Author's Note: I have been posting these pretty close together to catch up where I left off on JCF which is currently under maintenance, I'll slow down a bit now that I'm caught up. Unless you want me to keep posting every other day?
Chapter Seven
Manhattan Apartment
"Who puts a safe on tha ceiling?" Rogue walked around, staring up at the blocks while trying to wrap the concept around her head. The floor above was probably several thick layers of steel in order to hold the weight of the objects meaning that drilling in from above wasn't an option either. "Doesn't look like there's a lowering mechanism, he'd have ta use a ladder ta get into it."
"Did I forget to mention dat da man has two very white, very feathery wings?" Gambit was a little too pleased with himself. "Regular cockerel, all he needs is a bright red comb on his head."
"Wait," she knew this one, rich with two white wings and could fly… "This is Warren Worthington the Third's personal gallery."
"Dat a problem?" he asked as he stood with the dagger's podium between them.
"Ah, no, not really," she only knew the recluse billionaire by reputation and he tended to set the fence in regards to the mutant divide, though he usually came down on Xavier's side, however, "but I'm starting to wonder if I'm being played again, so yah can get one over on tha Angel."
"Legitimate concern, petite," he shrugged, giving her perhaps the most honest looking expression she had seen on him yet which only made her more suspicious. "I was playing you at da club to get you here, but my reason for doing so is still da same."
"This thing yah want ta trade," her eyes darted back to the boxes hanging from the ceiling, "just happens to be owned by Worthington?"
"Trust me, cheri," his eyes went perhaps a shade darker, it was hard to tell from the glow of the display case, "any other day, it would give me great pleasure to show up dat upstart chicken again, but dis is not one of dem."
As she peered across the dagger's glass enclosure at the tall scoundrel, memories of the reason she was here knocked on the back door of her mind, demanding an audience. The raw sensation of holding a loved one as they died and there wasn't a damn thing you could about it. It was an all too familiar pain, more solid and jagged than the one she carried around in her own soul. The kind of heartache that could lead a person to do almost anything…
Sighing, she gave in, she might never be able to sort the emotions out in her head to know for sure what the Cajun's true intentions where until it was all over, and she had come this far already, "Alright, what we stealing?"
"Last year, Worthington won a Japanese lacquered writing box at Christie's," he went into the explanation, not taking the moment to gloat which she silently thanked him for. "You know what one looks like?"
"I've spent some time in Japan," she said, remembering the small cases that would hold ink wells and styluses for noblemen, "visited a few museums."
"Oh?" he raised a curious eyebrow.
"Some of us just like ta look at tha art," she assured him with a smirk.
"And you think I don't?" he grinned but before she could spout a retort he continued, "Dis one will be about da size of a thin paperback."
"Okay," she let out a long breath as she looked up at the lasers once again, this was going to take all her dexterity, "do yah know which box is the safe?"
"Non," he admitted.
"Do yah know if there are pressure sensors on the panels?" she questioned, referring to the sound dampeners hanging from each square, one likely hiding the face of the safe.
"Probably," he said if that was part of the fun.
"Well, aren't yah just a shade of useless," she observed as she squatted down to untie the laces on her boots.
"Relish da challenge, petite," he offered, grinning.
"Uh huh," Rogue wasn't too keen, after all, she knew what was at stake and a part of her really didn't want to screw up in front of the thief. If anything, she didn't want to give him a story to hold over her head for the next time they ran into each other. She slipped off the first boot, "That writing box can't be worth more than a few thousand, why lock it up?"
"It's not da monetary price, cheri," he emphasized his words by peering into the dagger display case, "it's what it means to da owner."
The other boot came off and she stood on the cold marble floor in thick black socks, "And what does it mean ta Worthington?"
"Don't rightly know," he laughed as if the whole concept was novel to him, "but I do know dat he beat another man at da auction for it, and he'd pay greatly to have it in his possession instead."
She unzipped her leather jacket, it was going to have to go as well, "And yah know this for a fact?"
The Cajun nodded assuredly, coming around the podium, "Tried da pay me to steal it."
"Why didn't ya?" Rogue slipped the leather from her arms.
"Da man in question is not only a high ranking member of da Toyko Assassin's Guild, but of da Yakuza," he reached out to take her jacket as she considered laying it over her boots, "a good thief can steal anything, a great thief steals whatever he wants, and I don't want to steal for a man like him, making an exception on account of da situation."
She passed the leather item over to the Cajun, rolling the revelation over in her mind, "Mighty high moral code yah got there for a thief."
"You think so little of me, mon cheri," he smiled, red eyes glinting at her playfully, "perhaps you should get to know me better, no?"
"No," she let the word roll off her tongue showing her disinterest, then she realized she had been played again, "Oh, no, no, no," she reached forward and quickly dipped her hands into an inside pocket of her jacket, pulling out the King of Hearts she had stored there. "Not gonna be that easy, Gambit."
