8

Logan knew it was wrong for him to sleep at Faith’s place, quiet and safe, while all hell was probably breaking loose on the streets, but it didn’t stop him. He slept well, and it was good to be back with Faith again. When she left, he would miss her. He wondered if she would miss him as much - Faith was just such a survivor that he had a hard time imagining anything getting to her that much. He liked to think he was a survivor, but Mystique had been right about one thing: he did have emotional weaknesses. He really didn’t know what to do about it, or why he hadn’t hardened as much as he should have. It was the one area where he just didn’t heal as fast as he usually did.

He was in the shower, letting the hard spray pound his scalp in a way that was half way between painful and enjoyable, when Faith peeked in the shower stall and said, “Marc’s on the phone. Wanna talk, or should I just trade innuendoes with him?”

He turned off the taps and reached around her for a towel. “Nah, I’ll trade innuendoes with him.”

“Cool.”

She handed him the handset as soon as he was out of the shower. “Got something for me?” he asked, wedging the receiver against his shoulder as he continued to dry himself off.

“And hola to you too, mi amigo,” Marc said brightly. “Actually it’s one of those good news/bad news things.”

“Gimme the bad news first.”

“Hey - my news. I’ll give it in the order I want, and you’ll like it.”

Logan scowled at his reflection in the mirror, sorry Marc couldn’t see it. “Why can’t you be afraid of me like everyone else?”

“’Cause I’m scarier than you. Okay, so, there was a triple murderer named Alexei Ivanov who did time in a Moscow prison during the ‘80’s. The thing is, there’s some weirdness.”

“Such as?” He scrubbed his hair with the towel, covering his face. He felt like he was in a cone of silence.

“Well, he was supposedly transferred to a prison that never, as far as I can tell, existed. Also, he has a death certificate that simply marks him as deceased. There’s no autopsy, no report, no cause of death listed, or any sign that he was ever buried anywhere.”

Logan grunted knowingly. “Sounds like Org whitewashing.”

“Yeah, or just the Soviet system at its most efficient.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he could have just been a guy they wanted to go away. The Russians did have a way of making people they didn’t like so much disappear. They’d never show up in any form again, dead or alive, but eventually a death certificate would show up in official records. And it would be just as unhelpful as the one I found for Ivanov. You see, it is possible for a government to make people disappear and have no one notice. Pinochet got greedy. You do it in little batches, pick the right targets, and no one notices. Grab a few hundred people at once, and you’re just asking for a beat down.”

“It bothers me that you’ve thought about this.”

“C’mon, you’ve always gotta plan for when a small country’s leadership falls in your lap. Dictators aren’t created spontaneously; it takes a lot of planning.”

Logan shook his head, throwing his towel back on the rack. “You are scarier than me.”

“Told ya. And continuing in the bad news vein, there’s no photo of this guy.”

He sighed, not really surprised. “So, it could be me, or... not.”

“Right. All we got is the word of the blue bitch, and we can hardly trust her, can we?”

“Guess not.” It was hard to get dressed and talk on the phone, but he tried. If anyone had been watching, they’d have laughed their ass off.

Marc clicked his tongue in a scolding manner. “You believe her.”

“It’s not that … exactly. I just get the weirdest sense of déjà vu around her. I think I did know her before.”

“But you can’t remember when or how.”

“No.”

“Doesn’t do you a fucking bit of good, does it?”

Logan sighed. “Have you been talking to Faith behind my back?”

“Bud, we’re just worried. Mystique has tried to kill you, ya know.”

“Yeah, but if I discriminated against everyone who tried to kill me … fuck, that’s about half the world, isn’t it?”

“Well, you ain’t gonna win anyone’s Miss Congeniality award. But it’s a bullshit title anyway, and that sash don’t go with anything.”

“You are not makin’ me laugh, not now.”

Marc made a disgusted noise. “It’s always you, you, you, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you have Matt to torment?”

“He doesn’t think it’s torment. He thinks I’m cute.”

He got his jeans on and considered himself lucky. There was no way he could talk on the phone and put a shirt on at the same time, so that would wait. “Love really is blind, huh?”

“You should know all about that, sparky.” He could hear the grin in his voice.

“Look, it’s not like I’m thinkin’ Mystique has my best interests at heart, 'cause I know she doesn’t. I know she a psycho bitch who’d kill me as soon as look at me. I got that.”

“Then why are you doin’ this? Yeah, I know, Vogel’s a bad guy, and not too many people are gonna shed tears over the Russia mafia. But she’s got you doing the bulk of the grunt work. What’s your guarantee that’s she’s not gonna totally fuck you over when she gets what she wants?”

