Chapter 3: A Bite Out Of Crime
Logan had taken Professor Xavier's advice, driving to the police station of the jurisdiction in charge of Chelsea Ling's murder. He kicked the stand down on his Harley and leaned off the bike, snatching the key as he swung his leg over.
"There's a helmet law around here." An officer was peering at Logan from where he was getting ready to slide into his patrol car.
"Don't worry, bub." Logan tapped on the top of his head with a knuckled fist. "The helmet's built in." The X-Man shot the officer a wink and proceeded up the steps of the police building.
"Damn bikers." The officers drove off, not bothering to give the hairy denim clad man another thought.
Inside the station, there was a general hum of excitement. Logan sniffed and wrinkled his nose in disgust. More fear. There were other smells. Stale donuts, two-day old coffee, sweat, perfume, cologne, blood, tears, even wet dog…but the general air was one of fear. Sometimes Logan loved that smell…he even missed it…but when it was the fear brought on by tragedy or death…it just stank.
Logan listened intently for a moment, heard the voice of a woman issuing orders, and began walking.
"Excuse me, sir." A gruff voice halted Logan. He turned to see an older officer with gray hair and piercing blue eyes standing behind the front desk. "Can I help you? You can't just go walking back there. Is' a good way to get shot." There was a hint of Irish in the man's speech…a slight rolling of his "r" and an unpracticed lack of "ng" in some of his words.
"Ya think I could talk to the detective in charge o' the Ling murder?"
"And why would you be wanting to do that?" The gray haired officer grew agitated, and Logan smelled more fear.
"I might have some information for her…might even be able ta help."
"Wait up here…I'll call her down."
Logan obliged the old cop, and moved to sit in one of the ancient metal and vinyl chairs in the waiting room. Someone had urinated on one of them at one point in time…someone who'd had too much to drink. Another chair had been sliced open and had been used to hide a bag of marijuana. Logan avoided the chair that had doubled as a toilet, and helped himself to the chair used as a stash. He then thumbed through the magazines and pamphlets. Finally deciding to read about the effects of Methamphetamines on the brain, Logan had crossed his legs and read no more than three sentences when a woman's voice drew him away from his police literature. "Can I help you?"
Logan held up a pamphlet that had been sitting on the table. It showed a pop star with a stern look pointing a finger and bright red letters underneath said, "Just Say No!"
"Yeah, whatever happened to MacGruff the crime dog? I always did prefer taking a bite out of crime to singin' in the rain."
"Did you come to sing, Mr….?"
"Name's Logan…and, no, I came to bite." Logan tossed down the pamphlet and stood up. "Might want to replace some o' yer furniture. Someone marked that one." Logan cocked a thumb in the direction of the urine soaked chair, and began walking in the direction the Detective had gestured.
"Did you come to take a bite out of interior decorating faux pas?"
"Yeah, I'm also a big time clothing designer. I love the 'Gap vs. Goodwill' look you got goin' on."
"Touché!" The woman smiled as she closed the door to her office behind her. "It's rare that I talk with someone who's a bigger ass than myself."
"Lady…you don't know the half of it." Logan seated himself in one of the chairs in front of the detective's desk. The plaque listed her as Detective Scaggs.
"As much as I'd love to continue this fascinating exchange, Mr. Log-"
"-just Logan…no Mister." Logan interrupted quickly.
"Fine, Logan, this is the part where you tell me about the Ling girl."
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
"Doesn't work that way, sport." Detective Scaggs came around the desk and leaned in close enough for Logan to smell sweat and a vanilla lotion. Logan hated vanilla…however, Detective Scaggs wasn't afraid, and Logan admired that. "Now, you tell me what you know, or I lock your ass up for obstruction."
"Doesn't work that way, darlin, I'm here because we have a mutual friend that wants this case solved." Logan raised the bottom of his shirt and jacket, revealing his belt buckle.
Detective Scaggs gasped when she saw the "X" displayed proudly on the buckle. "You're one of Xavier's…"
"Bingo, girlie." Logan pulled out a stub of a cigar and lit it. "Now that you know who sent me and why, maybe we can scratch each other's backs."
"What do you propose?"
