"The Big Fat Kill"
"Old Town"
I hop into my Caddy and kick it into gear and cut across the park to pick up Jackie-Boy heading like a bat out of hell up the hill. The condition he's in, he wouldn't notice if I was sitting right there in his back seat with his buddies. So there's no need to play it cute. I snuggle up right behind him, keeping pace at a way-too-fast eighty-five and leaving myself open for all the trouble in the world.
Speeding. It's a good way to get yourself noticed. And when you're a murderer with a new face who's one fingerprint check away from the fast track to the gas chamber like I am, the last thing you want is to get noticed.
It's a chance I shouldn't be taking, but I can't just go home and forget about it and let Jackie-Boy and his pals find their fun. They're a pack of predators and they're out for blood tonight. A woman's blood.
They won't get it. I'm in no hurry to kill anybody ever again, but I'll kill them if I have to.
Then I hear a banshee cry, coming up fast. I check my rearview mirror and see a cop car, speeding up right behind me, lights blazing.
I don't have nearly enough cash on me to bribe this cop…and even if I did, there's always the outside chance he's one of the few honest ones.
What if my fake I.D. doesn't fool him?
Do I try to talk my way out of this? Or do I take his cop down and risk it all?
Then Jackie-Boy saves me a great, big steaming pile of trouble.
Jackie-Boy was driving drunk, his head hanging out the window like a dog: his eyes closed and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The car begins to slowly drift across the median and into the other lane. A pair of oncoming headlights fills the Chevy's windshield.
"Watch it Jack!" Flock of Seagulls yells from the backseat. Jackie-Boy snaps out of it just in time to swerve out of the way and avoid the head-on collision.
And just like that the cop's on him!
The knot in my gut starts to untangle itself—then I realize where we're headed and my gut tightens up worse than before.
Jackie-Boy's leading us straight to Old Town.
Damn it!
Just seconds ago everything was perfect. The cop was going to pull them over and nail them for drunk driving. He was going to find at least two pistols on them, for which it's a safe bet they don't have permits for. Maybe they'd even resist arrest, just to make my joy complete. They'd be sitting in the slammer for a few months with a new boyfriend named Bubba, off the streets, and no danger to anybody.
But no, the bum, the sleaze ball, the slob has to make a run into Old Town and make a mess out of everything.
-X-
Jackie-Boy flies into the dimly lit streets of Old Town, the Chevy's headlights lighting up all the merchandise. The cop flies in right behind Jackie-Boy before he even realizes what he's doing.
Then he sees the girls. They all stopped at the sight of the cop's lights and watched him skid to a stop. Calm and collected, each scantly clad girl reaches into a purse or under a skirt or bra and pulls out a gun. A few girls that don't need guns; they glow in vibrant colors as their own abilities power up.
The cop shuts up his siren, not sure how to play it. He knows he's not the law. Not in Old Town.
The ladies are the law here, beautiful and merciless. If you've got the cash and play by the rules, they'll make all your dreams come true. But if you cross them, you're a corpse.
"Officer, please make both our lives better and turn de 'ell around 'nd get de 'ell out of here. Leave Jackie-Boy to Remy," I mutter as I approach. "You know how de girls are. De last thing Ol' Town needs is a dead cop."
The cop is still sitting there, still trying to make up his mind. The girls decide for him.
The alleys echo with the sound of a couple dozen guns cock and light up as girls conjure balls of fire and energy.
The cop takes the hint and throws his cruiser in reverse. The tires squeal as he peels out of the alley, flying right past me.
The girls put away their pieces and turn off their powers and go back to business, as if nothing ever happened. They hardly give me a glance as I drive after Jackie-Boy.
-X-
Jackie-Boy and his buddies were celebrating their escape from the long arm of the law, cheerfully cracking open fresh beers.
"That squad car is long gone!" said the buddy in the front seat: a young punk named Davis, but everyone called him Slipstream.
"Did I call it? Was I right?" Jackie-Boy boasts as he downed half his beer in one shot.
"You're always right, Jack. None of us ever doubted you for a second," replied Flock of Seagulls. "But…but I heard things about these girls. Things they done to guy who got out of line."
