Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time in Mexico...
“You take American?”
The man known only as Wolverine slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter without waiting for an answer from the unassuming teenaged boy sitting behind the counter of the gas station booth, who seemed considerably more interested in the magazine he was reading than in the large man towering over him. Snapping his gum, the boy leaned forward, grabbed the bill, and tossed the man’s change onto the counter without looking up from his article. Wolverine, putting his change away, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a weathered, dog-eared photograph.
“You seen this girl?” he asked, holding the picture up in front of him and glaring at the boy through the amber lenses of his sunglasses.
“No, no see,” the boy replied, eyes still glued to the glossy page before him. He tilted his chair farther backward and was about to put his foot up onto the counter when a massive arm shot across the counter, grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him into standing position. Now that Wolverine had gotten the kid’s full attention, he decided to give him one more chance to carefully consider the question at hand.
“The girl," he snarled this time, holding the photograph up in front of the boy’s nose. "You seen her?”
The boy opened his mouth to answer, but nearly choked on his gum when he noticed three long metal claws extending slowly from between the man’s knuckles, coming dangerously close to his jugular vein.
“Think,” growled an agitated Wolverine, baring his teeth as the boy began to tremble with fear.
“N-No, seņor, ain’t seen ‘er,” the boy finally sputtered. Wolverine could smell the fear rolling off the boy in distinct waves, and inferred that he was telling the truth. Deciding to stop just short of making the kid piss himself, he released his grip on the young man, who in turn risked a glance at the shaded eyes of the giant in front of him before shrinking back down into his chair. Wolverine turned and began to walk out, but then stopped abruptly at the door, plucking a copy of Hustler from the newsstand.
“How much?” he asked, holding it up to the boy.
“S’okay, man, no charge. Free.” the kid replied, still shaking, hands held up and open. The man may as well have been holding a gun instead of a girlie mag.
“Hey, thanks buddy.” Wolverine flashed the boy a savage grin before turning on his heels and stepping back out into the relentless heat of the Mexican sun. Climbing back into his Wrangler, he pulled his road map out of the glove compartment, uncapped a red felt-tipped pen and drew an “X” through the town marked Poza Rica. He put the engine into gear and peeled away, tires squealing and kicking up dust behind him as he pulled out onto the seemingly endless dirt road.
The assignment had come to him almost a month ago. Arrived in his post office box on a Monday morning, just as all the others had. Same deal, every time: plain brown envelope, no return address. Inside, a photograph and a single white piece of paper, words typed on it in black ink. The information and instructions contained within were clear, brief, to the point. Just the way Wolverine liked things.
SUBJECT: Rogue
SEX: F
AGE: 19
HEIGHT: 5’6”
WEIGHT: 125 lb
EYES: Brown
HAIR: Brown w/ white streak
A few special instructions were provided a little further down on the page:
Subject believed to be somewhere in Mexico. Deliver her to me alive and unharmed. Do not make contact with her skin, it is lethal.
Payment details were given at the bottom of the sheet. The first half of the cash reward, $1.5 million dollars to be exact, had already been wired to his offshore account; he would collect the rest of the bounty upon delivery.
Though the money part of the deal had been generous, Wolverine had almost refused the job. First off, the subject in question was female, and a young female at that. He didn’t know what this Magneto dude wanted with the girl, but knew it had to be bad news. Wolverine was by no means a saint, but that was where he drew the line.
Secondly, Wolverine’s specialty was in intimidation and extermination, not kidnapping. And all of the contract murders he’d done thus far had consisted of wasting some seriously sick fucks who’d probably deserved to die anyway. He had almost taken pleasure in the killings, justifying them to himself as simply putting the vermin of the world out of their pathetic misery.
Above and beyond all of that, he’d already had a pretty penny saved up from taking on various other contracts and odd jobs. Magneto’s had been the best paying of those assignments, of course…so much so that Wolverine had actually been tossing around the idea of retiring altogether. He’d buy a houseboat, maybe; sail the Caribbean seas for awhile, something he’d been thinking about doing more and more lately. He had been more or less ready to relinquish his status as an independent contractor and get out of this shit for good. He’d almost refused the job.
The reason he didn’t was contained in the second line of the payment details.
The man was smart, Wolverine had to give him that. Because in addition to the rest of the cash, there was something else on the table that would ensure Wolverine’s cooperation. Something of great personal importance to the lone warrior, more valuable to him than all of the money in the world could buy. Something that made him choke down whatever bit of reluctance remained in his world-weary bones, lace up his combat boots, and hit the ground running. Screw feeling sorry for the kid. He was Wolverine, the best there was at what he did.
And he was going to find the girl and deliver her into Magneto’s hands if it killed him.
Wolverine placed a cigar between his teeth and watched in the rear view mirror as the gas station slowly disappeared into the palpable waves of heat behind him. He’d been on the road for nearly a month now, following leads that led to nowhere. He had searched nearly every square inch of Mexico, leaving no stone unturned in his wake. But so far the answer was the same, from everyone in every village.
No, seņor. No, man. Ain’t seen her. Don’t know her.
Holding the steering wheel steady with one hand, he reached into his back pocket for the photo and pulled it out to make what had to be his hundredth study of it. He really didn’t need to study it anymore; he’d memorized her features long ago. Eyes deep brown, big and doe-like. Delicate bone structure. Clear luminous skin, face of an angel. Long, thick auburn hair - no white streak, as was mentioned in the memo, but then the photo was probably a few years old.
She would be older now, a young lady, her facial features a little more refined and striking than they were when the photo was taken. The edges of the picture were beginning to tatter and crease, for Wolverine kept it in his pocket at all times, his attachment to it growing reminiscent of that of a man on a desperate search for a lost lover. He put the photo back in its place, returning his attention to the road.
One more assignment. That’s it. Then I’m out.
A road sign was coming into view now…fifty more miles to the next town. Wolverine’s foot sank down on the gas pedal. If he hurried, he could make it there within the hour.
~*~
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is a repost of a fic I started quite some time ago. I'm back to finish it. enjoy!