Logan's Tale pt. II
"Broads and Bozos"
Somewhere downtown,
She lies in a restless sleep, tossing and turning under her sheets, unable to slip peacefully into slumber. Her eyes slowly open. She peers around her small apartment, gazing over the various furniture and small piles of dirty laundry on the floor.
She hears something faint, like a scratching outside. She dismisses it as a bird or something and rolls back over. Moments later, a window latch squeaks, cutting through the still of the night like a knife. She sits up at the sound, now wide-awake. The sheet covering her body slips down and the moonlight pouring in from the window illuminates her features. She's young, in her early twenties, and has lightly tan skin. Her short black hair frames her strikingly beautiful face.
She hears muffled footsteps down the hall and swiftly rises out of bed. Clad only in a small, reveling thong, she silently opens a dresser drawer. She reaches under the clothes and removes a small revolver. She normally didn't need a gun to protect herself, but her own methods of protection were too volatile for use in her own home. Unless she wanted to turn her living room into the 4th of July. Gun cocked, she quickly headed towards the noise. The noise had settled inside her bathroom and she could hear a man's voice muttering obscenities from inside. 'Great,' she thought. 'Must be a pervert. Who else breaks into a girl's bathroom?' She levels the gun and rounds the corner. It wasn't who or what she expected.
"Now, don't worry, kid. I was just grazed." She lowered the gun and stepped into the bathroom. I had just finished wipin' away all the dried blood off my face and arms. Even managed to get rid of the smell that followed me from the sewers. "You got any beers around this place?" I ask with a friendly smile on my face.
"No way I'm giving you any alcohol, Wolvie," she says as she walks across the bathroom tiles. She places her gun on the sink, amidst the pile of rags I used to clean myself up. She gives me a full view of her partially nude body. She doesn't seem to mind, so I keep my trap shut. I even ignore the cute shortening of my nickname. "Besides, that's not what you came here for anyway, is it?" she asks coyly, flirting while she digs through her medicine cabinet.
"No," I mutter, mesmerized by the thong-encased ass in front of me. It's hard for any man to concentrate when near such a beautiful girl like her. She turns around and tosses a small bottle of pills into my lap.
"Go ahead," she says. "You're worse without 'em."
"Thanks," I reply. I pop the childproof lid off easily with my thumb. "You're the best, Jubes."
"Yeah, whatever."
Jubilee's my parole officer. We have a history, she and I. I saved her from a bunch of thugs while she was still a teen living in a mall of all places. For a while she became my unofficial sidekick, following me around like a love struck puppy. Got me in a lot of trouble too. She grew up, under my watchful eye, into a strong, young woman. She became a cop, but, due to some political bullshit, got bumped to parole officer. After I spent a few years in the joint, she pulled some strings and got me appointed to her. She looked out for me when I got out. Prison was a bad time for me. They messed with me while I was in there, experimented on me. I came out with most of my memories distorted or just gone and with unbreakable metal for bones. She took care of me when I was scared and confused. We look out for each other you could say: I make sure no one gives her a hard time and she keeps me out of trouble with the cops.
Jubilee slips into a silk robe, much to my disappointment. Not that anything would have happened anyway. She's a dyke, but God knows why. With that body of hers, she could have any man she wants. I tilt my head back while she dresses and swallow a bunch of pills. The meds come from a girlfriend. Some hottie named Paige, who's a shrink. She tried to analyze me once, but she got too scared. The memories I still have ain't exactly pleasant. The pills help to patch together the assorted mess I call memories. Jubilee walks back towards me and plucks the cigar out of my hand. She takes a long look at my grizzled face and at the torn up coat lying on her bathroom floor.
"Haven't seen you like this in a while," she says as she takes a long drag on my cigar. There's something sexy about a woman who can enjoy a cigar, especially one as strong as mine.
I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. "Got in a fight with some cops."
"Didn't happen to kill any of them, did you?" she asks, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Fighting cops is a big no-no in her book, even if they have it coming.
"Not that I know of. Not outright at least." I smile a small half-smile, the one that always give bad guys the creeps. Doesn't have much effect of Jubilee. "But they know they've been on the losing end of a fight, that's for damn sure."
"Jeez Logan. How the hell do you think I'm going to square this with the board?" More annoyance in her voice now. She doesn't get it, she never really did.
"There ain't no squarin' it," I growl, barely containing my anger. "Not this time." I stand up and look her dead in the eye.
