See No Evil: Part Three

by Lise

III.
see no evil.
--

Kitty had a memo on her desk the next day when she came into the stationhouse, a request for a meeting from Xavier himself. She'd only spoken to him maybe three times; Vice didn't have many cases that he got involved with personally. Before now, Betsy had been the one to debrief and run her. Kitty frowned, looking at the piece of yellowed memo paper. There was no reason for it, either, nothing on the note except a brief order to come see Xavier at noon. She went to put the note down, and then, frowning more, put it in her pocket.

The morning was full of writing reports, checking up on leads that she'd managed to get last week from Emma. There were at least four men that seemed to do enough business with her, and that Emma wouldn't mind see put away, that she could focus on. Four or five who were fairly brutal. Kitty had figured out already that she wasn't looking for everyone, only those that Emma wanted gone.

She knew enough about Betsy to know why.

At ten to twelve, her office line rang, the distinct double ring that meant the switchboard had forwarded another of Agent Braddock's calls to her. She answered it, after looking around. "Hello?"

"Oh," and that was Scott Summers' voice on the other end of the line. "Who is this?"

She said, "Katherine Pryde," a little annoyed. "Who is this?"

Scott hesitated. "May I speak to Elizabeth Braddock, please?"

Kitty looked around again. There were a few agents hovering, and one or two had looked up when the phone rang. It was an abysmally slow morning; they were looking for any excuse to avoid the work they should be doing. "I'm taking all her calls. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Scott said abruptly, "If you hear from her, tell her to tell Logan that my place was broken into, but they didn't take anything."

Kitty turned around in her chair, to face away from the rest of the agents. "Have you reported it? Would you like me to--"

"No," Scott said. Kitty might have been imagining it, but he sounded angry. "Don't tell anyone but Betsy or Logan. Got it?"

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, coolly. Being ordered around by an agent that wasn't even her superior rankled.

"No," and then he sounded normal. Somewhere on his end of the line, a car honked. "Thank you."

Kitty was about to say good-bye, and then curiosity got the better of her. "Was Betsy expecting you to call?" she asked, quietly enough so that the other detectives wouldn't hear.

Scott hesitated another moment. "I gotta go," and he hung up, the faint beep that signalled a turned-off mobile phone. Kitty glanced at her call display, belatedly, but the number didn't show up.

~

"How is the investigation going?" Xavier asked.

"Well," Kitty answered, a little puzzled. "I've already identified at least four suspects that can be followed up with a bit more research."

"Good, good," Xavier said. He waited, smiling, but Kitty was inexplicably set on edge. "And your cover? Everything's going well?"

"Yes," Kitty said, confused. There was no need at all to call her into his office to ask her about this. "Emma Frost set up a preliminary interview for me at one of her shell companies. I'm supposed to go in next week."

"Good, good." Xavier nodded, still smiling. Kitty looked out the blinds, and realized that from this office she could see the whole stationhouse, at least the floor where all the detectives' offices were, all their desks. With the open door, she could even hear the buzz of conversation. "And Agent Braddock," Xavier finally asked her. "How does she think the investigation is going?"

Kitty said, "She was very pleased with our progress." She tried to keep her face puzzled, yet obedient. "I believe Agent Braddock would say we're doing a good job."

"Yes, yes," Xavier agreed, nodding. "I'm sure she would." He looked out onto the floor of detectives' desks. "It's a shame I can't ask her about it," he added, in a slightly joking manner. Kitty waited, not sure what was being expected of her, and not at all willing to open her mouth until she was. "Do you know when she'll be around next?" he asked, casually. His eyes stayed on the view, didn't turn to Kitty.

Kitty answered carefully, "She left instructions for me for the next week, but didn't mention when she'd be back in the stationhouse, no."

Xavier dismissed her, and only when she rushed outside on her lunch-break and was standing across the street outside the diner where Betsy went last, did she call Betsy's private mobile number. Xavier had no idea where Betsy was, Kitty assumed. She didn't know why she'd disappeared or how, but Kitty had a pretty good idea of who she was with. When Betsy's phone went to the voicemail, she carefully repeated what Scott had told her, then mentioned that Xavier had asked about Betsy. "I told him I didn't know when you'd be back in the stationhouse," she finished telling the voicemail. "I hope that's all right."

