Chapter 10 Sniffing and Whiskey
When I got my wits back, it was already dark, and raining. Any trail of a scent would be washed away, but she was on foot, no car, or keys for that matter were in her possession, so she had to be walking. In that weather, she couldn't have gone far, if she stayed alone. I hedged my bets, and started the slow crawl of the search. The rain began to amplify the stench of the part of town both fugitives had been calling home, drunken escapades, filth and piss, all brought out by the wet. Monsoons could never wash it away, and once it gets on you, no amount of even the holiest water can clean it off. This was not her home.
Fury couldn't come close to how enraged she made me. Anger is too small a word for it. I had to remind myself over and over again this will be for the better. That was just the first part of the battle. This would have the strategy of the war inside Rogue. I couldn't call the professor yet. I was not going to admit losing that battle. It was more of a stalemate than a loss. Still, eventually my luck had to change; I deserved to find her again. I would deal with what she did to me later.
After a couple of hours, I went to the room already in my name. I needed to rest. Her pull--her gift--was different now. I felt more drained than I ever had. Something had changed about how she held on, the force of it. She had to have learned a bit to control it, something not so purely accidental or out of desperate need. It was like she wanted it to hurt. The way she walked out, she knew she hurt me and was glad of it.
The morning came fast, and with it the questions I put off about what Rogue would do next. I thought, more like hoped, she didn't squeal and run, that I hadn't let on about how much I knew about their little plan. I hoped she thought of me as more of a coincidental speed bump, a skeleton from the closet of her past. If that was the case, then she might not have covered her tracks completely and finding her again shouldn't be too hard.
What didn't work the night before paid off when I saw her walking away from the crappiest looking motel room, not carrying anything, neither primed nor hesitant. No car was waiting. That allowed me to believe she and Mystique were keeping their distance from each other, still each with their own missions. I watched her leave the area, then popped the lock on the room and had a look at what she kept dragging around from our first interaction.
The room was small, run down, looked like it should rent by the hour and smelled like forty years of smoke and vomit permanently etched into the faded, peeling wallpaper. She only had one duffel, clothes and shoes spewing out like an explosion, but no guns. No I.D.s with fake names, fraudulent licenses or paper trail if things went bad. No bags of money, or any money for that matter. They must be doing their homework, getting rid of the paper. She must have anything incriminating with her at all times. Seeing what was there told me she traveled like I did. Never holding on to too much, because stuff just holds you down. Anything that's lost is replaceable. She was living more like a hermit, less like a bank robber.
I thought about staying until she returned, but what she did to me before lead me to think it would have been more than a fight, and that was not my goal. I went back to Cyke's car, grabbed some food, and staked the place out for the rest of the afternoon.
She returned alone, not long after the bank closed, but one hour later came out dressed like a hooker--boots up to her ass with heels I wouldn't have believed anyone could balance on. She was up to no good. Not too long later, a man, looking more like a pimp, came from behind. With the familiarity of each other's body language, I had to guess it was Mystique. They both continued to a parking garage and hopped into a gleaming red truck. They had a truck. Extremely noticeable and memorable. They must be gaining too much confidence to be driving something like that. Or getting just plain stupid.
I kept my distance, following them to an older but trendy side of town, sidewalks lined with small trees with lighting strung through them, narrowing roads of one way streets. They valeted the truck and went into a bar with some name written in scribble, the kind of place I stay as far away from as possible. Over-priced fruity drinks, wine in glasses not meant to be touched, women drenched in perfume and fake nails, a 180 from the cage I'm so familiar with.
I parked a few blocks away, and walked in behind a group of artsy earth movers, overhearing a conversation about an exhibit of painted nudes. Yeah, I fit in this place like a fly in milk.
I grabbed a booth overlooking the dance floor, lit a cigar and took a slow drag, hiding myself in the shadow of the smoke. It felt good to feel the pricks of hot air in my lungs. A waitress, dressed all in black, made it to my table, a bit annoyed to actually address me.
"What can I get for you...", I finally got to see her face as she bent in to hear me.
"Whiskey, rocks."