"This isn't some barroom brawl. Or some creep with a ray gun trying to torch someone." Jubilee rolls her eyes at my speech; clearly she doesn't get the message. "Hey, hey! "This is big!" I musta been raising my voice, cuz she took a half step back against the sink.
"Settle down, Wolvie. Take another pill," she says.
"Hey, there ain't no settling down! This is blood for blood and by the gallons!" I shout, pumping my fist into the air. "This is the old days and the bad days, the all-or-nothing days. They're back. There's no choices left. And I'm ready for war," I growl, low and fearsome.
The bad, old days; when the mobs and villains and psychos ruled Sin City. The mere thought of their return makes my blood begin to boil. Jubilee doesn't remember them; she was still too young to. But I remember. The streets were war zones and innocent blood flowed from the gutters like rain. Not something I want to see again.
"Prison was hell for you, Logan. Remember what happened to you last time. What 'they' did to you last time. It's going to be life this time. If you're lucky…" Jubilee spat back with a fire in her eyes that matched my own. I take a long look into her eyes. It wasn't anger in them; it was concern.
I slowly nod my head. "Hell's waking up every goddamn day and not even knowing who you are and why you're here," I say grimly. "But I'm out now, I got away from the bastards that did this to me," my hands clench into tight fists, that burning sensation growing sharp in between my knuckles. The rage builds up insides me, the feral beast wants out.
A small hand slips over my own. Jubilee grasps my hand in her own, comforting me. "You don't need to do this to yourself, Wolvie," she tells me. I reach out and gently caress her cheek with my calloused hand.
"They took somebody who was kind to me," I said softly. "I know exactly what I gotta do." I pick up my ragged coat and leave out the window, same way I came in. Jubilee stood speechless in her own bathroom for a moment before a smile lit up her beautiful face.
"Use the damn door next time, Wolvie!" she shouted after me.
---X---
The rooftops are empty; there's not even a stray cat to get in my way as I leave Jubilee's. I feel a little bad for yellin' at her. Sometimes I forget she's just a kid.
The rooftops are much quieter than the streets below, gives me a bit of peace 'n quiet to think. And it's a lot harder to get spotted by the cops when you're six stories up.
I take a seat under a rooftop billboard for some lame-ass chick flick and I take another pill. It calms me down a little. All this runnin' around ain't really my style. I like to work my aggressions out on the spot. But there's too many questions needin' answers to just go and start cuttin' people up. I need answers first…and a beer. I stand up and jump across the rooftops towards Kadie's.
As I run from rooftop to rooftop, I can feel eyes upon my back. I can sense somebody watchin' me and I don't like it. A sudden puff of breeze above me stops me in my tracks and I close my eyes and tilt my grizzled face upwards, taking in all the smells. One stood out in my mind.
Smelled like feathers and gun oil.
Snikt!
3 triangular claws punch through the skin in between the knuckles on my left and right hands. Each foot long claw is razor sharp claw and is made of adamantium, the same stuff that's been fused to my bones. There're unbreakable, just like the rest of me, and can cut through titanium steel like butter.
"You shouldn't sneak up on people, pretty boy," I growl. There was a soft fluttering of wings above me and there's an angel floating above me. Not like my angel Red, but a golden haired angel with white feathery wings and a large handgun pointed at my chest. There's one of those fancy laser sights, for these young punks who never learned how to shoot straight, trained on my heart.
Would have thought I'd be use to that by now…
Even in the dark, I can still recognize him. Warren Worthington III. The Rich Boy Jerk-Off. Playing hitman for shits and giggles. Kid walks away from his family's multi-billion dollar company to kill scumbags and losers in this lousy town for ass-wipe money. Don't know what creeps me out more: the fact that this "Angel" does what he does for kicks or that he's good at it. Good enough to become the most wanted and expensive hitman in Sin City. "They" say that if your name finds it's way onto his hit list; then it's already too late to make your funeral plans.
Course "They" say a lot.
And he's never come after me before.
"What do you want birdie?" I call up to him as he flutters down onto the top of the chick flick billboard, perched like some sort of beautiful and terrible gargoyle. His gun sight never wavered from my chest.
"There has been quite a lot of talk tonight," he said like a man ordering caviar off a menu. "Much of it has been about dealing with you. You have become the hottest commodity in this dreg of a town overnight. I must say, you look fairly well for a man that a lot of rich and powerful men want dead, although your attire could use a little work."