He had actually asked himself that question dozens of times, and had no answer. In all honesty, Logan assumed she’d try and screw him over in some manner, although he felt prepared to deal with her when it came to that. But as he searched for something to tell Marc, he suddenly blurted, “She owes me.”

“For what?”

Logan gave himself a funny look in the mirror, one he was sure Marc would have given him had he been here. “I dunno. That just sorta … came out. It feels right, though.”

“But for what, dude? This a memory?”

“Maybe … but it has no form. It’s just a … gut feeling.”

Marc grunted in understanding. It was so massively kind of him to never outright dismiss a gut feeling. He knew that was almost all he had. “It ain’t for not killin’ her when you could have at the Statue of Liberty, is it?”

Scott had never believed he wasn’t trying to kill her. But Logan knew that a trunk shot would only hurt her pretty bad, not kill her. He didn’t know how he knew that, admittedly, but he supposed if he had known her before, it all made sense now. “No.  But I’m not sure exactly what it refers to.”

“Ask her. Of course, she’ll probably bullshit you, but maybe she can give you a nugget of something to work with.”

“Yeah, I will. You know, I think I need to go straight to the source about this. He’s only Human - if he lies to me, I’ll probably know.”

“You’re talkin’ about Vogel.”

“Yep.”

Marc made an impatient noise, and he heard him briefly moving around, a soft sound that was hard to describe or recognize. “Shit, why couldn’t this be goin’ on later?  We’re tied up here ‘til the end of the week.”

“Where are you guys now?”

“Spain. Ibiza, to be exact.”

“Holy shit, the party capital of the world. What the fuck are you doin’ sober and talkin’ to me?”

That made Marc chuckle. “I ain’t here for pleasure. We’re tailing another merc who specializes in industrial espionage. She’s trying to double-cross an employer, and we’re here to ruin her deal. Namely, we’re stealing the stuff back.”

“That sounds like it would take three minutes for you to do.”

“Normally, but she’s a mutie too. There’s some possible complications.”

“Ah.  What’s her power?”

“She’s a speedster. That’s why we gotta time this just right.  She can travel a mile in … holy fuck, what did we time her at?  A minute? Maybe a few seconds less than that.”

“Fuck.“ That was pretty fast. “No one’s noticed her?”

“She travels too fast. She’s a weird blur in the corner of your eye. By the time you look, she’s gone.”

“Even to you?”

Again, Marc chuckled. It was so much warmer and friendlier than Mystique’s version, but that only made sense, as he was a warmer, friendlier person than she was.  He trusted Marc with his life, and actually had, several times; Mystique he wouldn’t trust as far as he could throw Juggernaut.  Before Jean dissolved him, of course.  “Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?  She’s a big old screaming hot blur to me.  I’m the only one who has any warning she’s coming, since she makes such a thermal mess. It’s just not enough of a warning to be much help.”

“You got any idea how you’ll handle her?”

“Some. But hey, aren’t we supposed to be talking about you?”

“No.” Marc clicked his tongue again, and Logan said, “I’m okay, all right? I don’t trust her; I know she’s gonna fuck me over or at least try. I can take care of myself.”

“It ain’t a question if you can or can’t, bud.  It’s a question if you will.  Don’t get too caught up in this.”

“Don’t worry, mom, I won’t.”

“I wish I was your mom.  I’d beat the shit outta you.”

Logan actually had very little doubt about that.

****

Logan had finally finished getting dressed and was about to head out to see what trouble he could find when the phone rang again. This time it was Mystique, and she didn’t have much to say. “Meet me at the Barnes and Noble across from the park in half an hour,” and then hung up before he could ask which park. But he thought he knew where she was referring to.

He arrived early, and prowled the stacks for a bit before becoming disappointed. Yes, it was a large, well lit store, with skylights letting in the sunlight, and the aisles neatly stacked and divided into sections, the air redolent of the coffee they were serving in their adjunct café, and it just depressed the hell out of him. He missed the smell of must, of slowly decaying pages that made him sneeze, and the store cats that either hid from him in utter terror, ignored him, or followed him around in a relentless bid for attention. He was happy to lose hours going through messy piles of books in search of one really good one.

God, he was so fucking old.

Before someone called him Grampa, he started sifting through the crime thriller titles, trying to find something that looked like it might be diverting for a full five minutes, when a woman said, “Well, I guess it’s a step up from Russian poetry.”