"Who's out of line?" growled Jackie-Boy. "Shut up Fitzroy."
"I heard that a guy got stabbed to death cuz he didn't give the girl a tip," said Fitzroy, trying to back up his claim.
Jackie-Boy ignored him and turned his concentration back to driving.
-X-
I follow Jackie-Boy's Chevy deeper into Old Town. I leave my car behind and make my way through the shadows, shuffling a handful of cars in my hands.
They weave their way down side streets, keeping away from the lights and crowds of girls trying to make a sale, looking for a woman who's alone and defenseless.
Looking for prey.
They find just what they're looking for.
-X-
Kitty's a young girl, probably not even 20 yet, wearing skintight leather pants and jacket. Her ears are heavily pierced, just like all the other girls in Old Town. She has dozen's of crosses hanging from her ears and from around her neck. She's walking down the side alley, alone and vulnerable. The perfect target.
Jackie-Boy pulls up right beside her, his car keeping pace with her slow stroll.
"Hop in sugar. We'll get you there. Big time, we'll get you there," he offers her. He sounds more like the Big Bad Wolf trying to eat up Little Red Riding Hood than a man. What a sleaze.
She takes it all in stride like a true professional.
"Aw, sweetheart," Kitty purrs, her voice filled with false innocence. "Like, I work the day shift—and it's been a long day. I'm plain tuckered out. Besides, us girls got preferences—and, like, I don't do group jobs."
"Get in the car, baby. We'll talk. We'll just talk. It'll be nice," Jackie-Boy promises. "My money's good."
"Sorry cowboy," she says with more innocence. She's really laying it on thick now. "I don't do talk jobs, either."
"Baby doll, I've had me one hell of a bad day. I been beat up every time I turn around. But the day I get turned down by a goddamn hooker when I got good, hard-earned cash to pay her with—well, there's only so much a man can take!" Jackie-Boy's temper is starting to get the best of him.
"Settle down, darlin'. It ain't the end of the world, now is it? Go try the Alamo, over on Dillon Street. Ask for Tessa. She'll set the bunch of you up. That's the Alamo, not the Amigo. The Amigo's a fag joint. Unless you boys are into that sort of thing," she teases.
"You're having a good time, doing me like this, aren't you?" growled Jackie-Boy. "Humiliating me. Humiliating me for no damn reason at all!"
-X-
I hear Jackie-Boy raise his voice and I quickly sneak closer, ready to intervene. The cards in my hands begin to glow pink around their edges and I get ready to make my move.
"That's far enough Gambit," a silky smooth voices cuts through the air behind me, followed by a low rumble of thunder. I spin around and come face to face with a Goddess. "We've been on top of these peckerwoods since they first showed up with that cop behind them. Everything's under control. Enjoy the show," she smiles at me.
There's no use arguing with her.
The ladies are the law here. Beautiful and merciless. And they've got their own enforcers.
The Chevy rumbles down an alley that faces no windows. Jackie-Boy's voice rises to an angry, drunken warble.
The poor slob. I almost feel sorry for him. Him and whole rotten pack of losers.
This is going to be ugly.
-X-
The night's gotten just about as hot as it's going to get. There's a wild cackle in the air. The wind's got a crazy edge to it.
Storm's getting excited.
That's what all the girls call her. Most of the girls have names like that, especially the ones with powers.
Storm purrs her panther purr, excited, eager, her movements like liquid mercury, as distracting as a guided tour of paradise.
To say she's beautiful would be the understatement of the century. Her mocha skin glistens under the streetlights; her snow-white hair is cropped shorter than I remembered. It used to hang all the way down her back, now it barely touched her shoulders. Long chains of lightning bolts hang from her ears. She's wearing leather and not much of it. The thin straps and mesh barely hides her modesty and accents each and every one of her gorgeous curves.
Only in this neighborhood would a woman dress like that to avoid getting herself noticed.
Or maybe getting noticed is exactly what she had in mind, when she dug through her wardrobe tonight. That'd be just like her, to strap herself into that outfit just to show it all off and drive me nuts.