"Irish, American, or Canadian...? Sir, do you have a preference? "
Holy FUCK!!! All I want is a goddamn drink!!!!!!!! AWWWWWWW
"Canadian" I bit back down on my cigar.
"Would you like a sample platter of our award winning appetizers?"
I was really getting fed up with this pansy-ass shit "NO, just a drink, and when you see it empty, bring me another!"
She was starring straight at me then, not even batting a eye lash. She put her note pad in her apron, turned on her heel and walked far away from the bar. It was going to be a while before I got that drink.
I could hear Rogue's laughter from a booth not too far from my own. What did she think I planned on doing, riding home with my tail between my legs? I think not. The waitress returned with my drink and slid it across the table without even breaking her step. As she walked away, Rogue hit the dance floor with dumb fuck number one of the evening. They did their little bump and grind for way too long. Rogue turned to break away from his grasp, and that's when she noticed me. Stunned, I'm not sure, but not exactly happy to see me, or to be seen with Mr. Grab Ass. I could hear though the music what they were saying, but she dropped her drunk self to the floor, laughing uncontrollably. I'd had enough.
"Get out of here Bub.." I met Dumb Fuck's eyes and he got the idea she wasn't his to get frisky with anymore and left her on the floor, me brooding over her.
"Up. Now." I really didn't want to make a scene.
"I don't want to get up."
Fine, I could drag her if that was what she wanted.
"That hurts! Stop it. That's just...mean...".
I lifted her into the booth, and probably too hard forced her to sit down. She tried to focus, but she was too far gone and giggled in a ' little school girl on her first night getting drunk behind Daddy's back' kind of way. The look on my face must have terrified her, because she did everything she could to try to rein it in.
"You finished?" Does she remember what she did a little more than 24 hours ago? Keep laughing baby girl. "Get a fucking grip." Two can play her game, and I can win really fast. I let one claw pop just enough to nick the arm I was holding, which was about the only thing holding her up in the seat.
"OW! That HURT!"
"You know what kid? I don't care. Now we're even. And if you don't start behaving, it's gonna hurt a whole lot more."
"Shhh, You're shouting."
"Oh believe me, Rogue, I'm not. I come out here," I almost couldn't form words, the anger of the last few months seemed to be coming out all at once, at a drunk Marie, who could give a shit about anything right now, "I come to find you and you try and kill me?"
She rolled her eyes like I didn't get let in on a joke, "I didn't try and kill you."
"You ever and I mean EVER try a stunt like that again, so help me kid I don't care who you are or what promises I made. I'll slice that pretty skin o' yours from navel to fuckin' nose. GOT IT?" I was seeing red. Any more and I would have whipped the ceiling with her, which would have gotten a bit of attention.
"Cross my heart, hope to die... Or not. Hey, are we done now?"
She wasn't even looking at me, more at what she was missing on the dance floor. A new glass landed on my table. I knocked it back and swallowed the whole shot while still holding on to her arm, which was oozing.
Marie was lost at this point, and it was no use to keep trying to get her to her senses. I let go slightly, which became her inch to run a mile with, climbing the table, ass to the world, back among a mob of people half drunk themselves. I dropped a twenty and left, not caring if Mystique saw me. I couldn't have cared less if that bar burned down at that very moment. I needed to get air. I never intended to hurt her. I never thought I would have lost that much control with her. Storm could have taken over, or we could have all given up on her, but I couldn't and still wouldn't give in to what could have been so easy as walking away. I took a good deep breath of air, humid from the passing rain. I was digging for my car key, when I heard a pair of high heels trying to stay up right coming out of the bar. I knew it was Marie, before I even turned around. Something had gotten to her, or she wouldn't have left without Mystique. I stayed in the shadow, while she tried to get a cab. It pulled away without her, desperation had given in to the drunken stupor that was hitting her hard. She leaned against the wall and passed out, alone, with no one to pick her up. I swallowed the idea that I wasn't doing this to protect her. I just gave up that promise, right? I still couldn't come up with a reason while I put her in the car, driving her to my motel room, knowing I would have to patch her up in the morning, hopefully on our way back to Westchester.
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