Chapter 5 - Machiavellian
The night shift at the hospital was solemnizing in the Rehabilitation Unit. In fact, rehab was almost always calm, save for the rare convulsion or panic spell that a wayward patient might have. The nurse presently manning the desk was reading the latest copy ofCosmopolitan and wondering why young women were so eager to absorb such male-propagated tripe. She glanced up as two men approached her counter. "Excuse me, but visiting hours—" She paused, recognizing Mayor Thompson's lawyer, cleared her throat, "—are over."
The lawyer smiled amiably, "We understand, ma'am, but the Mayor expects my counsel this evening."
The nurse's eyes, lashes clumped by too much mascara, darted to the clock hanging over the wall as if confirming to herself that visiting hours were indeed over. She looked from the lawyer to the other man. He was dressed in an unwholesome red suit jacket, his eyebrows seemingly stuck in a perpetual frown, "And who is this gentleman?" There was something menacing in his look.
"My colleague Graydon Creed, ma'am," John Abernale said. "He will be helping me in working the mayor's case. But – as I'm sure you will understand – we can't really discuss these matters." He smiled.
The nurse narrowed her eyes but sighed. With a wave of her hand in the correct direction, "You know the way, sir."
"Thank you very much, ma'am. We hope you have a good evening."
"I'd choose better reading," Graydon Creed said in passing. He ignored the look of offended disbelief, turning to follow Abernale. "Why do you bother with the help," he huffed.
John Abernale did not blink or twitch. "I have no interest whatsoever in hearing your radical and ill-informed criticisms." He stopped before the mayor's room, knocked, and after a "Come in", stepped aside, "The only reason you are here, Creed, is at the bequest of my friend and client. After you."
Graydon's mouth formed a mild sneer, but said nothing. He moved into the room, which smelled uncomfortably sterile. Shadows dominated the walls as only two lights near the bed were lit.
Mayor Richard Thompson looked ready to deliver a speech. Though dressed in a backless hospital gown and white cotton robe, he lay supported by several pillows, reading glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and a copy of the day's newspaper splayed over his lap. That look of addressing important business hardened his face. He was trying hard to avoid looking in pain before this rising young leader he did not yet trust.
"Good evening, Mr. Creed. John."
"Hello Richard," Abernale came around the cot to the table beside. He opened his briefcase, pulling out a file. The label read: City of New York vs. Henry McCoy. "How's the wound feeling?"
"They've got me on so many painkillers I can hardly tell which body part is which," Thompson drawled. "If I wasn't a war veteran, I'd be giving in to all these drugs."
Graydon Creed suppressed a snicker, "That's how they get to you."
"Excuse me?"
"I asked if there was anything I could get you, sir?"
The mayor shook his head, "No, I'm all right for now. Let us just get down to business, eh? John, I got your message. I know he's your friend and all but if the evidence is that incriminating—"
Abernale was flipping through the folder in his hands. "It's only incriminating if you look at it from a certain point of view, Richard. Yes – your security guards were strangely lacking. Yes – Henry McCoy is a mutant. Yes – public opinion these days does not support mutants—"
"And am I not supposed to pay attention to that, John? I'm a public servant. How will it look if I completely disregard the peoples'…." His voice trailed away as if realizing a fallacy in his thoughts.
"The peoples' demand blood?" John Abernale said, narrowing his eyes.
The mayor huffed, "Now that's a rather melodramatic way of looking at things, isn't it, John?"
The lawyer shook his head gravely, "You know as well as I do how 'smart' mobs of people are. That's not constitutional. That's not justice. I pushed to put McCoy in jail to keep mobs from storming the Xavier Institute. It's a mess out there, Richard, and not enough resources are being allocated into education about mutants. I'm only here to prosecute criminals – not victims of hate crimes. That's not—"
Graydon Creed rudely cleared his throat. Both men turned to look at him. "Gentlemen," he said, "let's not get into unproductive philosophical debates! What we need to do is make a decision. And I think it is clear that the evidence points to a court date and a hefty conviction. This wouldn't be the first time a respected scientist were proved treacherous."
Abernale spoke to the mayor, "Remind me again, why this man is necessary."