God knows its working. All kinds of death is about to hit less than twenty yards ahead of us and still it's hard to take my eyes off her. Hell, it's just plain impossible. And doesn't she know it. Silent laughter ripples through her voice, just like it does through every inch of her…
"So how's the barmaid? You know, the one who never shuts up?" she asks me. I quickly try to collect myself. Not sure if I succeed or not, but the hell with that.
"Not right now, Storm," I say seriously.
"Wound up a little tight, aren't we?" she teases as she pulls out her pack of clove cigarettes. "That was always your problem, Gambit. You worry too much. That, and your lousy taste in women. Well, these days anyway," she smiles at me as she lights up. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows the smoke in my face, pursing her lips like a kiss.
I try to ignore the shiver that goes through my body.
"Those clowns down the way—they some of the barmaid's boyfriends?" she asks.
"One of dem thinks he is. He's out of control. Gambit followed dem here to make sure he didn't hurt any of you girls."
"Us girls," she chuckles, "Us helpless little girls." She tosses me an all-business smile that only a dead man could ignore.
But that's what I am. A dead man. And that's how I want to stay. That's how I have to stay.
'Don't look at her,' the smart part of me says. 'Stay calm. Stay cold. Don't play with fire. You know what happens when you play with fire.'
'Murderer, never forget!' it continues. 'You've got innocent blood on your hands and nothing's ever going to wash it off.'
After a while my heart slows down. I tune back in. She's still talking. And here she called Rogue a chatterbox.
"…Us girls are safe as we can be, Lancelot. But those boys in that hunk-of-junk Chevy—they're one mistake away from seeing what Psy can do, and she's been aching for some practice. Things have been so quiet since all the trouble with Logan and Red and Cardinal Xavier." She takes throws away her cigarette butt and lights up another one. She always chain-smoked when she was excited like this, just a hair away from going out of control.
"It broke my heart, seeing Psylocke so frustrated. I'd have to be made of stone not to give her something to do," she says, inhaling the cigarette smoke.
-X-
Distant desert thunder. It rolls on forever.
Storm gives me a quick elbow to the ribs and giggles at how I practically jump put of my skin. She guides my glance upward to the pixie perched on the roof's edge.
Deadly little Psylocke. I can see her blue, skintight ninja outfit underneath her ornate kimono from the street. Her long hair is pulled away from her face and trails all the way down to her knees. Long trails of shuriken stars hang from her ears.
I remember what Psylocke can do and I look over at Jackie-Boy's Chevy and a swell of pity flickers through my mind. Those poor slobs. Those stupid, drunken slobs. Less than ten minutes ago I was ready to kill them myself. Now I almost want to run after them and tell them to get their sorry butts the hell out of here before it's too late.
But I wouldn't get ten steps. The ladies are the law, here. It's suicide to cross them. I got lucky once, but that's not going to happen again.
A lightning flash. More thunder. Closer now.
There's a rumbling behind me. I turn to see two new girls pulling a heavy gate across the entrance to the alley.
That sinks it. There's no point in warning them anymore. The girls have sealed the alleys only exit. The trap is set, locked, and ready to spring.
So what? They're scum. They got themselves into this. They deserve what's coming. So why this rotten feeling in my gut that something is awfully, awfully wrong?
"Dey haven't killed anybody Gambit know about," I tell Storm. "It got pretty bad back at Rogue's place, but dey didn't kill anybody."
"And they won't," replied Storm, her voice final.
Those poor slobs.
They don't have a chance.
-X-
Jackie-Boy is too drunk or too stupid to call it a night. He still drives slowly beside the young hooker, still trying to get her into the car with his buddies.
"You're running out of alley, cowboy. Turn around. Head on home. Save yourself and your buddies a whole ton of grief." Kitty offers him a final warning.
"That isn't a threat, is it?" Jackie-Boy sneers. "You're a sassy little thing, but you ain't hardly in any kind of position to be making threats."
Kitty walks a little faster and Jackie-Boy has to speed up a bit to keep pace.
"Okay! Okay. I sounded off a little more than I should have. I'll admit that," he apologizes, sort of. "Nobody's perfect. Not even me, as hard as I try. I hope you understand that none of that was aimed at you, honey doll. I'm just a little on edge."
