You don't look like ya belong here, boy. Yer lookin' for somethin', ain't ya? Yeah, thought so. We don't get yer type here--nope, not unless they come on fight nights, which this ain't. Information is my specialty. Yeah. I saw who yer lookin' for. I saw it all.
I've run this bar for forty-five years, so there ain't much that gets by me anymore. I've seen everythin'. Everythin' worth seein', anyways. And some things I'd wanna forget if I could--but not this, and that's why I remember it so clearly.
Yer lookin' sorta impatient. Relax, boy. You wanna siddown? Have a beer? I can get you the finest damn tap on this side of the border, kid. Nothin' you can buy in a store will match it. Trust me.
Anyways--yer askin' and it's late, so mebbe I'll tell ya 'bout it. It waddunt long ago, ya understand--maybe six months.
Yeah, he was a mean one--ye don't look surprised. Never had a good word for anybody. Even me who runs the place. Angry at the fucking world--not unusual in my line of business you understand. Nah, probably not--you don't look the type. But that's what he was--pissed at somethin' and willin' to take it out on anyone in range.
Mean bastard in the cage--yeah, yer lookin' at me like I invented the sport. I only run the bar, boy. Nothin' else. He's a semi-regular on the circuit, chooses his opponents. Yeah, we know he's mutant--didn't bother hiding it after kicking two or three asses in quick succession. You'd be surprised, boy, how many muties go in for the fights here. When we get two of 'em--well, let's jest say the house is packed--Mexico ain't like America, kid. We're a little less picky where we get our fun from, ya know?
Yeah, I remember. It was a fight night--that's when he's here most likely. Pretty damned tense--as usual. You don't look suprised--I guess ya know him, doncha? A walkin' bundle of raw nerves, jest waitin' for someone to hit one. Bad night outside, big storm--we had a hell of a crowd because they knew he was comin' and wanted ta see it. Whole group of tough guys thought they'd try him one on one and break 'im. Yeah, their mistake. Not mine. I jest arrange it, ya understand. Plowed through three afore they realized that mebbe that his reputation wasn't a joke or nothin'. He don't pull his punches. Was gettin' bored fast, I could see that too.
Anyways, he took a break and comes to the bar and he was starin' at something he pulled outta 'is pocket--a picture, ya know. A girl--I guess she was his kid or something, really young. You look a little amused--not his kid? Well, I didn't really think so--he don't seem the type to stop that long. Then shakes his head and unfolds a piece of paper and looks at it while he takes shots--six or so, iffin I remember correct, before he asked for a beer and puts it all up and goes back up, odd look on his face--like he's not even here at all, like he's goin' through the motions.
Then 'is next opponent comes in and mebbe he gets some attention on what he's doin', but well--somethin' odd happened between the moment he started and the moment he left, which is what really makes me remember--ole memory ain't what it used to be, ya know--kid, now money ain't gonna help the situation.
It's an ole memory. You wanna 'notha beer? It's good beer. Good idea, I get ya a glass. Yeah, memory's ole but not gone yet. Not gone yet, though it's goin'. It's goin'
Anyways, I was up at the bar, as usual, gettin' orders from the waitresses--pretty little thing, Katie, been workin' here for a few days, askin' me 'bout him. Told 'er what I knew while I filled the order, and she took the next drink up to him 'erself. He finished off the next guy and she handed it through the wire--yeah, that's the cage. You wanna go look? C'mon, I'll take ya up. You wanna lose the sunglasses,though? It's pretty dark--well, then I'll throw the lights, iffin you wanna get a good look.
Yeah, it's nice, ain't it? Had it custom built and shipped from Chicago--cost me a pretty penny lemme tell ya. You lookin' surprised? These are all over--a quick way to make a buck. Solid concete floor--it's hard to scrub that away, boy, so doncha even look at me like that. Yeah, he was here two or three times--he left an impression you could say. Yep, he was not a bad guy, jest a pissed one. I liked 'im alright--he didn't get drunk like some of t'others and fuck up the place. Always pretty quiet. Kept to himself. Yeah, and you don't look no bit surprised by that either, eh?
Anyways, where was I? Oh, you wanna go in? Well, under normal circustances--ah, thank ya. Yeah, lemme get the key here--go right in, feel jest free. Pretty large--we got some big men down here, like to strut their stuff. Don't worry--it's cleaned regular. But some crap don't come offa metal, you understand, no matter how much ya scrub.
Where was I?