She looked up at the brick building, dreading, suddenly, going back in. "I hope you're okay," she added, and then hung up.

~

Scott was back at Remy Lebeau's place. "Listen," he tried again.

"Non," the woman at the door said. "An' if y' know what's good for y', you'll stay out o' it."

"Is that a threat?" Scott snapped, leaning forward, drumming his fingers on the front door. He'd knocked on the door only hoping that Logan might be there, but the way the woman had acted put him on the offensive, the attack, immediately. Something about her wasn't quite right.

"Merde, non," she told him. "Not even a lil' bit. Friendly advice, m'sieur."

Scott couldn't help a snort. "Friendly?"

She already had the door half-way closed, even with Scott's badge thrust into the opening. This woman wasn't afraid of the police, she wasn't even wary. "You're partnered wit' Logan," she said, matter-of-factly. "If I were y', I'd look at th' club downtown."

"You have an address?"

She hesitated. "677 Water street." She shook her head. "Change first. Don' bring any firearms inside, an' make sure no one spots y' there."

"Will Logan be there?"

"Might be," she said. "Don' make any calls if he ain'. Jus' be patient."

She closed the door in his face, and Scott was left staring at three little brass monkeys. He had an irrational urge to kick the expensive wood frame, but instead he took a cheap little camera out of his coat pocket and snapped a photograph of the door knocker, the flash barely noticeable in the quickly fading dusk.

~

"Thought I told you ta wait," Logan said, irritably. Scott sat down at Logan's table in the back. "Guess it doesn't matter. Have a drink."

Scott looked around. They'd been here once before, to meet Agent Braddock. "My apartment was ransacked last night," he said.

"Yeah, I heard from Bets," Logan said. He was puffing a cigar, a Cuban, and looking around. Scott knew that Logan wasn't paying attention to what he said – his answers were standard, uninterested. Logan was focused on the front door, not Scott. "Got the time?"

"Quarter to eight," Scott said. "Listen, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Logan thrust a handful of documents into Scott's chest as an answer, and kept watch on the door. More out of boredom than anything else, Scott started riffling through them. One was a bank transfer statement, financial records, for Warren Worthington – a considerable amount of money had been sent from Worthington's accounts to unknown sources. The second was a police report filed by a Mercy Lebeau, for harassment charges against Victor Creed. The third was a copy of a confidential memo from Senator Drake's office to his campaign advisors.

"What does all this have to do with Lebeau?" Scott said, puzzled. "Or Emma Frost?"

Logan waved his hand, and Scott kept reading. A copy of Allerdyce's dishonorable discharge papers. More financial statements, the list of Emma Frost's clientele – all of their victims were on it, as Scott already knew. Victor Creed's previous military training: special forces, marines unit. Something. Kurt Wagner's statement, taken from the Lebeau case of harassment. A draft of a newspaper article that Erik Lensherr himself had penned about a new mutant rights bill--

Scott paused, staring at the stack of copy paper pages he held. "Logan," he said, uncertainly. "Does this mean what I think--"

Logan held a hand up, not even looking at him. Scott reshuffled the pages, then pulled out his original case files, started adding them to the one folder absently. The folder didn't appear any fuller, really, but Scott knew differently, slotted in this new evidence to the old, and suddenly the order of pages seemed to fall into place.

The mutants right bill he put on top; then Lensherr's murder file. Worthington and Drake fit together, one right after the other, then Allerdyce and Wagner; the financial statements went between, linking all these pieces of paper together. The Worthington transfer papers Scott hesitated on, then put them at the back with Mercy's police report.

"Here's Bets now," Logan said. "Finally."

Scott glanced up, to see Agent Braddock and Remy Lebeau striding towards them. Several heads turned in the lounge, but Scott didn't recognise any of the people. Moreover, they seemed to be watching the passage of two beautiful patrons rather than going for weapons. He didn't relax, regardless.

"Bonsoir," Remy said to the two of them. "We'd best get goin', hmm?"

"Going?" Scott said.

"I left the car outside," Betsy murmured. She had a tall champagne flute in her hand, and sipped elegantly from it.