"You're over the edge. You're plastered, happens to the best of us. It's not a woman you need, it's like a good night's sleep." She smiles and adds a little barb at Jackie-Boy she just couldn't resist. "You couldn't handle a woman, the state you're in."
Jackie-Boy's buddies laugh at her implication and Fitzroy can't help himself from pushing Jackie-Boy's buttons.
"She's saying you ain't got what it takes, Jack!" he whispers from the backseat into Jackie-Boy's ear.
Jackie-Boy grins like a wolf and cocks his head at the girl. "You wanna see it? You wanna see what I got?" he asks her crudely.
"I've seen all shapes, mister. All sizes," she replies with an all-business smile.
"Seen this?" Jackie-Boy snarls and draws his pistol from underneath his coat. "No more teasing! Get in the car!" he roars.
Kitty's eyes go wide at the sight of the gun, but she makes no move to get in the car. Backing away, she shakes her head at Jackie-Boy.
"Ah, buddy. Like, you just gone and done the dumbest thing in your whole life!"
-X-
Psylocke sees the gun immediately. It was just the excuse she had been waiting for. She pulls out a large throwing star from a pouch hidden in her kimono. She hurls the star as she runs towards the edge of the roof.
The star ricochets off an alley wall and spins through the air with a high whistle. Right at Jackie-Boy's gun.
He never saw it coming.
The razor sharp star slices through Jackie-Boy's wrist and embedded itself in the street. Jackie-Boy screams in shock and pain as his wrist falls to the ground in a gushing fountain of bright red blood, the hand still tightly gripping the gun.
"Oh, Jesus. My hand," he moans. "My hand! Oh, Jesus! My hand!"
His buddies in the car stare in confusion as Jackie-Boy slumps out of the car and on to his knees, crawling on his belly after his own hand.
"What's going on?" yelled Fitzroy. "What the hell is going on?"
None of them hear Psylocke. They didn't hear the snap-hiss as long purple blades erupt from each hand as she jumped from her perch on the rooftop.
A falling leaf would have made more noise.
She lands silently on the top of the Chevy, driving her psychic blades through the roof. The psychic blades slide through the steel easily and into the heads of two of Jackie-Boy's buddies in the back seat. Fitzroy screams as his buddies get torn apart.
"Oh God no…" he mutters as he struggles to get out of the car. He watched one of the blades retract through the roof and stabs through Slipstream's eye in the front seat. His whole face erupts in blood. "Oh God…" Fitzroy was terrified. He wasn't a fighter, that's why he hung out with Big Jack. Big Jack always took care of anybody who crossed their path.
Fitzroy finally managed to get out the car door, his eyes wide in fear, ready to run as fast as his legs could carry him straight out of Old Town.
Psylocke was waiting for him.
Perched on the car roof, she waits for Fitzroy to stick his lame ass Flock of Seagulls haircut head to poke out. When it did, the psychic blade comes down like a guillotine and lops his head off. It flies through the air like a bloody rocket and bounces towards Jackie-Boy.
Jackie-Boy crawled on his hand and knees away from his car towards his lost hand, a trail of bright red blood following him like a trail of slime behind a slug. His eyes snapped up as Fitzroy's head bounced past.
"This is crazy," he muttered to himself. "It's crazy." He grabs his gun with his one good hand and uses his teeth to pry in out of his dead hand. The flesh was cold and slimy in his mouth. "For no reason," he mutters in between his teeth. He finally pries his cold dead fingers off the gun and spits the hand back onto the street. "FOR NO REASON!" he yells as he got back to his feet.
Psylocke hops off the Chevy's roof and stalks towards Jackie-Boy, her narrow eyes passing over Jackie-Boy's body, deciding where to stick her blades next.
"Stay where you are, you witch!" Jackie Boy yells at her. "You scrawny little whore!"
Psylocke doesn't even blink. She just circled him, like a predator just waiting for the opportunity to kill.
"You think you can stop a bullet? You're going to. You'll stop as many bullets as I want to put in you!" he roars. "You're gonna beg me to stop!"
Unfazed, Psylocke begins to bob and weave in place, an eerie dance of death. She was just waiting for Jackie-Boy to slip up. Jackie-Boy is just too drunk and hurt to realize it.