"We tell each other secrets…you first." Logan grinned and let off a plume of blue smoke.
"As of now, you know what I know. Male suspect, 8 year old Chinese immigrant victim."
"Eight year old, Chinese mutant immigrant victim," Logan added.
"Yes…well…there's that. Do you think this crime was racially motivated?"
"Look, lady…I ain't into makin' guesses, that's a job for the cops. I'm about cold hard facts. Sniffin' things out."
"What kinds of things?"
"Things like this guy was from near the river…maybe even a rat."
"A dockworker?" Detective Scaggs grabbed a pen and scribbled furiously on a pad sitting on her desk.
"Maybe…not sure. We need to get down to the docks…or some of the flats near the river…and start asking questions."
"What questions, Logan?"
"The same questions you cops ask…only, we ask 'em my way."
"What's your way, exactly?" Scaggs raised her eyebrow.
Logan's answer was another mouthful of smoke, this time trickling out between a grin that showed all of his teeth and swirled up and around the two raised points of his hair…making him look almost devilish.
Detective Scaggs couldn't suppress a shiver.
The dock area was a run down area…a concentrated mass of poverty and misery. If anyone wanted to hide…or be forgotten, this was the area to do it in. During the day the docks were a busy place…but at night, the area gave off an aura of mystery and danger.
"So where's this 'informant' of yours?" Logan was growing impatient. His nose had already confirmed that the man he was hunting had been here right before the murder of Chelsea Ling.
"He'll be here. Tommy doesn't want to get on my bad side." Detective Scaggs checked her watch again.
Logan stuck a hand to the inside of his jacket to pull out a fresh cigar, then paused. Through the stench of the river and unwashed bodies and trash around him, Logan smelled it. It was a bitter-sweet smell…like coffee or sour candy. Although it was a pleasant sensation, there was an underlying less pleasurable sensation.
It was the smell of danger Logan had picked up. The smell of someone planning an attack or ambush.
"Hey, lady…do me a favor and take cover." Logan pulled his hands from his pockets and bent his knees into a battle stance, both his arms held wide of his body, his fists clenched. His ears strained for the slightest noise…his nose periodically sniffing the air…his eyes searching the surrounding shadows.
Detective Scaggs did as she was instructed. Being a student of Xavier's had taught her long ago to trust in the abilities of those under Professor X's expert tutelage…and she had heard and seen enough from this Logan character to realize that he was the expert here.
Then, Logan heard something. There was a click, then a 'pop' followed by a whistling sound, as if something was hurtling towards him, tearing through the air at him. The mutant whipped his head to the side and brought his hand into the air in time to catch something in his hand. For a moment, his hand throbbed with pain, and fresh blood blossomed in his palm. As quickly as the sensation had started, it was gone. The hole in his hand closed, and Logan was left holding the remains of a rifle bullet. Logan grunted his disapproval, and turned towards where the shot had come from. "Stay down…someone's playin' Duck Hunt…and we're the ducks." Logan heard another shot and allowed it to strike him in the chest, where it stopped at his breastbone directly above his heart. Another bounced off of his forehead, making a "BWING!" noise as it ricocheted off of his adamantium laced skull. This last shot brought the mutant to his knees, and finally to the ground.
After nearly an hour, Detective Scaggs was just about ready to come out from her hiding place to check on the fallen mutant when she heard voices.
"That him?"
"Nah, somebody else whacked that guy. Of course that's him, you idiot."
"Where's the girl?"
"I saw her duck behind that dumpster."
"Well…the boss says we gotta protect Tommy…so that's what we're gonna do."
Scaggs' heart was beating fast. She was getting ready to betray her position and fire when the voices changed from hushed confidence, to shouting and screaming. The detective stole a glimpse of what was happening.
Slaughter. The man who'd introduced himself as "just Logan" to Detective Scaggs was back on his feet with, miraculously enough, not a scratch on him. He had three claws of some dull colored metal protruding from the end of each hand and had already impaled one of his assailants. The other four men present began emptying their weapons into the now very much alive Logan. To Scaggs, at the moment he looked more like an animal than a man.