"He's the leader of the Friends of Humanity, John."
"Why did you bring him here?This is a meeting for the public arena. Clandestine operations are unattractively surreptitious."
The mayor squirmed a little uncomfortably in his cot. "I thought it would be prudent for all parties to get to know each other first in a…comfortable environment…though I realize this is highly conventional. Still – there's little time and I won't use this hospital bed as an excuse to push things back. Apologizes, Mr. Creed, I don't mean to speak of you as if you weren't in the room."
Graydon shrugged, "No offense taken, sir. I'm grateful for all the exposure to internecine politics that I can get."
"Fact of the matter is, John, I know you don't agree with the ideas of this new group—but we can't ignore that their voice is rising to a cacophonous chorus, with more and more of the public leaning toward them…"
"That is very true, sir," Graydon Creed interjected, looking at Abernale. "We are not a hate group as the mutants will tell you. We are only proponents for the safety and rights of non-mutants. It's quite obvious that these creatures have unfair advantages over the rest of us with their 'special abilities'. Someone – some conglomeration with influence – needs to watch out for Average Joe. Am I wrong?"
Abernale sighed and flipped through the file. "McCoy has no previous criminal record. The weapons used in the attack were unidentifiable – CIA, Interpol, Europol, everyone."
"Mutant invention obviously!" Creed said, throwing up his hands.
"It's all circumstantial evidence, Richard," Abernale said flatly.
Creed smiled, "You're an esteemed prosecutor. I'm sure you can swing things…"
The mayor cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, John. You know what must be done. You're the DA."
"You can issue clemency. To press charges isn't—"
"Political suicide," Graydon Creed said under his breath.
"John this isn't the end of the world."
"Perhaps not for you. What comes next. How high must I take the conviction? Attempted homicide on a public official? That's a serious offense, Richard."
"The courts take time, John. This will give us time to address the matter of mutants on a wider scale. There is new legislation on the table—"
"Oh, you mean the Mutant Registration Act. That's been a comforting prospect," Abernale scowled.
Outside, rain began to fall. Heavy droplets pattered against the window but none of the men noticed. Clouds boiled in the dark sky as if censuring the meeting held within that hospital room. A lithe figure stood upon the window ledge. Droplets of lukewarm summer rain slid between tendrils of her auburn hair. Tiny bubbles of water hung trapped from her thick lashes, framing green eyes that seemed shadowed with dark thoughts.
Rogue stared into the hospital room, watching Mayor Thompson with a look of contempt. She didn't know much about American politics these days, especially not of the local New York variety—but what she had gathered from eavesdropping so far did not help her form a positive opinion on the mayor. He seemed ill-decided and afraid. Fear was an inhibiting trait in politics, hindering someone who should be a mover of stones to just leave them where they lay, and conform to the old beaten path. But the lawyer with Hank's file in his hands, with that burned look of having been shunned by injustice, he was a man Rogue would give the benefit of the doubt.
"My loyalty is to this government," Abernale was saying.
"That's good to hear, seeing as how you are the DA, John." The mayor took off his glasses and tiredly rubbed his eyes. Perhaps the pain killers were finally getting to him. "This business is settled. You know what must be done."
Abernale's face grew blank, as though donning a mask of professionalism. He packed the file away, shoving it a little rougher than necessary back in his briefcase.
"The ends justifies the means, as one Italian philosopher so put it," Graydon Creed said.
Rogue saw Abernale roll his eyes. She looked at the youngest man of the three, the one with the harsh eyebrows and dirt-colored hair that curled at his forehead. There was a smugness about him, a sense of knowing something that Abernale and Thompson were oblivious to or refused to acknowledge. Rogue decided she did not like Graydon Creed.
The meeting was wrapping up. The mayor lay back in the cushions as Abernale led the way out of the room.
Rogue reached with enhanced hearing through the building's walls. She filtered out distracting sounds and zeroed in on the conversation – or lack thereof – between Abernale and Creed.
"…looks like you've got your work cut out for you, buddy."
"How do you mean."
"What with a trial coming up."
"I don't discuss my cases with lobby groups."