"Fine! Go ahead! Dance around all you want to! I got you right where I want you and you know it, baby!" he grins. "It's gonna hurt baby! You're gonna beg!"
-X-
I watch the whole thing. This wasn't the first time I've seen Psylocke in action, but it's still amazing to watch her. But now Jackie-Boy, despite his wound, had the upper hand. And there was no way I'm going to let him kill anyone.
"He's got de drop on her!" I say as the handful of playing cards in my hand charge up. They cackle with bright pink energy.
"Would you please settle down?" mutters Storm impatiently. "He's got squat. He's dead. He's just too dumb to know it."
I run towards them anyway.
"Don't be dumb, Gambit. Don't get in her way," she calls after me.
Maybe Storm's right. Maybe Jackie-Boy's too dumb. Maybe he's too crazy. Maybe he's too tough or too ornery or too drunk to have enough common sense to fall down and stay down and go deep into shock and have a heart attack and die quick like he ought to.
One thing's for sure. Having his hand chopped off and losing enough blood to paint a house isn't what it takes to make this particular jerk/idiot/psycho/woman-hating bastard finally shut up...
"You got on idea what kind of mistake you and your sassy slut friend made, maiming me like this!" he shouted. "This is a career-ending wound you've given me, bitch! There's gonna be hell to pay!"
Psylocke doesn't say a word, she just keeps bobbing and weaving, staying one step away from Jackie-Boy's aim, each step bringing her closer and closer to him.
I sneak up behind Jackie-Boy, my cards charged and ready to throw. And the stupid, son of a bitch is still running his mouth.
"It was a trap, wasn't it? Come on! Admit it! It was a goddamn trap and there was no reason for it!" he shouts. "No reason at all!"
Psylocke looks bored, and I know it's going to be over soon. She locks eyes with me for a tenth of a second that tells me loud and clear I'd better not interrupt her practice. She doesn't have to tell me twice.
"You're gonna pay!" screams Jackie-Boy loud enough for most of Old Town to hear him. "This whole damn neighborhood is gonna burn!" He's ranting now, must be the blood loss messing with his head. He stumbles around, dizzy. Psylocke's weaving probably isn't helping his vision. He's probably seeing three of her.
"Watch your step, Jackie-Boy," I warn him.
Too late.
He turns towards my voice and steps backwards on his discarded hand. Jackie-Boy yells out in surprise as the hand squirts out from under him. He loses his already worthless balance and falls backwards, ass first on to Psylocke's throwing star.
CHUNK!
Even I have to grimace when I see him roll around on his stomach, the star sticking out his rear end like some ass-backwards hood ornament.
"Yeesh…"
In the distance I can hear Storm's bell-like laugh.
"Don't anybody laugh!" yells Jackie-Boy from the ground. "This isn't funny!" he shouts as he picks his dead hand off the ground and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Must have wanted it for sentimental value. He climbs awkwardly back to his feet and aims his gun at Psylocke again. She's still dancing; her swords vanished from her hands. The gun begins to glow purple as Jackie-Boy's anger grows.
"I got friends! I got friends you can't imagine!" he announces. "Every one of you is gonna burn! But first you're eating some bullets, you scrawny little whore!" He fires his gun with a blast of purple energy bursting from the barrel, but misses Psylocke by a mile. She's moving too fast for him to track now. He keeps firing wildly in her direction, but never even gets close.
Storm snuffs out her last cigarette under her heel and walks towards the three of us. I guess she wanted a front row seat for the finale.
"Hang it up, mon ami," I tell him. "She's just playing with you. You're only makin' it worse."
Jackie-Boy stops firing and turns his head over his shoulder at me. "You shut the hell up!" he growls at me. That's the thanks I get for trying to help some people.
Jackie-Boy's momentary lapse in firing gave Psylocke the opening she had been waiting for. Pulling a steel cylinder out of the folds of her kimono, she hurls it with incredible accuracy into the barrel of Jackie-Boy's gun.
THUNK!
The cylinder slides in with a perfect fit, plugging the barrel.
Jackie-Boy turns his attention away from me and drew a bead on Psylocke. She was no longer dancing around. She wants him to pull the trigger.