He already knew it was Mystique before he glanced over his shoulder. Today she was disguised as a semi-punky college student type, a short Japanese girl with blunt, razor cut hair and wire rim glasses, wearing combat boots with blue colored tights and a skirt that looked like a piece of vinyl, topped with a Rise Against t-shirt and a camouflage jacket at least one and a half sizes too large for her. She’d also added a piercing to her lip and nose. “What made you think I’d be in the poetry section?”

She smirked. “From what I recall, you liked it. Which was so fucking gay of you.”

He turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest. Was the Russian poetry thing a joke? He didn’t get it. “What the hell are you on about?”

She waved her hand dismissively in front of her face, like she was swatting a fly. “Fine, you don’t remember that.  Whatever.  Why’d you bring the chippie?”

Faith was in the café, having a latte and reading a comic book. “She’s along in case we decide to go cause some trouble. Also, in case Roshenko shows up.”

That made her giggle in a truly unsettling way. “Her? Take on Roshenko? What, are you gonna shove her down his throat?”

“She rattled his cage yesterday. Hopefully he doesn’t know that. I told you, she’s stronger than she looks.”

“She better be, or she’s gonna be a bimbo blintz in one swat.”

“Her name is Faith.  Stop with the nickname calling like a high school bitch.”

Mystique’s eyes widened briefly, and he saw the tiniest flash of yellow. “You watch what you call me.”

He simply raised an eyebrow at that, refusing to take the threat that seriously. “What d’ya have to report?”

She held his gaze for a long moment, challenging, but after a moment decided that the Barnes and Noble wasn’t an ideal place to settle a score. “Your request last night is sending shockwaves through the group. They have no idea what to do.”

“They’re not givin’ him to me?”

“They were hoping you wanted someone else. Vogel must have cut some kind of deal with Radinovitch. If he gives up Vogel, there will be hell to pay.” She lowered her voice and leaned in closer. “He’s the head of their new drug unit.”

Logan looked at her curiously. “Vogel?”

She nodded, looking at him over her glasses. “He’s giving them something only they have, something they can’t get anywhere else.” She paused dramatically, and he waited with growing impatience. “It’s called Hype.”

“Hype,” he repeated blandly.  Was she making this up?

“It’s a synthetic mutant steroid.”

That made him check to make sure she wasn’t lying, as far as he could tell. He still had no idea, but she looked pretty damn serious. “What does it do?”

“What do you think it does? It gives the user enhanced strength … as long as the drug lasts. Long term users supposedly develop greater musculature, but they’re not telling anyone that long term usage will actually kill you, as it degrades something in the brain of the normals. I don’t know what, some chemical, I wasn’t able to get a good look at the notes.”

“What does it do to mutants?”

She shrugged. “They don’t give it to them. Radinovitch is actually hoping to sell it covertly to the military, so they can be ready to fight the muties.”

“They selling that at the auction too?”

“No, this is more back room stuff. But it’s why they don’t want to lose Vogel, as he’s the only guy synthesizing it.”

“How’s he doing that?”

She shrugged again, shook her head. “No clue. If the mob knew, they’d bring in their own chemist and send Vogel to you, gift wrapped.”

Logan stared at a bookshelf as he thought, and his eyes scudded over a book titled Déjà Vu. For some reason, that struck him as almost funny. “Is Roshenko on the stuff?”

“No. As far as I know, he’s a real mutant.”

“What about the other guys?”

She shrugged again, watching as a man with a bad haircut walked by, giving her the eye. Wouldn’t he have been disappointed to discover she wasn’t a barely legal Asian girl, but a very adult and very blue mass murderer? Talk about a buzz kill. Once he was gone, she said, “Maybe. But I haven’t been offered any yet. Just keep it in mind.” She glanced around, mainly making sure that guy wasn’t hovering, and then told him in a quiet voice, “Radinovitch is shutting the auction down. It’s Vogel’s idea all the way, and he is arguing with him over it, but Radinovitch thinks since you’re after Vogel, it’ll be an ideal target for you. He wants to stop it before it starts.”

Logan grunted in disappointment. “Smart.”

“Brilliant for a fucking normal. But still not smart enough.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, which he thought was odd, until he felt her pressing a piece of paper in his palm. He took it and instantly slipped it in the front pocket of his jeans. “They’re clearing out the warehouse. Go get the stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “What about Vogel? What about the Hype?”

She gave him a small, sharp smile that had no warmth at all, and patted his arm. “One thing at a time, old man.” She then started to walk away.

He didn’t like the feeling he was being dismissed, or possibly screwed over. So he grabbed her arm, stopping her (she looked at his hand on her arm like it was a fly she had to squish), and said, “Don’t forget, sweetheart, you owe me.”