"The Friends of Humanity are hardly a lobby group—"
"I think I know enough to form my own opinions."
"Listen pal, I know you don't like me a whole lot and that's fine. But I'm guessin' we're going to be seeing a lot of each other in the coming weeks, months…" There was a sneer in Creed's voice. An elevator bell dinged. "…we're on the same side, brother. We're fighting for the people."
"We are not on the same side."
Rogue teleported from the twelfth floor down to the parking area. Perched atop the main hospital atrium, she waited until Abernale and Creed emerged. The lawyer pulled out an umbrella and walked briskly to his car without a farewell to Creed. Graydon merely stood outside, out of the rain, and lit a cigarette despite several No Smoking signs decorating the area. After a couple minutes he whipped out a cell phone and dialed a six digit number.
Odd, Rogue thought. What line would that connect to? It certainly wasn't a New York area code. It didn't even have enough digits to constitute a serviceable phone number.
She zoomed in to memorize it. 613136.
"'ello? ... Yes, I've just met with him…." Creed laughed. The noise grated against Rogue's ears. "They have no idea. Yes….uh huh. It's all working in our favor. …. What now, you have a man coming? What's his name… what do you mean you don't know—sorry. I'll be ready… I certainly am looking forward to the benefit dinner! Being keynote speaker is something that comes once in a blue moon for a man like me. …. Yes, well, they may say it's just a panel event, but everyone knows it'll be a big deciding factor in how the Registration Act will fair in Congress. Yes… I will be ready." He hung up, dropped the cigarette with snuffing it out, and ran toward his vehicle.
Rogue watched him drive away, then floated to ground level. What did all this mean? She wondered if questioning the mayor had been a good idea after all… though he would no longer be awake. Damn it.
Something was going to happen. Something was coming. And somehow it involved New York's mayor, the district attorney, Hank's incarceration, and some sleazy man named Graydon Creed who led a suspicious group called the Friends of the Humanity.
Rogue walked over to the cigarette and crushed the still-burning embers with the heel of her shoe. The with a puff of sulfurous smoke, she disappeared.
X
X
X
The private jet landed on a strip at the John F. Kennedy International Airport. The crew worked more efficiently than any that had ever serviced him.
"Enjoy your stay in New York, Mr. LeBeau," the stewardess said, offering him his trench coat. "Mr. Essex has informed us that a vehicle is here to retrieve you."
"Many thanks, madamoiselle."
The stewardess blushed.
Remy took a final swig of his gin and tonic, shrugged on his jacket, and picked up the one bag he had brought with him. He descended the steps onto the air strip. The New York skyline scintillated. It had been a while. For a moment he forgot about his mission.
A shiny black sedan sat a few feet away from the plane, a feminine figure leaning against its hood. She wore a high-collared black coat and low, wide-rimmed matching hat that shielded her face from sight and rain. She waved languidly. As Remy approached, "LeBeau? You sure do pack light."
"I'm low-maintenance."
Pale green lips curved into a smirk, "Lovely. Perhaps you won't be insufferable after all. Has Essex informed you of the task at hand?"
"Not at all." Remy frowned as he saw a tendril of green hair flutter loose from under the woman's hat. A vague memory surfaced then went away just as quickly. Not being able to see her face was more than a little disconcerting. But when she lifted her chin, settling her acid-green gaze on him, her familiar face caused him to stiffen.
"The name is Malice," the green-haired woman said. "We have a job to do and you will follow my lead."
Oh woooowwww it has been a while, non? I'm really sorry guys for being so caught up in...well..."real life" actually. This has become like a forgotten pleasure for me in the midst of all the real-ness of life. I'm getting ready to leave the country and stuff in a few weeks for 6 months to go off on a few adventures of my own. And I started this years ago - at least 3 years ago - back in high school! Some of you might remember, if I still have those original readers. But yes, I've forgotten about this but not entirely because there is still an intricate plot that I'd like to get out. I don't know how long it will take but I will try my best to get it out. It's got amazing characters, a great story set-up... way to go Marvel.
And whoa - holla for Gambit in the new Wolverine movie set to come?
Another update soon (hopefully!),
Raven