Blood had run down his face and had soaked his shirt. The first man to be impaled had spouted more blood onto Logan's legs and feet. Only after the second man's head was severed did she realize that bullets weren't stopping the mutant…only enraging him further. The third man screamed as his hands were taken off at the wrists and Logan continued his swing into a cartwheel that planted both of his boots against the side of the man's face and jaw. Another began to reload and looked up in time for the bezerker mutant's legs to wrap around his neck. Three claws popped out of the back of the man's head, and the fifth and final gunman was left staring at half of a 9mm as it was cut in half while Logan landed from atop his latest victim's shoulders.
The last man standing dropped to his knees and began to beg Logan.
"Please…PLEASE!" He looked around him, at his friends that had died or were dying from wounds caused from a man who'd been shot in the hand, heart, and head not 45 minutes ago. "Don't kill me…I…I got…I got a family!" The man pulled out his wallet and began holding pictures up to Wolverine, who was now walking slow circles around the man.
"You're Tommy?" Logan was moving in closer now, only the white of his eyes and teeth showing through the mask of blood he now wore. His hair, which Scaggs had thought crazy before, now splayed wildly from his head in some sections, and were plastered with blood to his head in others.
A wolf, Scaggs thought to herself, he looks like a wolf.
"Yes…I…I'm Tommy." The man sobbed. "Please…please d…don't kill me…"
"He won't kill you, Tommy." Detective Scaggs walked out from behind the dumpster. "I won't let him if you tell him what he wants to know. I'll protect you."
"Oh…GOD…I'll talk…I'll tell you anything…ANYTHING! There are drugs on dock some docks, guns on others. Some have just hard cash! I'll give you a list…I'll write them dow-AAAHHHHHHH!" Tommy's rambling was cut off as a claw was stabbed through the top of his hand, pinning it to the ground.
"Shut up, bub. I ask a question…you answer it. Got how this works?"
"Y…YES!" Tommy was crying…and had added some extra weight to his pants.
"You better talk fast, too…because you stink. I'm looking for a man who worked the docks…new guy…hasn't been here long. Might even be gone by now. May have even talked about The Boogeyman."
"Th…the….boogeyman…?"
Logan responded to this question by slowly letting out one of his other claws. It made a menacing metal on metal sound as it inched closer to Tommy's flesh. The wounded man began to blubber, and let a wave of urine flowed from his bladder.
"You keep wettin' the bed, bub, and I'm gonna cut it off…got it?"
"Sable! Sable Mueller! He worked for my uncle for a few months…told stories when we were all waitin' on the shipments…about The Boogeyman…that serial killer that gets kids! Said he was headin' to Brooklyn!"
"There, now…was that so hard?" Logan pulled his claws back in with a "SNAKT!" sound that sprayed Tommy with his own blood.
Tommy grabbed his wounded limb and rolled into a fetal position, crying.
"You sure do have a way with interrogations, Logan…" Scaggs wrinkled her nose in disgust at Tommy. "You frightened him…bad. It was all I could do to keep from wetting myself."
"Then don't try to get inside the heads o' people I'm stickin'. I got no pity for him…drug runner. Seen and smelled kids dead or dyin o' that stuff he sells 'em. I shoulda went ahead and popped a claw through his brain…done the world a favor."
"You can't kill them all, Logan."
"Doesn't mean I can't try, though."
"You hurt, Logan?"
"Nothin' that won't heal on its own."
"You're gonna need some new clothes…where're you staying?"
"'cross the tunnel…a burnt out 6 story on 55 Crosby Street in SOHO."
"Need a lift?"
"Nah. I'll ride." Logan tore off a section of his shirt that wasn't blood-soaked and mopped his face as best he could. "Thankfully the place has running water."
"I can't go with you, Logan…it's out of my jurisdiction. I'll call Brooklyn and let them know what I've found…"
"Fine…but if I find him first…" Logan left the threat unspoken.
"Just be careful…and tell the professor I said 'hello'".
"Yep." Logan hopped on his hog and pushed up the kickstand with his heel, turned the key, and hopped on the starter.
"Let me know how it turns out!" Detective Scaggs backed away as the Logan revved his motorcycle.
"Read the obituary…when you see Sable Mueller, you know it's over." With that, the mutant rode off, his motorcycle rumbling out of sight.