"How're you gettin' home?" Logan asked her. He put a hand on her elbow gently.

"Where?" Scott asked.

"I'll be picked up," Betsy answered him, still in that same quiet voice. "I doubt any of us should go home right now. It would be a little inconvenient."

Remy continued to stand beside Betsy, until Logan grabbed his coat and made to leave. "What about paying?" Scott asked stupidly. He had finally figured the case out, and still Logan's behaviour was as inexplicable as ever. It didn't seem fair.

Logan told him, "I've got a tab," and then, "come on, we don't have a lotta time here, Slim." The 'Slim' was vaguely patronizing, and Scott bristled. But he followed Logan and Remy out to the car.

~

"Kitty, darling," Kitty heard Betsy say. Kitty smiled across the limo at Emma Frost, who nodded at her – yes, take the call, it's fine. Betsy said, "hello?"

"Are you all right?" It was hard not to sound breathless, eager, worried, even a little frantic. Kitty added, "I've been concerned."

"Are you in private?"

"Not exactly," Kitty replied. "I'm not at work, if that's what you're asking."

"You're with Emma. Brilliant girl." Betsy paused, then said, "Listen, Katherine darling, I need to ask you a very, very large favour."

"Is it personal?" Kitty said.

"Not exactly." Kitty waited; Betsy finally said, "I need you to break into Evidence tonight and take anything that's accumulated on the Victor Creed case."

"Is this for Logan?" Kitty asked.

"For me. And Logan," Betsy told her. "And if it's not too much trouble, would you mind getting the perfume out of my desk, as well? Top drawer. It's my last bottle, and I don't really have time to get any more."

"Of course," Kitty said, and stopped herself right before she said Betsy's name. Emma probably knew who she was talking to, but just in case. "Do you need anything else?"

Betsy hesitated. "What does Xavier want you to do?"

Kitty did snort. "Tell him where you are."

"Just make sure they're happy with your work," she said. "Now I have to run – I'm at the lounge, I have to find a place to go for a few hours before I meet Logan again."

"I can meet you," Kitty said. "If you need."

After Betsy hung up, Emma pressed the button the raised the privacy shield between them and the driver. "Was that Elizabeth?" she asked. Kitty didn't nod; Emma said, "Fantastic. Let's go pick her up. I'm sure by now she needs me."

~

"Breaking and entering?" Scott said.

"We can't get a warrant because we can't prove how we got those files," Logan said patiently.

"And he'll be able to get in?" Scott said.

Remy grinned wide. Logan said, "he'll be fine. We have to do this tonight in case Creed skips town."

"And you're sure we need this?" Scott said.

Logan's answer was to get out of the car. He closed the door, which meant that Scott couldn't hear what Remy and Logan said to each other, but he did see Logan gripping Remy's hand. Like a friend.

~

Betsy slipped into the limousine, Kitty making room for her by putting herself into the corner, away from both Emma and Betsy. "Thank you," Betsy murmured. Kitty didn't know to whom.

"You're going to be looking for a new career by the week's end," Emma told Betsy crisply. "You do understand that, do you not?" She re-folded her legs. "This is not the way to conduct police business."

Betsy nodded. "This isn't police business anymore. You know why he called Remy?" Betsy didn't give her a chance to answer. "To get to you."

Emma's eyes narrowed, but she acquiesced, and relaxed a little more. "Go," she told the driver. Kitty stared out the window, and watched the silent buildings of New York City flash past her. They were going too fast to see any of the people still out clearly; rather, people became blurs, trees became little squiggles. Street lamps because streaks of light.

They were going to drop her off around the corner from the precinct. The drive was quiet; right as the limousine slowed, Emma turned to Betsy. "Are you all right, Elizabeth?" Emma asked her. There was concern in her voice.

Kitty opened the door, and was stepping out of the car. "Tell me," Betsy said to Emma suddenly, "what you know about Victor Creed."

~

"Time?" Logan said.

Scott didn't have to look at his watch; he answered, "not even eleven."

Logan sighed. "We're going to be here all night," and he dumped his Styrofoam coffee cup out of the window.

