"Beer," Logan grumbled, placing some money on the table. He took off his jacket, shaking the snow from it, and hung it on the back of his chair.
"You're back," Jim said.
"Don't get your panties in a twist," He replied, lighting a cigar. "I need the money."
Jimmy had been running fights for thirty years, never once had he seen a man win like Logan had, or heal for that matter. He searched his face. "That was one hard knock Mike gave you last night."
"Which little girl was Mike?"
"The one who hit you in the face with brass knuckles. I coulda sworn he broke your jaw," Jimmy replied uneasily.
Logan looked at the old man. "Ever heard the term don't look a gift horse in the mouth?" Jim nodded slowly. "Little girls don't hit hard, even ones with brass knuckles." Jim thought of the three hundred-pound man, the knuckles, Wolverine's clear face, and hesitated. Then the image of the pile of money he had been bringing in for the past cleared it.
"Right," He muttered. "Some guy from Montreal is coming tonight. He's unbeaten."
"Not anymore," Logan said, gulping his beer. Jimmy walked away, shaking his head.
"Hey there winner," a silky voice cooed. Logan turned in his seat and found himself looking into heavily made up blue eyes. Vylette was Jimmy's girlfriend, his junior by twenty years, and Wolverine's senior by about fifteen. He chewed the end of his cigar. Hell, he didn't know how old he was.
"Vylette," Logan acknowledged, hoping she would leave. She took the seat next to him.
"So how many guys are you gonna beat to a pulp tonight?" she purred, putting one elbow on the table and leaning towards him. He glanced at her, and the low cut shirt with the view. He faced straight ahead.
"However many your old man lines up for me," Logan answered brusquely. She pursed her bright red lips at the mention of Jimmy. She tried another tactic.
"So what's your real name sweetie?" Vylette asked, leaning even closer to him.
"It's not sweetie, and it's none of your business," Logan replied, not bothering to look at her. Finally taking the hint, Vylette stood.
"Save your shit for the ring," she seethed, storming away. Logan rolled his eyes and swallowed the rest of his beer. Women.
By now the bar had started filling. Out of respect and fear, more the latter, no one came within a two chair radius of him. "You ready?" the bartender asked, setting a shot of whiskey in front of him. Wolverine downed it and slammed the glass on the counter, shattering it. The bartender didn't say a word, it was a nightly ritual. He was well worth a shot glass a night, so he stopped complaining about it after the first time. Logan got up, and rolled his neck, hearing the bones pop satisfactorily. He grabbed his jacket and walked through the crowd, which parted biblically. Logan threw his jacket to the table where Vylette sat and pulled off his shirt. She sighed and put them both on the chair beside her. He climbed into the cage-like ring, and went to his corner. When he fought, he wasn't Logan anymore. He was Wolverine. Still smoking his cigar he waited for Jimmy.
"If any of you were here last night, the night before that, last week, you know what this man can do!" he hollered. "He's the strongest, nastiest, dirtiest, unbeaten fighter this side of Canada! Wolverine!" The crowd erupted into a new round of screaming agreement. "And to challenge him, Montreal's unbeaten club fighter, the biggest, the hairiest, the unbeaten Dirty Irish Malloy."
Wolverine watched in contempt as a brawny man with red hair sprouting all over his body stepped into the ring. The man looked about four inches taller than him, and about a hundred pounds heavier in muscle. Wolverine debated on whether or not to at least pretend to have trouble kicking the shit out of him.
"You're my bitch tonight Wolfy," the man screamed. Wolverine decided against it.
"Start the fight!" Jimmy yelled, backing out of the ring. Wolverine dropped his cigar.
Malloy, confident of his own strength wasted no time charging at him. Wolverine stepped aside and brought his knee up, grinning as Malloy rammed himself into it. Malloy doubled over and Wolverine grabbed his head, bringing it down to his knee. Malloy fell back over. Wolverine waited for him to get up, snarling, "Is that all ya got Paddy?" Malloy got to his feet, wiped the blood off his nose, and swung at him. Wolverine blocked the blow with his forearm and Malloy screamed, grabbing his knuckles in pain. Wolverine threw an upper cut, cracking his jaw, and another to the side of his head. Malloy went down and didn't get up. The crowed cheered and booed to their heart's content. Wolverine spat at Malloy's prone body and walked back to corner. "Who's the bitch now, bitch?"