"And here I thought I was being polite to da lady," he grinned, very well aware of what he had just done.
"Yeah, bet you were," she slid the card into her back pocket then caught her hair in the band so it sat as a bun and not a loose ponytail.
With that, Rogue took a few steps back, then a few to the left, all the while looking up at the laser beams as they danced in their predictable pattern. She backed up, walked to the right, all trying to find a good opening to slide through. An angle entry would be the only way but from what she saw her body simply couldn't bend that way.
Another step to the left and there it was, an opening that closed but another opened just beside it, then atop it, she'd have to time it right though… just like the hallway.
"Take your time, Rogue, when you're ready," the ruffian said with what sounded like sincerity and she caught his eyes from across the room.
There was an odd timber to the whole situation and it dawned on her how the thief must be feeling right now. He wasn't too proud to ask for her to do this task but still, he was the greatest thief in the world and he had to get someone else to steal the one item that could lead him to the man who had his brother murdered.
Rogue didn't particularly like the Cajun but she knew all too well how he felt losing Henri and she wasn't going to let him down.
Kicking off the floor she hovered under the area where two lasers didn't quite get close enough to shunt off the space where her thin frame could squeeze through. As she made it half way through she had to bend to avoid a beam overhead. Like wading through water she paddled her arms just enough to clear her hovering form from the first level.
Twisting in the air, she now floated on her back, watching the light dance above her. Another foot forward and a spot opened up. Sliding almost like a snake, or a gymnast on a balance beam, she splayed her hands out in front of her to flip her body through without hitting the lasers both above and below her.
The last one wasn't so bad, she had plenty of room once she got above the lights, contorting her body to keep from straightening out too early and hitting one of the roaming beams. Once she was free, she took a moment, hovering on her back as if she was resting, letting the nerves settle.
"Bravo, cheri," he said playfully.
"Stop looking at my butt," she grumbled, turning onto her front and willing herself over between the four boxes. "What are the chances there are pressure sensors on the ceiling?"
"I'd not take dat bet," the thief answered.
"Yeah, me neither," she started to circle around each of the massive blocks, all similar down to the paint for the faux-wood covers and the fabric on the dampeners. Still, what did the man say earlier? "Time leaves wear on all things," she mumbled.
Faint cuffs lined the ceiling on the far side of the first block on the left, just the right span for a pair of human sized wings. There was minor fraying where the fabric rolled over the edge of the particle-board panel.
It was all or nothing.
Reaching around the frayed bit she felt a lever, same as under the hood of a car. Clicking it the panel popped loose and she easily slid it to the side. Now Rogue was face to face with a four foot metal door with punch-code electric lock and her without any lock-smith tools. Tumblers she could do, not this. Probably should have thought this through more.
"So now what, lock whisperer," she peered down at the Cajun.
The man chuckled, "Good one, petite, I'll let dat pass."
It took her a second to realize she had called him a nickname against her promise not to earlier. She opened her mouth to apologize then decided against it.
"What keys show the most wear?" he asked her.
After taking a moment to get a good look at them, she rambled off five numbers.
Gambit took just as long to consider the digits before bursting out laughing, "Oh, you are right, cheri, he really doesn't like me."
The thief rambled off a set of six numbers which sounded suspiciously like a date and the keypad accepted the code, the handle easily releasing as she pulled the door open. "How did yah know?"
"Dat was the date I first stole from him," he said the words wistfully. "He's taunting me, petite."
"Can't imagine why," she said just under her breath. Inside the door were metal handles so that the winged mutant could pull himself in and she used them for the same purpose. The safe was like a closet, couldn't be more than five feet tall and if she had to hunch to move around, she hated to know how Worthington must felt.
Scattered across several shelves were all manner of jewelry, bank notes, certificates, and various ancient artifacts. On a lower shelve she found a velour bag just about the right size. Checking the contents, a black lacquered writing box with a beautifully set willow tree made of silver and mother-of-pearl on the lid was exactly what she was looking for.
Moving to the door she glanced back at everything that was being left behind. She called down, "Hey, Gambit, there's a lot of expensive stuff up here, yah want any of it?"
"A good thief takes," he quipped another one of his sayings, "a great thief only takes what he can steal."
Sighing, she moved out from the door to close it behind her, the bag's strap wrapped around her wrist. "Thank you for that, Yoda."
She must have said it louder than she thought, "Just can't help yourself around ol' Remy, can you cheri?"
"Something like that," she bemoaned, sliding the panel into place and moving over to her exit route. "I don't think this is going to be any easier."
"You'll do fine, Rogue," again she caught the serious tone in his voice, only the second time he'd ever called her by her name.
Taking a deep breath she dipped back down between the lasers, slowly snaking her way through, twisting and turning, the writing box clutched in a death grasp in her hand. Soon she came out the other end, head first, but it worked.
"Magnifique," Gambit praised, walking over with her boots and coat in hand.
Staring at him from upside down, she commented, "I think I like yah better this way."