Scott looked at his watch again. He'd been doing so every two minutes since they'd parked outside Erik Lensherr's office building at quarter to nine. Each rounded number was perfectly clear, backlit from the digital glow and so he couldn't even pretend to read the face wrong. "You're not usually impatient," Scott told him.

"Hmm," Logan said.

"You actually worried something's gonna go wrong?"

"Hmm," Logan said. He looked out the side mirror, as an engine sounded far off, hand halfway to the ignition. As the buzz faded away, he asked again, "Time?"

When Remy Lebeau came back to the car, Logan got out to open the car door for him. Scott found himself gripping the passenger door handle.

~

Kitty's heart was pounding, but no one looked up as she passed, coat wrapped around evidence baggies of bullet casings, DNA samples, and witness reports. She smiled brightly at the desk clerk on her way out the door, and sighed in relief only when she was in her car on the way to her apartment. For a moment, she pondered whether her home was safe, but then realized – Betsy had sent her to do something inside the stationhouse itself for a reason, and that reason was, no one knew she knew anything.

Kitty parallel parked right under her own window. She glanced around before going inside, but the street was quiet. Her only nagging anxiety came from where she should put all the evidence Betsy had asked for; there was nowhere properly secure in her place. Finally she settled for under the bed, and then thoughtfully put her spare revolver in the nightstand drawer beside her pillow. One couldn't be too careful.

~

Remy had come back with a pile full of proofs, several other mysterious artefacts in a plastic bag, and a leather date and address book. Logan didn't look at any of it, and Scott couldn't see through the plastic, no matter how hard he stared at the store logo. He didn't recognise the name of the store, but it was obviously an expensive one even from the quality of their bags.

Scott was gratified to see Remy was wearing latex gloves. He failed to take them off once back in the car.

"Yah find it?" Logan asked Remy.

"Non."

"Nothin'?" Logan slumped back. "If Creed were in the city, Erik woulda known."

Remy said nothing, simply put his seatbelt on. The latex gloves made his hands look whiter than the rest of his body. "Maybe somethin' at his home?"

"Yeah, you're probably right," Logan said. "Never woulda kept info on his people at the office."

Scott broke in sharply. "Lensherr knew Creed?"

Logan swivelled his head, looking in all directions, before pulling out of the parking lot. "He used ta run him."

"Run him?"

"It's a military term," Logan told Scott. Scott had guessed that, but hearing it from Logan made him pause, and he reached for Lensherr's address book. Remy relinquished it only after glancing at Logan. "We don't need anything else," Logan said. The left-turn blinker clicked on and off as Scott opened it.

~

Erik Lensherr's home was in one of the most prestigious areas of Manhattan; he had a 24 hour closed circuit camera feed playing live for six armed security guards, and there were four uniforms outside the yellow police tape. Remy was in and out in fifteen minutes. Scott counted the alarms he hadn't tripped, the guards he would have had to avoid, and even for the kind of professional that Remy obviously was, or had been, he wouldn't have had more than eight and a half minutes in the house.

"Get anything?" Logan asked him, as they pulled away from the scene. Remy nodded; there was a bulging sack full of papers under Remy's arm. "Good," Logan said.

"How'd you know where to look?" Scott asked, suddenly. His voice was too loud in the car, or perhaps it just sounded too loud after Logan's low mutter. Remy, in the front seat, didn't turn around. Scott said, "right. Nevermind."

"Why don't you check the address book?" Logan said, and Remy handed back the sack, minus most of the files that Logan snagged before Scott even had a chance to notice the color coding. Scott rifled through what was left, and found color photographs that proved Victor Creed had arrived, by bus, two weeks ago – the day before Warren Worthington was found dead in Manhattan.

"Look," and Scott handed the photographs up to Logan, who was driving. Logan took them, holding them against the steering wheel with one hand and shifting into fifth gear with the other. "That, with everything else, should be enough to get him arrested."

The photographs, there was one thing Scott couldn't figure out, and that was who could have taken them. Logan interrupted his thoughts. "We'll check the bus station," and then he said, "probably won't find anything."

"No," Scott said. He stared through the gap between the two front seats, and noticed Remy, forehead leaning against the passenger door window. His breath fogged up the glass, in a faint rhythm, and Scott wondered if he knew how to handle a camera.