He picked up his still burning cigar and stuck in his mouth, turning his back on the ring. He paused and sniffed the air slowly. Though the lights restricted him from seeing anything past the first few rows of screaming people, he could smell them all. Their alcohol, their misery, their lives. But something new had just walked in. Something innocent, something scared. He heard Jimmy scream for anyone else who wanted to fight him but didn't pay attention. He sniffed again, and knew that whoever it was was behind him. It was a girl...and there was something different about her smell. Something familiar. Trying to figure out what it was, Wolverine didn't even see the man coming. The blow to his back might have incapacitated any other man, but it just pissed Wolverine off. He let him get in a few hits to keep the crowd from wondering before he became really irritated. He turned and blocked the man's fist, grinning as bone came into contact with metal. A few punches later and the guy was out cold. He faced the crowd, breathing deeply. The girl had moved, and now there was another scent mingled in with hers. Her fear clogged his nostrils, and then a second later it was gone. She was gone. Wolverine shook his head angrily as Jimmy screamed for another man to fight him.
He growled impatiently as a man, obviously drunk, swaggered into the ring. Not even waiting for Jimmy to start the fight Wolverine stepped forward and knocked him two feet in the air with a vicious upper cut. The room erupted into raucous laughter and screams. In the midst of the deafening sound he heard something else, another cry. He narrowed his eyes and stepped out of the ring, ignoring Jimmy and the crowds protest. He breathed in again and headed for the door. He saw a girl thrown over a man's shoulder, struggling weakly. That was her. Logan started walking towards them when Vylette intercepted him. He almost unsheathed his claws in irritation.
"Honey, you hafta get back up there! They're screaming for you!" she said, blocking his way. He looked over her shoulder and saw that the guy had left, and two other men were following them out. Logan knew from experience that it probably wasn't to help her.
"Then why don't you get up there and fight?" he growled, pushing past her.
"Well aren't you going to need these?" she said, throwing him his clothes. He grabbed them and headed for the door, hesitated, and decided to go out the back way. He pulled on his shirt and walked through the dirty kitchen and out the door.
He left his jacket inside, knowing he would be faster without it. As he rounded the corner he saw the girl up against the building, one arm trapped behind her, the other pushing at the man's fist on her shirt. The guy fell to the ground as soon as she touched him, screaming, the veins in his face bulging. The girl pushed him away and raced away, heading for the woods.
"Stan? Stan...get up!" The guys ran over to their friend, shaking him. He had passed out cold.
"Shit! Mike! Is he breathing?" one asked, getting up and backing away.
"Yeah..." Mike muttered, "she freaked him."
"I'm going back, I'll get the guys," he said, turning towards the door.
"You're not gonna say shit. You know how much money we could get for selling a mutant?" With that he took off running after the girl.
Logan growled deep in his throat and waited for the man to go back into the bar. He raced after Mike, unsheathing his claws. Snow fell around them rapidly, and only Mike's foul odor of sweat and beer kept Logan from losing him completely. That and the girl's terror. He sensed that she had stopped running, fallen probably. He picked up his speed and saw Mike through a break in the snow. He barralled into him.
"What the..." Mike's questions falling onto the soft snow. He scrambled up, looking around him blindly. Logan retracted his blades, knowing he wasn't worth nightmares, and punched him once, then twice. Mike went down. Logan turned and smelled the girl a few feet away. She was on the ground sobbing and trying to pull off her remaining glove. Logan approached her silently and picked her up by the shoulders. Her cloak, which was hanging from her, he wrapped securely around her shivering form, careful to avoid her hands. "Get into the bar," he commanded.
"Wha.." The storm had gotten so bad he couldn't even see her face anymore. Damn, he should have brought his jacket.
"Go," he said, shoving her in the direction of the bar. She seemed to hesitate and then went with the wind toward the lights. Logan looked down at Mike and snorted. He picked him and threw him over his shoulder, heading for the woods.
An hour later both Mike and his friend Stan were put together on the floor of an abandoned shack in the woods. "You're getting too soft Logan," he muttered to himself. To appease his grumbling anti-conscience Logan put Mike's hand down Stan's pants. He headed back for the bar.