"People been tryin' to kill me for years," I replied in a low tone. I take a step towards the perched Angel and gave him a better view of my claws. "And I'm still here!" I roared at him.
Angel just shook his head at me, like he pitied me or somethin'. Don't like getting brushed off or pitied, especially by the likes of him. I take another step forward…
BAM!
A shot rings out and smoke rises from a bullet hole at my feet. Angel turns, reveling a second gun, its barrel still smoking. The first gun never moved from my chest.
"Now just stay right there, Logan. The next one will be in your belly and I hear that's an awfully painful place to be shot, even for someone with accelerated healing," he warned.
Kid's done his homework.
"What do you want, bub?" I ask him menacingly. "You ain't here to kill me or you would have tried already."
"You think I'm here to kill you?" he smiled down at me.
"I said you'd try," I grinned fiercely.
"Well lucky me, I'm not here to kill you. Not yet anyway. For the time being, I am merely performing a friendly service, a show of respect if you allow me."
"Respect?" I snorted to myself.
"Call it professional courtesy. I'm here to tell you to that the events that have occurred this night are far bigger than you could possibly imagine. You are nothing but an ant, a pawn in an epic game of chess."
"Sounds familiar," I mutter, remembering my soldiering and spy days.
"You're going to lose, Logan. And you're going to get hurt," Angel called from above. "Give up."
"That sounds familiar too," I chuckle. "Wolverines never back down, no matter how big the resistance," I called back proudly.
Angel unfurled his massive wings and took to the air once again. The laser sight on my chest winked out. He brought the gun up towards his forehead in some kind of lame mock salute as he flapped away into the darkness.
Snakt!
I retract my claws and wipe the few specks of blood off my knuckles. I straighten my tattered coat on my shoulders and light up a fresh cigar. Had to stop earlier for new ones; the ones that survived my trip through the sewers didn't taste very good anymore.
I inhale the harsh smoke and step calmly off the rooftops. I fell three stories before landing quietly on my feet. No pile of garbage or junkie to land on this time. I head down the alleyway and turned down the street leading to Kadie's. Wasn't paying too much attention anyway, my mind was already buzzing with new questions. I'm going over what Angel said in my head. Underneath all his posturing and bullshit, he did make a point or two. Angel said that this was big, really big and he's 'bout as reliable as a hitman can be when it comes to getting information. At least without cuttin' 'em up a little bit first.
I was always good at jigsaw puzzles, 'cept when my whole past became one. And the situation I got now, it's one hell of a puzzle. Problem is I'm damn short on pieces. I've been framed for murder and the law is in on it. Big money's involved if Angel's caught wind of it and they're throwing Sentinel's at me. But the real enemy, the smelly son of a bitch who killed the angel lying next to me, he's out there somewhere, out of sight like a little chicken shit. All I got to do is find the missing piece to my puzzle and that'll give me the how and why and a face and a name and a soul to send screaming into hell.
So all I go to do is send the bastard an invitation. Come and get me. Come and let me look you in the eyes once before the beast inside me tears ya to ribbons.
All this thinking and I start to wonder about the angel I spent the night of my life with. You were scared weren't you, Red? Somebody wanted you dead and you knew it. You did something or saw something you weren't supposed to. So you hit the saloons, the bad places, looking for the biggest, meanest lug around and finding me. Looking for protection and paying for it with your body and more – with love, with phoenix fire, making me feel like a king, a damn white knight.
Like a hero.
What a laugh.
You wanted me to keep you safe, but when that bastard came to kill you I was stone drunk.
Blacked out.
Useless.
Well, I'm gonna find that son of a bitch that killed you and I'm gonna give him the hard goodbye.
-X-
Walk down the right back alley in Sin City and you can find anything. Kadie's is a place like that. A saloon for the lowest of the low, a place for all the two-bit losers like me. A place where you can brawl and damn near kill a man over a bar stool and the only thing that happens is the music; good roadhouse R&B. the good ol' stuff that you can drink to and fight to and cry to; gets cranked up.
I walk towards the alleyway entrance and two shapes are banging into the large door. I can see someone's head being smashed again and again into the door before it bursts open and a small, whiney, shred of a man flies out, landing in a sad heap, face down in a puddle of god knows what.
