We're only taking turns holding this world
It's how it's always been, when you're older you will understand
The Fray
Winter 2010
Blocked from view by a statue of a golden dragon, Logan kept to where the red light of paper lanterns was softest. He looked down on the open lobby from an alcove. “He’s here,” Logan said into his cell phone, and the Professor asked him if he was sure. “Yeah. It’s gotta be him.”
Though his face was shadowed by a shit-kicker hat, the five-foot-ten black male matched the description of one John Wraith, a teleport soldier-for-hire operating under the name Kestrel. Listed in the dossier on Stryker as deceased, but very much alive according to Xavier’s contact in the Department of Mutant Affairs.
Who’d made it clear that mutant soldiers, while “against the official recruiting policies of the United States Armed Forces,” since World War II had been the military’s worst-kept secret. And the hypocrites acted like the Professor invented the idea.
“He’s got a briefcase cuffed to his wrist.” Just begging for Logan to slice it off and run. “Did your guy McCoy say what Wraith is getting in exchange for Stryker’s mind control what-have-you?”
“Serum-143 is not exactly mind control.” There went the teacher tone. “What Wraith has is a prototype, a less stable hallucinogenic influencer. Stryker may well have used it on you.”
Logan grunted, dismissing that as more of Xavier’s misguided reassurances. The black lines redacting the Stryker dossier might as well have been drawn in blood. And the fact that the only hint of himself was a 1989 mission to acquire an ‘indestructible metal’ in Nigeria only reinforced his gut feeling that he hadn’t been one of Stryker’s victims. He’d been, at best, a volunteer. At worst, a partner.
Even over the phone, the Professor knew where Logan’s thoughts were. “Perhaps Wraith could tell you about the serum. It is possible that the two of you worked together in some capacity.”
Possible. Not likely. Though his date of birth wasn’t listed in the dossier, fifteen years ago Wraith couldn’t have been more than twenty. And besides. No good thinking Wraith might have a better version of Stryker’s answers or anymore reason not to lie. It threatened the shaky ground Logan had gained since he’d left his past at Alkali Lake two months before.
“The Japanese are here,” Logan said, grabbing at the distraction. Two bruisers stuffed in suits and a smaller guy with a burning sun tattooed on his neck. Must be Sunfire. He didn’t have a briefcase, just a bulge in his jacket pocket. Whatever he was trading Wraith traveled well. The Japanese followed a hostess into a conference room walled by frosted glass. “I’ll give ‘em time to get their guards down, then I’ll break up the party.”
“Be careful, Logan. Serum-143 is extremely sought-after on the black market. As arrogant in the superiority of their mutant foot soldiers as they are, I needn’t remind you how well Clan Yashida guards its interests.”
Logan closed his eyes as he slid the phone shut. His earliest intact memories were of Japan, and they washed over him like a dream of another man’s life. Moments of what felt like virtue, cut by shame sharper than a samurai sword –
The imagined scent of dogwood was replaced by cigarette smoke, as cloying as the predatory gaze of the woman across the way. She was outfitted like a geisha, though she looked to be black or Latina. Her smile was an advertisement for a john if he’d ever seen one.
His phone went off, making him realize he’d let a minute go by. “Yeah, kid?” He turned his back on the geisha, toward the shadows seated in the conference room and the sweet sound of worry.
“Have you decided if you’re goin’ meet with him?” Marie asked, drawl soft. It was a lot later in Westchester than it was in San Francisco. The only noise on her end was her bare feet on the carpet runners. Knowing that she was pacing for him did something to ease the knot in his gut. “You’re watching him right now, aren’t you? Well, go over there.”
Logan sighed. Marie hadn’t been able to pry the details of the mission out of him, but she’d been relentless until he’d explained about Wraith. “Trust me. Odds are, talkin’ to this guy isn’t gonna change a thing.” Deepen the wound, more like.
“Why’s it so hard for you to believe that Stryker was lying?” Marie asked, over-enunciating, “He wasn’t a good person.”
“And I am?”
“Oh, shut up,” she returned, her exasperation pulling a low rumble of satisfaction out of his chest. The sound of which made Marie hitch a breath in a real appealing way.