"Have fun playing in the snow?" Vylette asked sweetly, as he entered the bar. "I knew you wouldn't leave without the money." Logan ignored her and inhaled deeply. He turned and saw a dark figure huddled in a corner, sleeping.
"When do I get it?" he asked, taking off his jacket and shaking it out.
"Me and Jimmy haven't even started counting. A few more boys wanna take you on."
Wolverine pulled a wet cigar out of his pocket and cursed.
"We have some in the back. I'll grab you a few." Vylette sauntered off. Logan headed to the bar.
"How many suicidals?" he asked, keeping an eye on the corner.
"Two, and one's drunker than anything," Mac, the bartender replied. "You want anything?"
"Bourbon," Logan said. Mac got out a glass. "The bottle." He hesitated then handed it to him. Logan took a long swallow, feeling the fiery alcohol burn it's way through his veins. He drank it on his way to the cage and stripped off his clothing, handing it to Vylette.
"I'll hang these to dry in the back, your cigars are there too," she said. Why that woman was nice to him, Logan didn't get.
He went through the next two fights not even bothering to try and make it look tough. The only punches they were able to get in was whenever Logan thought he saw a dark hood out of the corner of his eye. When it was obvious no one else in the waning crowd was drunk enough or brave enough to take him on, Logan bounded down the steps. He strode to the back room, closing the door behind him when he got there. He paced the office, pulling on his still damp shirt lying under the desk light. He nursed the bottle of bourbon, trying to clear his head. She was a skinny little thing, not the kind to usually attract his attention. The girl was a mutant, that's why he was so aware of her. Now what was he going to do? Talk to her. "Hi my name is Logan and I'm a mutant too. Wanna be my friend?" Logan snorted. He'd helped her once. She could get on by herself. He left the back room, and was startled to see almost everyone gone.
"What happened?" he asked Vylette.
"The police came in about three minutes after you went in the back. Said something about finding some hunters ripped to shreds a few miles from here. Some kinda wild animal." She shrugged. "Cleared the crowd right out. Me and Jimmy are gonna go count the money." He walked towards the bar and saw that the girl was there.
"Beer," he grumbled, throwing some money on the counter. Mac nodded and brought him one. The girl looked at him like she was trying to get up the courage to say something. He gave her a black look and chewed on the end of his cigar. She turned away immediately.
"...mutant population..." Logan stared at the screen, keeping his face expressionless. That damn law. It was going to be passed. And that's why he was going to keep running. No one was gonna stick a number on his forehead.
"You owe me something girl." Logan looked up and saw Mike's friend, who had ran back into the bar, standing behind the girl. He looked back at his beer, his fist clenched around it.
"I...I don't know what you're talking about," she stumbled, her voice high and thin.
"No man passes out from a touch. All you did was grab his hand and he clear passed out," the man accused loudly. Logan's mind raced and his hand wrapped tightly around the bottle. If he got in the middle of it, he was out of a couple grand.
"C'mon, he was just drunk," his friend urged, trying to pull him away.
"No, drunk people don't scream before they pass out," he said, glaring at her.
"I didn't do anything. He attacked me," the girl whispered, her face white. The man leaned close to her.
"I know what you are freak." Before the man even had a chance to pop out his switchblade, Logan's bottle shattered in his hand and he stood, slamming the man against the wall. There were always more people waiting to be beaten up for money.
He didn't see the knife land in his side, but pulled it out a second later clenching his teeth until the brief pain passed and he healed. While debating whether or not to use his blades, the guy kicked him in the groin. Decision made. Logan pushed him back against the wall, and pulled his fist back. The man winced, expecting a killer blow. Instead he got his neck framed by two blades that ripped from Logans' fist, with one pressing into his throat. The next second Logan heard the sound of a shotgun being readied.
"Get out of my bar freak," Mac said unsteadily. Logan paused for a minute and then swung his free hand around to his back, splitting the gun in two. He stepped back, retracting his blades. He glared at them both experiencing an odd sense of deja vu, and then walked out of the bar. Logan keened his ears to see if the girl would follow. She didn't. It was her funeral. He strode toward his car, noticing that the storm had broken. He slammed into his car and sat there. Stupid girl. He should've grabbed her on the way out. Logan rubbed his knuckles absent-mindedly. Oh well. He started the car.
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