"Don't pull de trigger," I warn him. "She blocked de barrel. It'll backfire. Gonna be real messy."
"I told you to shut up!" he shouts.
He whirls around at me.
One more twinge of pity flutters through my guts.
BLAM!
The gun goes off and that blast of energy collides with the steel cylinder. Nowhere to go, the energy throws itself in reverse and blasts the gun apart, embedding the barrel in Jackie-Boy's forehead.
KUNK!
He stumbles backwards and slides down the alley wall to the ground. The throwing star lodged in his butt digs in deeper, but at this point I don't think he really notices. Blood trickled down the sides of Jackie-Boy's face, over his eyes. There was even a trickle dripping out the open end of the gun barrel. And he still doesn't shut up…
"I can't see," he mutters, his already gravelly voice coarser and rougher. "What's happening? I can't see anything, can't hear anything."
My stomach flip-flops into my throat. I gag it back down.
"For god's sake, Psylocke. Finish him," I tell her.
"Yeah make it quick, will you?" Storm says, already growing bored again.
Psylocke steps in front of Jackie-Boy and I hear the snap-hiss of her sword materializing. She whirls and slices and a new fountain of blood erupts, spraying blood all over her face. She never blinks.
She doesn't quite chop his head off.
She makes a Pez dispenser out of him.
-X-
The girls slide out of every shadowed corner, every dark doorway. There's more of them than I thought there'd be. Most of them give with their usual seen-it-all, no-big-deal attitude.
Kitty and Dani and a couple others get the giggles, but that's just nerves.
Two of the new kids get sick.
Nobody talks much.
Then it's straight to business, stretching the corpses out on the alley floor and going through their pockets, divvying up cash when they find it, gathering up driver's licenses and social security cards that'll provide fake I.D. for friends and neighbors and other fellow outlaws.
I'm fishing around in Jackie-Boy's pants and pull out his wallet. It's loaded. MasterCard, Discover, Platinum American Express. Snapshots of two adorable dark haired girls who must be his kids. An A.T.M. receipt wrapped around three hundred bucks' worth of twenties that I quickly stuff into my own pocket.
What? I'm a thief after all.
Then I find an atom bomb.
Jackie-Boy. You son of a bitch.
He didn't keep in his wallet; I found it in one of his coat pockets.
I run my thumb across its sculpted surface for I don't know how long. Storm sees me staring at it and walks over. She sees it and rain begins to fall from the sky. I move my thumb and give her an uninhibited view.
BOOM!
Thunder and lightning erupts in the sky and the rain falls harder.
That rotten feeling in my gut. Something Rogue said. When I jumped from her window. There was a helicopter. It kicked up such a racket I couldn't quite make out what she said.
All the pieces ram into each other like a freeway pileup.
Rogue. I thought she said, "Stop."
She didn't say stop.
Jackie-Boy. You son of a bitch.
Storm lets out a string of curses that'd kill the pope. Another burst of thunder echoes overhead. Now all the girls in the alley are staring at me holding this atom bomb and are inching their way over to see it.
Kitty wraps her arm around mine and steps on her tiptoes to take a look. She starts to shake. Psylocke stares at it with that emotionless look she always has etched across her face.
It wasn't "Stop." Rogue wasn't saying "Stop."
If I'd waited and listened to her, I would've known. I could've warned the girls to go easy, to settle for scaring them off.
Rogue didn't say "Stop."
She said "Cop."
He's a cop. The atom bomb is his badge. "# 9586," it says. Detective Lieutenant Jackson Lucas Bishop. "Big Bishop," that's what the papers call him.
A goddamn hero cop.
It's held for years, the shaky truce. The cops get a slice of the profits and free entertainment when they throw a party. The girls get to administer their own brand of justice. They get to defend their own turf.
If a cop blunders into the neighborhood and he's not shopping for what the girls are selling, they send him packing.
Sure, they'll shoot up his squad car. They'll steal his gun and his pants. Maybe they'll send him back wearing a dress and a wig. Just for laughs. But they'll send him back. Alive. That's the rules. That's the truce.
The cops stay out. That leaves the girls free to keep the pimps and the mob out.
The mob.