Logan whipped around to find the geisha slithering into touching distance, smelling like she’d been dipped in sex. Which had to justify the – Forget it. “Kid, call you back,” he told her, pocketing his phone and demanding of the geisha, “Who the fuck are you?”
She purred, “My name is ‘X.’ As in whatever you want it to be.”
“How about, ‘Get Lost,’” he suggested, doing his best to breathe out of his mouth. The geisha was emitting pheromones like a his old truck leaked gas. She was leering as if she’d never heard the word no, and the way he couldn’t take his eyes off her told him she probably hadn’t.
She reached for him. Logan twisted her arm, pinning her to the dragon statue from behind. “All right, it’s Stacy!” she said, suddenly sounding a lot younger than her painted lady persona.
Easing up a fraction of an inch, he guessed, “Somebody send you up here to play diversion?” He gave Stacy X’s elbow a yank to get her talking. When she admitted to working for Sunfire, Logan asked her what he was trading.
“Your people really don’t tell you anything – Ow! A microchip, stolen from the Chinese government.” Her voice went thick, like she was swallowing her pride. “He’ll kill me. Please let me go,” she said so convincingly that he did.
The girl turned in his arms, the top of her head resting on his chest. His nose fell into her dark brown hair, dizzy with the honeyed vanilla of it. His hands were at her hips, feeling the heat of her skin even through silk. Skin he couldn’t touch, shouldn’t want to.
Phone vibrating in his pocket, he jerked his chin up. Stacy X looked at him, eyes big and brown and shining with trust. “Is that your ‘kid’ again? What’s she like?” Her smile unfurled. Mocking.
Rage cleared his head of pheromones, and he slammed Stacy X against the rail, holding her by the wrists.
With a glib, “You should grow a thicker skin,” she did just that. Scales swelled and loosened Logan’s grip. She flipped him over the rail just as a blast of yellow-orange sent Wrath flying out of the conference room in an explosion of glass.
Hanging by his fingertips, Logan watched the quiet of the lobby erupt into shrieks and clear out. Sunfire stepped toward Wraith, still on the ground.
“Your cue, hero,” Stacy X hissed, digging her nails into the back of Logan’s hand so hard that he dropped.
Sunfire, who was hoisting in triumph a metal box that must’ve held the microchip, stopped to stare at Logan brushing glass off his jeans. “Pardon me, we’re in the middle of conducting a business meeting. Who might you be?”
“Interested third party.” He shot out his claws. “I’m lookin’ to make an offer.”
Sunfire tipped his head. “Wolverine. Welcome.” His lackeys murmured something to each other. Together, they placed their guns on the table and backed away. “As you can see, your reputation proceeds you. If you’re after the Master Mold, I’m happy to come to new terms. Either way, Serum-143 will return with me to Tokyo.”
Wraith took the opportunity to teleport into the conference room and grab the briefcase. Sunfire wheeled around in apparent surprise, two balls of light forming in his hands. Logan dodged one, while Wraith used the briefcase to shield himself from the other. Sunfire busy testing the melting point of stainless steel, Logan attacked. Only to get shot back by a pulse of energy that sent him sliding in one direction and the microchip in the other.
Stacy X stopped the spinning box with one scaly toe.
“She’ll destroy it!” Sunfire bluffed, returning his hair and suit to order.
Wraith appeared behind Stacy X, who curled herself around him. Sunfire was still trying to grasp the double-cross when Wraith popped over to Logan and added him to his escape, making it look like a conspiracy.
It took about twenty teleports before Logan could feel his skeleton again. He sunk down, waiting for his organs to catch up. They were in an alley, still in Chinatown.
“You a’right, partner?” Wraith wanted to know, keeping himself and Stacy X at a healthy distance.
Logan got up, shaky. “You know me?”
“Yeah,” Wraith said, and Logan put his hands back on his knees. “You’re one of those ‘X-Men’ all the military up and ups are worried over.”
He hesitated before asking a better question. “I know you?”
Wraith chuckled, fixing the hat that somehow stayed on his head through the fight. Stacy X answered for him, purring again. “Why? Do you wanna?”