When she looked up, he saw - just for a moment - a look of genuine shock flash through her eyes. She quickly covered it up, but it was too late. He’d seen it, and she could deny it all she wanted, but it wouldn’t matter. He was right. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t owe you shit.”

“Yeah, you do. And you know you do.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“A hell of a lot better than you.”

She ripped her arm out of his grasp and walked out of the bookstore in a small huff that was almost convincing. Faith, who was now browsing over at the stacks of translated manga, glanced over at him and seemed to beckon him with a look. As soon as he was beside her, she asked, “Can I kick her ass before we’re all done here?”

He shrugged, reaching into his pocket for the slip of paper. “Knock yourself out.” He looked at the piece of paper, and Faith joined him. It was an address hastily scrawled on the back of a torn strip of envelope.

“What’s this?” she wondered.

“The address for the warehouse. The mutant poison should be here.”

“Great, let’s bounce.”

He gave her a skeptical look, and she shook her head. “Uh uh, I’m goin’.  What if King Kong’s there?  It’s what I’m here for.”

He supposed, but he honestly hoped there was no one there beyond the usual suspects. He really didn’t want to lose it in front of her. He’d just have to try really hard not to.

****

The “warehouse” was actually an old cannery that had been converted into storage space. It still had the low slung, long look and weathered siding of a building built completely for function, with no thought to form or ergonomics or even just a minor acquiescence to not looking like a place it would be excellent to commit suicide in. It was just a sad squatty toad of a building, one that you were kind of hoping would leap off and sink into the water. No good could ever come from it. It probably smelled of rotting fish and dashed expectations.

If he didn’t have Mystique’s instructions, he would have known this was the place, if only because the other armored Escalade was there. They saw three guys, but Logan was sure there were more, just keeping out of sight. As if to prove the point, they found another thug skulking around the pier. Logan grabbed him from behind and snapped his neck, so he could steal his long coat and sunglasses, but there was nothing that could be done about his hair.

Faith hung back, keeping an eye out for back up, while Logan walked towards the former cannery, pretending like he was supposed to be here. If you had the attitude that you belonged and you knew where you were going, most of the time people never questioned you. So far that seemed to be working here, as a thug passed him by, carrying a box towards the Escalade, never giving him a second glance. He felt like he’d passed a test.

But far too soon. He was just crossing to the cannery entrance when he caught a familiar scent underneath the miasma of old fish and rusted metal, and a hand reached out and grabbed him. Before he could react, he was slammed face first against the wall, an arm pinning the back of his neck and preventing him from moving in any meaningful way. “Who’s the leak?” Roshenko grated in his ear, trying to rub his face into the brick. “Who’s helping you?”

This was bad. It felt like he was tearing his neck muscles since he couldn’t crush his spine, and he was standing far enough away from him - although still leaning into him - that he couldn’t actually stab anything. But he wasn’t completely helpless. Logan waited until he put more pressure on his neck, then snapped his head back hard, catching his skull on his chin. It wasn’t a very hard blow, and Logan was already seeing stars from having his windpipe and carotid artery crushed, but he did it a couple of times in rapid succession and Roshenko stumbled back, letting go of him.

Although Logan would have appreciated a moment to catch his breath, he knew he probably didn’t have it. Even as his eyesight continued to pixilate, he popped his claws and jammed them in Roshenko’s barrel chest, right where his heart was. No, not a big fight or a fair one, but he just didn’t have time for this bullshit.

Roshenko collapsed to the ground so hard Logan thought he felt it shake, and Logan rested against the wall, breathing hard, gulping in air and waiting for his vision to return completely. What would it be like to give a fucking monster like that mutant steroids? He’d probably be strong enough to bite through the CN Tower.

Logan heard a strange noise, and then Roshenko’s hand darted out, grabbed his ankle, and whipped him head first into the wall across the alleyway.

Logan blacked out on impact, although he came to maybe a second later, feeling Roshenko grab the back of his neck in one meaty paw. The strange noise, like a creaking door, turned out to be Roshenko laughing. “You think you’re smarter than me, eh? You think that’s the end of me?” Roshenko slammed his face into the asphalt. He felt his nose shatter, blood pouring in a hot gush down his face and down his throat. “I have redundant systems - two hearts, two nervous systems, two livers.” Roshenko slammed his head down again, smearing his face on the ground, tearing skin and sending fragments of cartilage deeper into his head. “How many brains do you have? If I knock yours out of your ears, do you have another?” He slammed his head down again and again. Logan saw fireworks bloom behind his eyes, the blood running down his throat choking him.

Man, he could have really used some mutant steroids right now.