"Leave your hands off Nancy!" the bouncer shouts, wedged firmly in the doorway. He takes up the entire extra large doorframe, he's that damn fat. Multiple chins fat. Man breasts twice the size of basketballs fat. All he's wearing is a dark blue leotard that barely contains the rolls upon rolls of his fat ass. A street light shines off his baldhead as I walk towards the door. I step on the chest of the man the bouncer just threw out as I approach. There's a small wheezing sound when I step down hard, almost like the sound that doughboy you see on TV makes. Another step and I reach the doorway. The bouncer, whose nametag pinned in between layers of fat says, "Blob", stares down and me and I stare right back up at him. Blob. I chuckle silently at the name. Seemed very fitting for the wall of jiggling fat blocking the way into Kadie's.
"That coat looks like Baghdad," he says dumbly to me. I'm guessin' there wasn't enough room for much brains with all that fat takin' up so much space. "So does your face," he continues. "Take off!" he shouts as he moves to close the door on me.
Definitely no room for brains.
It's been way too long a night to even consider takin shit from Mr. Tons-Of-Fun. I reach back with my right arm and plow one right into his guts. But instead of hitting resistant flesh, my fist and soon my whole arm was sucked into the massive folds of fat like it was quick sand. If I had a watch I probably would have lost it in that mess. It was like punching a wall of Jell-O.
I pull my arm out with a sickening squelch just in time to duck under one of Blob's meaty fists. Catching him off guard, I shove my thumbs into his eyes and push. Hard.
He screams like a six-year-old girl with a skinned knee. Keepin' my thumbs in his eyes, I push his lard ass back into Kadie's and into a booth. With one more shove, I pop my thumbs out of his eyes as the booth breaks under the man's ridiculous weight. The table splintered like a matchstick house and Blob flopped onto the floor with a thump.
A plumb waitress serving drinks at the next table looks at me. She turns and offers me a shot of liquor sitting on her tray, which I glad fully take.
"He's new here, Logan. He didn't know," she said apologizing for Blob. I nod my head before tossing back the shot. Didn't know what it was, but it burnt like fire all the way down my throat and I needed that. I put the empty glass back on the waitress' tray and move along. She never asks me to pay; no one in Kadie's does. My drinks here are always on the house. The girls would break my arms if I ever tried to pay. I've done favors for just about every girl that ever worked here. Some more serious than others; and nobody knows where all those bodies are buried. Nobody but me…
As I head for the bar and my favorite stool, I take a glimpse up at the stage. Emma's just getting started with her gig, but already the crowd's breathin' hard. Her sleek, lithe, sexy little body gyrated up and down the stage; her skintight leathers and black bra tease the crowd. Plenty of nights I've drooled over Emma and her gorgeous body and the way she moves along that stage with all the other losers like me. But that's not what I'm looking for tonight. By now I'm sure Angel's gotten the word out to all the moneymen that I was heading for Kadie's. All I got to do now is wait for them to come to me. As Emma gets out her lasso and starts twirling it above her head and grinding against its coils, I smile. Might as well enjoy a show while I wait.
I take my seat at the stage and settle in. The other girls are out, taking orders or flirting with customers, each girl in their own skimpy outfit, reveling much more than what it hides. One of them recognizes me and strides up behind me. She has long, bushy reddish-brown hair with a long white "skunk" stripe going through the middle. Her pale skin shined under her black leather bra and chaps and she had a pair of green eyes that only my angel Red could ever beat. She slipped a shot glass over my shoulder to place in front of me
"What'll it be, Logan?" she asks in her sweet Southern-accent that drove men up the wall and into their wallets.
"A shot and a brew, Rogue, and keep 'em comin'," I tell her. I don't know her real name, no one did. Everyone just called her Rogue.
"Sure, Sugah. You take it slow now."
"Yeah sure thing Stripes," I reply using my nickname for her. If anyone else called her that, she'd probably throw a truck at 'em. Literally. She smiles at me instead and walks away. I return my full attention to the stage as Emma really starts to warm up.
-X-
Rogue left the bar and slowly headed for one of the darker booths back in the corner of the saloon. There was a single man in the booth, idly playing Solitaire with a worn pack of cards. He was wearing a brown leather duster and fingerless gloves that fit to his hands like a second skin. He was waiting for his drink, bourbon on the rocks, and she had plucked it right off another girl's tray just so she would be the one to bring it to him. She couldn't see his see his face, the shadows hid most of his features, but she knew who it was. He was someone who hadn't been around in a long time. She knew him as Remy, but the rest of the city knew him as Gambit, the master thief. But to Rogue, he would always be just Remy to her.