This'd be a dream come true for the mob. Big Bishop, hero cop, tortured, mutilated, murdered by the girl's of Old Town. The cops will come down on the girls like the wrath of God if they find out. Old Town will be torn wide open.
It'll be war. The streets will run red with blood. Women's blood. All because one slob tossed back a few too many. A slob with a badge.
Jackie-Boy. You son of a bitch.
Reviewer Shout-Outs!
Inkd and Jabbd: Cool Pen name. You are dead on the money about Storm. She was perfect for Gail. Good looking, plenty of attitude, a wild streak to her. It was perfect. Keep on reading and reviewing. It just gets better.
Stefbug: I'm glad you think I did a good job on Remy's accent. That was one thing I was nervous about, along with Bishop's acceptance. If I blew the accent it could easily ruin the story. I'm very relived you like it. And that you like Bishop as Jackie-Boy. Hope you like this chapter even more.
The Frog Prince of Crime: I hope I was right on that Carol Hines thing. Glad you picked up on that. I think that reference might have been easily over looked. Glad you like the new story. Hope you like the Storm as Gail and Kitty as Becky roles. I have something special planned out for Kitty a little later, so keep on reading.
Coldqueen: Ah, my queen. I humbly submit my latest work, your majesty. I'm glad you like Bishop as Jackie-Boy. I was afraid I'd catch some hell from my readers, but he seems to be going over well. And I threw in a little Tessa/Sage reference, just for you in this chapter. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. You keep on sending me that eternal love, darlin', and I'll keep writing.
BenjiB: Sorry, but I'm not planning a Thunderbird scene for the immediate future. I just don't know him well enough as a character. As far as Juggernaut playing Manute, I already have another "Strong-man" lined up for the part. Juggernaut will be making an appearance in "The Big Fat Kill" though so stick around.
PoisonRogue: I'm glad you've been enjoying my fic and I hope you keep on reading. Remy's only going to get better and better.
A Pen and a Piece of Mind: Yeah, I guess I can't gripe about X3's artistic liberty since I'm taking so many of my own in my fic. Glad you like the new story, keep on reading.
Retrimesuroth: Thanks for clearing up your penname for me. I'm very flattered to be considered your favorite fanfic EVER, as you put it. I'm sorry about the long wait between the end "Hard Goodbye" and the start of "Big Fat Kill", but real life kind of had me by the balls for a little bit. Happens to the best of us. I'll try to do better from now on and keep my updates more frequent. But for now, just keep on reading and I'll keep writing.
Simba317: Wow! Once again, I am flattered and overwhelmed by your review. Thank you very much. I reveled the true identity of Flock of Seagulls in this chapter. Just a fun little twist. Keep on leaving me these long reviews and I'll keep updating as fast as I can.
Johnny Be Good: Glad I done good on the accent. "Hell and Back" is one of the graphic novels I haven't bought or read yet, so that's a long, long way off as far as writing it out. But I'll keep Morph in mind when I finally look at it. Keep those ideas coming, they help a lot.
CatLadyinTraining: I'm glad you like this story. I'll do my best not to disappoint, since it's your favorite and all. It seems I surprised quite a few people with my casting of Bishop, but I haven't had any real complaints yet. As far as changing his name, I really wanted to keep the nickname "Jackie-Boy" in the fic. It was just worked so well in the book and movie, and was such a big part of the dialogue, that I had to leave it in. Since not too many people actually know what Bishop's first name really is (I had to look it up myself), it worked out well.
Darkwolfblade: Better late than never, I always say. I hope you've been enjoying the fic so far, and I hope you enjoy it more and more as you follow the stories. Keep on reading and reviewing.
Emma Raven Moony Grimm: Hope you liked this chapter. I greatly appreciate any and all ideas any of my reviewers can come up with. They are a big help when my own brain shuts down and goes off for a stroll. You keep thinking of some good Logan spin-offs and I'll keep writing out new, even better chapters.
Lucia de'Medici: First off, you get mad props for having a Gunslinger quote in your profile. That alone automatically makes you awesome in my books. The Dark Tower series is possibly my favorite book(s) in the world. I'm glad you discovered my fic, I hope you keep on reading and enjoying it.