. "Hank? Could you please bring a pot of coffee? Thank you." He looked at me and laced his fingers together in fr4ont of me, face expectant. "So what do you have for me, Mr. Logan?"

"Nothing of great value, I'm afraid. I had a meeting with the people at the storage facility but it wasn't very fruitful."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I did instruct them to be as frank with you as they are with me," He replied. "But you did find something?"

"Other than method of entry, the speculated time of the robbery and a list of access permissions, not really. I do have some lines of inquiry that I have yet to chase down. At some point I would like to speak to the students on the access list."

"Of course."

"And I think it might be a good idea to find out what was in your father's files."

Something flickered in his dark eyes and he offered me a slight smile. "There's much I do not know about my father's research, Mr. Logan. The bulk of his work was done for the government, and I think, to this day, is still classified." 

"All the same. I think if we find what his files contained it will give us a clearer picture of who might want to steal them."

After an almost imperceptible pause, he nodded. "I think you might be right." The door opened behind me and a pot of coffee was placed on the desk in between us. "Ah, coffee." He leaned forward and began to pour.

I knew at some point I would have to talk to Edmund about Professor Xavier's father. If anyone would know what classified government documents might contain, it was him. I didn't have the investigative wherewithal or the contacts to go about it any other way. And despite his protestations, I knew old Edmund was growing fond of me.

I walked into a mist so fine it couldn't be called rain, hunching my shoulders against it. Living in a city where the sun hardly ever touched the ground, I was used to being enveloped by seemingly overwhelming darkness, and to the way its inhabitants seemed to absorb this darkness within them. I see it every year, the people's faces twisted with cruelty and pain and angst. I like to think I am not becoming like them, that every year I see cruelty and violence it doesn't harden my heart. The twin problems of Wraith's stories and Xavier's missing files fought in my mind with the thought of Warren Worthington, and the one thing I want most in the world that he now possesses.

I crossed the road and headed for the subway. If the weather was going to continue punishing me for not taking the Buick out today, I would have to just duck underground like a gopher and take the train home. I descended the steps to at a time, my head down, shaking the moisture out of my hair. I paid my fare and pushed my way through the turnstile, not for a moment noticing the woman who sat behind me. I smelled her perfume before and it registered. I turned around and I saw her sitting on the bench, wearing a long woolen coat pulled close to her body, her bare legs crossed. She was reading a newspaper in her lap, her fingers playing absently with the wavy red hair that tumbled over her face. I took a step forward, my mouth dry. As I slowly approached her, I thought of all the thing I should say, of all the things I wanted her to know. She was oblivious to my presence, engrossed on her reading. I sat down next to her and clasped my hands between my knees.

She looked up sharply, her green eyes sparkling. Her eyes settled on me and for a moment I thought she would speak, but she just smiled primly and went back to her paper. I leaned forward, licked my dry lips, and tried to do something Warren Worthington would never allow if he knew about it; I tried to talk to her.

"Jean," I said. The sound of her name startled her, and she looked sideways at me.

"I beg your pardon?" She demanded.

"Jean, I know what you said when we last saw each other, but I Have been trying for a long time to make things right," I replied. Her body was recoiling. I knew that I looked frightful, like a beggar or a tramp or something, but I wanted to clear the air, and I was not going to get another opportunity.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry about what happened in Madripoor. I'm sorry that things had to end the way it did." I took a breath and looked her in the eye. "But you have to believe me, Jean. I never wanted things to be like this. Running to Warren Worthington is the worst thing you could have done."

"What do you know about Warren and me?" She asked, her voice harsh. She wasn't afraid. She cocked an eyebrow at me and her perfect mouth was in a pout.

"I don't know much, but I know he'll go to any lengths to keep me from you."

"Is that a fact?" she smiled genuinely now, like she was remembering what it used to be like, but that didn't last. Her expression clouded over and I could see the confused anger there. "You're one of the Johns who caused a problem during the show a few weeks back. Warren was right to kick you out. Do you know how embarrassing that was?"

I shook my head. "I didn't mean to do that. I didn't mean to embarrass you, Jean…."

"Why do you keep calling me that!" She exploded, her composure gone. "My name is not Jean! It's Madelyne. If I remind you of a girl you met while you were posted God-Knows-Where, that is hardly my problem. You need to stop hanging around the club and causing trouble, because Warren will not brook that sort of behavior. Do you understand me?"

She folded her paper and stood up, her high heels clattering on the tiled floor. Her voice softened when she looked down at me, brushing her hair behind her ears. "I'm paid to make people believe I am the embodiment of their desires. That's what Warren wants in his girls. It's flattering that I've touched you in such a way, but you need to understand…I'm just playing a part on stage. I dance; sometimes they let me sing a little. I am not your long lost love. Please, for your own sake, you need to understand."

"I understand." She turned to leave, her coat flowing about her. I could hear the rumble of a train approach. "And for the record, my name is Logan."

The train was slowing at the platform. She turned back to me and smiled a little. "Nice to meet you in person, Mister Logan. I'm sorry, my train has arrived."

The doors of the train slid open and hundreds of wet and grumbling passengers spewed out. I looked down at my hands and tried to get my breath back, and when I looked up again, she had been swallowed by the crowd.