Yeah, that night. Gotcha. Anyways, he was gettin' ready for the next round and Katie was handin' him his drink and he jest--his whole body went sorta tense--like he jest got a knock to the head, so to speak. Scared Katie when he threw the shot on the floor, starin' off into space, then knocked the ringmaster outta the way and walked right out, him with his next opponent willin' and ready to get his ass kicked. Stalks down to me at the bar and asks me for the phone. Pulls out that scrap of paper and gives me this long look and drops a twenty in front of me.
Says please, which is somethin' new in my experience, lemme tell ya.
I don't usually let the patrons use the phone here, ya understand? I got enough trouble with Border Patrol without riskin' them using the phone for somethin' not strictly legal, ya know? I might be on this side of the border, but them men are jest as vulnerable to a bribe as any other men.
But I gave it to 'im and he dialed a number--lotsa digits--then waits. Doesn't look too happy and I wouldna wanted to be the one on that side of the phone, lemme tell ya.
"Logan."
He says it into the phone, waits for a sec, and I move off. I'm not an eavesdropper, ya know, kid? Ain't my fault my hearin's so good. He waits for a few more seconds, then--
"What the fuck do you want?"
He stand there, not really movin' much--and as I said, I've seen him some, so that weren't no way natural. Jest gripping that paper and perched on that barstool. Then--and it was odd, this--he jest seems ta freeze in place.
"Say that again and I hope to God this isn't your idea of a joke, Cyke."
Cyke. Interestin' name. You know the guy? Never mind. You don't look like a talker. So's anyway--where was I? Oh yeah--what? Yeah, I can getcha 'nother beer. Come on out of there. Okie, lemme lock up. 'Kay. You can hold yer liquor, boy. Gotta give ya that.
Okay, same thing? Here ya go. Now--yeah, the conversation. I remember. I remember.
"How long has she been gone?" His voice was kinda cool. He grabbed my pen from behind the bar, sorta nods--then jest stops moving again.
"Two fucking weeks? You waited two weeks? What the hell were you thinking?" The pen snaps off in his hand--we at the end of the bar sorta wince, but none of us wanna draw attention to ourselves, ya udnerstand. Yeah, I can see ya do.
He starts talkin' fast--didn't understand much of it, but it weren't for ladies' ears, I can tell ya that. He winds himself down pretty quick, though, starts writin' with that pen stub, kinda looks surprised when he sees it, tosses it behind the bar. Hunts for a sec and finds my pencil and starts writin' again. Nods to himself.
"I got it. I'll be on the next flight out. Monday morning at the latest. And you better have good news for me, Scooter." Then he hangs up. Turns to me, and I jest concentrate on polishing the glass I'm holdin'.
"Pay up. I'm leavin' now."
There was three more fights scheduled, but ya know, I jest didn't feel like arguin'. I gave him the money and he gets another shot, settles his tab, grabs his gear and leaves, jest like that. I ain't seen him since, and I was up in Harlingen for the big prizefight too, and he's always at that. Every year.
'Nother beer? Boy, you don't look so good. Why doncha relax there a bit. Yeah, that was the last time I saw him. Nothin' much since. Yeah, I heard rumors. You want those? Well now, those are a little hard to recall--well, yeah, I guess I can try, you askin' so nice. He was seen up in Baltimore for a few days.
Oh, the Harlingen prizefight? I tole you, he weren't there. Oh--oh, I sees what yer gettin' at. Yeah, the winner that night was interestin'--I was sorta surprised. Not many women fight in those and win. Fewer still walk with it all--and she did. Pretty little thing, they tell me. And fucking fast, lemme tell you--I only saw the ending, with her standin' there--I didn't get a good spot, you understand, was too late, my ole lady being a bitch about me goin'. But they tell me she was fast. Fast and not too picky what she had to do to win. Gone as soon as they paid up. Rumors on her? Nothin' much--nothin' much. She disappeared pretty good. I'll listen, though, iffin yer that interested. Both of them. Well, now, that'll help out nice, thank ya kindly--I keep this number and iffin I hear anythin', I'll call. 'Nother beer? Ah, you're not drivin'--good, I's gonna ask.
Well, have yourself a good trip. Hope ya find whatcha lookin' for. Can't figure how you see through those sunglasses, though. Not at all. Yeah, you have a nice night.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
This started as another story entirely, called "Across a Crowded Shore" that I didn't finish. I hated it but liked the concept, so cut it up and reworked the plot and generally made something new out of it that I do like. To Sare, for the email all in caps telling me to post. Thanks. Glad it worked. If you've been in a bar in Texas, you know the dialect. Not easy to reproduce. Well, I did try.