As she brought him his drink, he lifted his eyes from his game and met hers. His fiery red eyes seemed to burn through her own green. No words were spoken between the two. But then none were needed. Volumes of unspoken dialogue passed through their eyes, an equal desire cut through the air. Rogue placed the drink down on the table, careful not to disturb any of the cards and walked away, swinging her hips just slightly. She could feel his red eyes follow her the rest of the night.
-X-
Remy held Rogue's gaze as long as he could, before she turned away and went back to work. He watched her leave, watching her ass gently sway as she walked and loving every bit of it. He took a long sip of his drink, draining half the glass just so she would be back sooner.
Remy lazily flicked another set of cards from his deck and twirled them expertly between his fingers before casting them down on to the table. Pausing from his game, he took a long look around the saloon. A wanted man like him couldn't be too careful. He spotted Logan when the lug forced his way into the saloon and had been keeping an eye on him ever since. Remy had met Logan a long time ago, even worked a job or two with him. The man was good to have at your side in a pinch. Remy thought of going over and having a drink with the former friend, but knew from experience not to mess with Logan tonight. It was his eyes. One could easily overlook them and fall for his charade of drinking heavily and staring lustfully at the dancing blonde Remy hadn't yet had the pleasure of meeting, that Logan was just another loser winding down after a long day. Remy saw it in Logan's eyes. He could see the feral berserker that was waiting in those eyes to cut the first person who crossed his path to shreds.
'Most people think dat Logan is crazy,' Remy thought to himself. 'He jus' hav' da rotten luck of bein' born in da wrong century. He'd be right at home on some ancient battlefield, swingin' dem claws into someone's face. Or in a Roman arena takin a sword to others like him. Dey'd have tossed him girl's like dat blonde on stage at him back then.' Remy shook his head and smiled.
"Just rotten luck," he muttered before tossing back the rest of his drink. "Chere?" he called out for Rogue, raising his empty glass into the air.
-X-
Emma was puttin' on one hell of a show tonight. Almost made me forget why I was here in the first place. She was so good I almost started having a good time. I lit another cigar and stuff the remains of another into a nearby ashtray. So far there was four butts in that ashtray, nearly filling it. Next to the ashtray was a dozen or so shot glasses and nearly twice that number in beer bottles. And I still wasn't feeling a damn thing. Most people would be drop-dead drunk at this point, probably just plain dead from alcohol poisoning. But this damn healing factor of mine kills any buzz before I could even get a chance to feel it. I nearly cleaned out a liquor store the other night when I got drunk with Red. Ran up one hell of a bar tab.
I saw Gambit sitting alone in a back booth and debated greeting him or not. Not in the mood for socializin' and the Cajun looked more interested in makin' eyes with Rogue than anything I would have to say. Was more in the mood for a fight than ol' friends, anyway.
The barmaid, some dame named Dazzler tonight, slides me another shot of 151 and I slug it down. I hold the glass tightly until the burn from the liquor fades away, then I slide it down into the pile of discarded glasses. I look back up at the stage. Emma has her back turned to the crowd. She looks down her bare back as she twirls her bra over her head, but not letting anyone see the goods yet.
Cli-Click!
The sound of a gun cocking brings me back from the show. Bastards have rotten timing. I can tell, without even turnin' around, by the smell of them that these two punks aren't the one's who killed Red. They sent underlings after me instead of coming themselves.
How insulting.
"Shows over, dickwad," the one calls over my shoulder. I peek at him over the corner or my eye. He's wearing all grey and even has a little grey stocking cap on his head. He was the one digging the gun into my back. The other had dyed red-blonde hair, slicked back into a wild mop. He was wearing red and yellow clothes under a beautiful black trench coat. I could smell gasoline on him and caught a glimpse of two fuel lines running underneath his coat. "Drink up," he said in a cheerful, Australian accent. I lean back on my stool and take the rest of my beer down in one gulp.
"Now that's a fine-lookin' coat you're wearing there bub."
Author's Note:
Hope you enjoyed this chapter. The best and the worst is yet to come for Logan, so keep reading and reviewing. As for the casting of Jackie Boy, please keep submitting me your ideas. It's been a long process, not to mention a big pain in my ass, but I'm slowly narrowing the list down. I should have it cast by my next post. In the meantime, keep on reading.
Nataku's Wrath