Logan, finding no worthwhile recognition in either of them, said, “Pass. But you can be real friendly and hand over that briefcase.”
Wraith placed it in Stacy X’s arms, unlocking the hinges and displaying the three long tubes of clear liquid inside. He took out one and smashed it. Then the second. And the third. “Enough of that bullshit, am I right?” His anger, his accusation was clear, but not clearly directed. At Stryker, no doubt. At Logan, it was possible
“Do you know me?” he asked again. This time he held his breath.
Wraith, leaning on his woman, was gone without another word.
Logan spat on a grimy newspaper in something like disappointment but much more like relief.
Storm stands on the other side of the Professor’s desk as the tyke squad files in, her fingertips steepled together. “There’s been a…complication with the mutant tracker I hired to find Magneto.”
Everyone remains neutral. The incident at the Thanksgiving parade a couple weeks ago is still making her tetchy. Don’t know why. Nobody got hurt. And Logan’s the one who was thrown from a building into that big white dog float, and he thinks popping it to round up those three little Omega harpies was a riot.
He shoots the kid a smirk that isn’t returned. Of course. Marie went through this same routine before the cure came out. Now she just looks pissed off half-naked.
With a deep frown, Marie prompts, “What ‘complication’?” She’s always taken Magneto’s escapes personal, and why shouldn’t she? “He’s cured and he’s eighty.”
“Right?” Kitty backs her up. “He’s totally in a park somewhere rallying pigeons against their human oppressors.”
Pete laughs. Bobby doesn’t. He lost both his girlfriend and his girl-on-the-side when Marie let him go and patched things up with Kitty. Serves the little iceprick right.
Only sign of annoyance the way she’s got her fingers clasped, Storm replies, “He found Magneto. Unfortunately, he’s now planning to sell him to the highest bidder.” She has to wait for the tyke squad to settle down before she can explain, “I’ve arranged a meeting. Logan, I haven’t been able to get through to him, so I’d like you to talk him into telling us where Magneto is.”
Sure. He pops his knuckles against the desk. Talk.
“Kitty, you’ll go along to fix Logan up with a wire. The last thing we need is Homeland Security thinking Kestrel is one of ours.”
Logan sees Marie’s spine go straight, but he keeps his slouch casual. “Kestrel?”
“John Wraith, a teleport. The Professor’s notes led me to believe they had a relationship we could trust.” As usual, Storm stops short of actually admitting she was mistaken.
She used the same tone when she cited professionalism as the reason to end things between them. Again. Logan’s reason was better: All that sneaking around, holding back demanded far too much thinking and not damn near enough oblivion.
“Here’s all the information we have on Kestrel, Kitty.”
Marie snatches the file folder. “I can run surveillance.”
Kitty agrees, knowing how Marie’s spectator role on the X-Men grates on her. Storm looks at Logan, leaving it up to him. “No difference to me.”
Wrong answer. When the meeting is over, Marie stalks him to the garage, where she starts in. “’No difference’?” Logan’s ready to make amends for sounding like he doesn’t have a preference between her and Kitty, but Marie blows past that to catch him off kilter. “It’s Wraith. He knows you.”
Logan grabs the first key he recognizes. “There won’t be time for a heart-to-heart, kid.”
“Make time.”
Over the roof of Scott’s Mazda RX-8, Marie levels a stare that Logan responds to by shoving himself into the driver’s seat. She gets in with even less grace, throwing in the file folder and the surveillance computer and then her backpack so they hit his elbow. She slams the passenger door.
Logan’s hands grip the impressions he left in the steering wheel the last time he and Marie were in this car together. Trading glances in the dark that didn’t needn’t to be examined or explained.
He looks at the kid now. At the sour curl of her lip.
“Listen. Phoenix opened up goddamn Pandora’s box up here.” He jabs his temple with the key then slides it into the ignition. “I don’t need names and dates to match all the blood I seen.”
“That’s not what I’m talkin’ about,” she says, sympathy bringing out her drawl. “You may not be rentin’ a room anymore, but I know – “
“There’s nothin’ to know.” He means it to sound final. It comes out bitter. “There never was.”