~

Logan made the two of them sit on a bench while he looked around the bus station. Scott was only too happy to oblige. Remy shrugged and folded himself gracefully onto the wooden bench, close enough to Scott to suggest they were waiting together. Scott wasn't sure how smart that was, considering how public a place this was, but Remy refused to move; he went so far as to smile at Scott a few times, and re-crossed his legs.

"Don' worry," Remy said, leaning in to speak with Scott privately. Intimately, Scott realized. He tried not to lean away; that would bring more people's attention. "Logan'll get what y'need." He added, "justice will be done."

It was a very odd phrase to hear. Scott glanced up at the white letters, naming busses coming in from all over the country, travelers all ending up here after miles and hours of road. He looked at Remy. "So what do you get?" Scott asked him finally. "You don't seem concerned with breaking the law."

Remy was watching Logan query the ticket agent, and seemed to not even hear the question. Scott sighed. Finally, without leaning in Remy said quietly, "Mutants need each other."

Without Senator Drake's very vocal support, the Mutants Right bill would never pass. Scott said, "So it's us or them?"

Remy just shook his head.

"What is it then?" Scott asked.

Remy looked at him. "Y' don' ever want t' find out what kinda reward I get," and Remy turned away.

Scott understood, suddenly, why Remy Lebeau was voluntarily helping them. It was hidden, and it was fleeting, but Scott had seen it on his face. Guilt.

Logan came over to them. "Creed got off a bus from Chicago," he said. "Computer says he started in New Orleans." Logan looked at Remy. "He's probably got someone helping him in the city, found him a place to stay."

Scott asked, "What's in New Orleans?" Remy and Logan didn't answer. Scott asked, "who's helping him?" Remy and Logan didn't answer.

~

"We'd better stop," Scott said, unnecessarily. Remy was due to make another phone call, but it was the middle of the night; they needed somewhere to go.

Logan stopped at another diner; he seemed to know all the mutant-friendly diners in the entirety of New York. Logan seemed to know exactly how to get by being a mutant in New York.

Logan and Scott sat at the counter together, drinking coffee. Logan studied Lensherr's address book. "Jesus," he said, "everyone's in here."

"Everyone who?"

Logan sighed. "I'm gonna tell you something now, Slim," he said. "We're gonna have to take out Creed." Scott knew that already; he'd already figured that out. Betsy and Logan weren't working with the police; because of some mutant rights bill, five people were dead: three of the most influential mutants in the city, a beat cop that knew who Victor Creed was, and a petty drug dealer.

Scott said, "Who was Allerdyce, anyway?"

"Betsy'll have to look at this stuff," Logan told him, flipping through the rest of Lensherr's papers. "She knows his type."

"Is he connected to Remy?" Scott asked. The drug dealer didn't make sense; his name wasn't in the harassment charges, he didn't seem to have the same kind of power as the people who seemed to encircle his current world. There was no way that someone like Allerdyce could have associated with Emma; everyone in her world was refined. Even Remy, a young man who could be living on the street, had grace.

"We'd better get a move on," Logan said.

"Was Allerdyce someone Lensherr knew?"

Logan stared at Scott, until Scott shook his head. When he was a child, Scott knew a kid down the street that spent one entire summer playing with dominos. He'd set up miles of them, and then with one flick make them all tumble down. Scott was angry that the memory surfaced; it was a grade-school analogy. His thoughts clicked together. And Scott said, "Fuck you." Scott looked at Logan. "Allerdyce was the one Creed contacted, wasn't he? The discharge papers, the navy tattoo." Scott put the address book down. "Creed knew Allerdyce. In New Orleans. That's how he got in touch with Allerdyce."

Remy said from behind him, "an' St. John, he knew me."

Logan stood. "Let's go." He said to Scott, "I told yah we didn't need the book anymore."

"I'm not done with my coffee," Scott said, and looked down at his cup. The rim was dirty. Logan didn't say anything, but he did sweep up all of Scott's carefully collected evidence and tuck it under his arm. "We need backup to go into--"

Logan peered out the glass door of the diner, looked into the parking lot where a sleek black stretch limousine was pulling up. Betsy, wearing a dark suit, got out. "We got backup," Logan said.