His eyes glanced up, "I like you better dis way too."
It was at this point she realized her shirt had come loose and dropped down, uncovering her mid-drift. Not that there was much to see other than some woefully pale skin, but the words coming from the woman-chasing Cajun was enough to set her ears red. Rogue quickly righted herself and sank to the floor. He sat the boots in front of her, his hand open for the box.
"Oh no," she tucked it under her bent legs, "yah get it when yah get us out of here."
"Still don't trust me, aye, petite?" he gave a tsk-sound.
"Of course not," she slipped on one boot, quickly tying up the laces, "heighten sense of self-preservation, remember?"
"Oh, I remember," he said a bit too fondly for her liking.
Fastening the other boot she stood, perhaps a bit too quickly, a sharp pain striking against her temple. She stumbled backwards and when she opened her eyes she could have sworn she saw the image of Carol Danvers shouting at her but it went away so quickly it could have easily been imagined.
"Woah, petite," the thief moved to help her and she instinctively backed away from him.
"I'm fine," she took a couple short breaths and cleared her mind, "blood rush is all."
"If you say so, cheri," he handed over her jacket and she slipped it on, passing the box back and forth as she worked her arms through the holes.
A few more calming breaths and she was okay, "So, we go out tha way we came?"
"Where is your sense of style, cheri?" he winked at her and she followed him back to the entrance where he once again jumped and practically danced his way through the security beams.
Rogue took the easy way and flew over them.
When they got to the desk, the security guards were awake now, attempting to get free of the restraints.
"Gentlemen," LeBeau took his hat off to them, "tell da Angel dat Remy LeBeau gives his compliments."
Tipping the tribly back onto his head, cane in hand, he turned and walked away from the guards who stared up at the nonchalant thief with a strange mix of awe and terror on their faces.
Feeling it was her place to say something smart, she gave the guards a smile and said, "I'm with him."
That said she caught up with the thief at the door to the elevator which he waited patiently for. The doors opened and they slipped inside, Gambit hitting the lobby button.
"We going out tha front door?" she asked.
"Why not?" he replied and it worked for her, they got what they came for, now was the getaway. "Unless you want to find da bedroom first," he said suggestively, "really annoy da Angel?"
Rolling her eyes, "Yah always had this death wish?"
"Non," he grinned, a caged laugh in his throat, "I very much do enjoy living."
"Could have fooled me," she mumbled, breaking eye-contact with the Cajun.
After a minute the car dropped the full length and opened up to the apartment lobby. The night guard was sitting at the security desk, calling into his radio.
"Hey, guys, this is check in, you there?" he said uselessly, not knowing that the men he was calling were tied up.
Rogue confronted the thief as they walked away, "Yah said we had all night once we got past tha guards upstairs."
"Did I?" he said questionably with entirely too much coyness hidden in the words.
"You!" the guard shouted and alarms started to go off, an audible pop of the locking mechanism on the front door echoed in the foyer.
Gambit only sped up, slipping a card from his sleeve and giving it a quick flick at the glass. With a shatter an escape point opened up and he slowed down enough for her to skip through first, making sure not to slip on the shards.
The move was not altruistic as the thief took the chance to turn and tip his hat to the guard and camera before slipping out.
The two then made a dead run down the street, taking corners and shooting down alleys. They had to have been at least five blocks away before they stopped to catch their breath. Rogue found herself uncontrollably laughing. "You, sir, are a walking cliché."
"But are you impressed?" he asked, also amused by the situation.
Well, she had to give it to him that he kind of pulled off the whole persona. "Maybe."
"I can live with dat," he smiled, pulling a folded over manila envelope from one of the pockets in his coat. "Dis should more dan cover services rendered."
Rogue had actually forgot about that part, so wrapped up in everything else, and the thought of just being another hired thug, a tool, sobered her up. She knew it would eventually happen, so why did it sadden her so that it did?
Writing box still in hand, she held it out for him as he held the payment for her. They both took hold but didn't try to end the contact right away.
"You're a good thief, petite," he said softly, "you could be a great thief."
"Just have ta follow yah little mantras?" she said a little too spitefully. Just days ago this man got her friend shot, what was she doing hanging around with him and enjoying a little heist, wishing it wasn't over?
"Perhaps," he shrugged, pulling away with the box while leaving the package in her hand. "Be seeing you around, cheri." With that he bowed his head to her and sauntered off down the sidewalk.
"I sincerely hope not," she called after him, seeing as he was an annoyance who played her like a five string guitar.
He stopped, looking over his shoulder, "Remember, cheri, only take what you can steal." Gambit flicked his hand and between his index and middle finger was a worn King of Hearts.
Rogue immediately checked her back pocket and sure enough, the card was gone and she had no idea when he made the lift. The thief disappeared into the night and this time he wasn't trying to get himself caught.
Really wanting to get the card back because she knew it would annoy the Cajun as much as he bothered her, she could try hunting him in the city… but why? She knew where he was going.