"Betsy?" Scott said, surprised. The limo pulled away, and Betsy stood on the asphalt, peering up at the neon sign advertising waffles for a dollar. The green and red shone on her face, her light skin, turning it multicoloured and alien. Scott continued to sit at the counter while Remy and Logan went outside; he could clearly see them through the window, talking to Betsy. Betsy looked inside, and then at Logan; Logan went to the car.

Betsy opened the diner door. "Scott," she said quietly.

Scott looked up at her. He rubbed his thumb along the top of his mug. The coffee was barely lukewarm; the cup itself was cool and smooth. "Are you really an agent? Do you really work for the police?" Scott asked her.

Betsy sat down beside him. "Of course I work for the police, Scott," she said. "We all work for the police."

Scott said, "Who do the police work for? Jesus."

"Are you all right?" Betsy asked.

She moved to put a hand on Scott's shoulder, pausing when Scott leaned away. Scott was starting to feel a little sick; he nearly knocked his cup down. "We're going to kill Victor Creed," he finally said. "We'd better get going."

Betsy stroked her hand along Scott's neck, running her hand into his hair and massaging his scalp with her fingertips. "Scott. Darling. There are no bad guys."

He pulled away from her, deliberately, slowly, and then slammed his palm down on his counter. She jumped. "No," he answered calmly, "we're all bad guys." He got up and left. She trailed after him, high heels clacking on the cheap linoleum and out of place.

~

Creed was supposed to be holed up in a rental property uptown. Logan didn't say how he knew and Scott didn't bother to ask.

In an unnerving way, the entry-way was much like Warren Worthington's apartment; same expensive taste, same uncluttered, polished feel. No statue this time, the polished marble floor gleamed in the moonlight. Two weeks ago, it had been the new moon, Warren's floor dark. Victor Creed's staircase was alight, the full moon fully visible through the skylight in the roof.

Logan glared at him, and Scott subsided into silence. Logan held the heavy front door open for him them, and then let it close and lock with a click. Scott wasn't sure how Logan intended to leave again, but so far he'd planned for every contingency.

"Upstairs," Betsy said, "check the office."

Scott began mechanically started climbing the stairs, and then paused. "What am I looking for?" Logan put a finger to his lips silently. Right. Don't ask, Scott thought.

Betsy pushed him up the stairs gently. Her hands were cool and smooth on the back of his neck. Scott studied the stairs, the grain of the marble, the curve of the banister. He couldn't help but feeling a tingle where Betsy's fingers ran over his collar, and he memorized the patterns in the stone beneath their feet. He didn't even notice when Betsy lead him from behind, and they came to another door down a second story hallway.

"This is it," Betsy murmured, reaching from behind him to open the doorknob. Scott tensed up, expecting an alarm, or at the very least a rush of air.

"Where?" Scott said, as quietly. His tongue felt thick. "What are we looking for in here?"

Betsy leaned over his shoulder, and he thought she was going to tell him something, anything, but instead, she pushed the door inwards and stepped around him to go in.

Once in the office, however, Betsy dropped the whispering and flicked on the light, making every appearance to ignore him. "So what are we looking for?" Scott asked again. With the fluorescent light on, the room was normal, no shadows and no corners, no apparent places to hide anything.

Betsy was booting up the computer. "Anything," she answered, "that's relevant."

Scott rifled through a filing cabinet, and found three pistols, all the same make as the one that had killed their victims. Scott would bet fifty bucks that an analysis of these guns would match the bullets they'd found in the bodies. He didn't pick them up.

In the bottom drawer, Scott found a folder marked with the address of their stationhouse. "Betsy," he said, picking it up carefully with a handkerchief and holding it out.

She took a breath and abandoned the computer. Opening it for both of them, Scott found copies of the evidence reports from the five murders, pictures of him, Remy and Betsy - and at the bottom of the pile, a list of phone numbers. Scott scanned them quickly, then said, "That one's mine."

Betsy leaned over his shoulder. "My office, my mobile," she said. "That one's Logan's home. His mobile."

Scott said, "the front office."

From downstairs, there was the murmuring of voices, and if Scott hadn't been absorbed in the piece of paper the volume might have alarmed him. "That's someone in Accounts, over at the station," he said slowly.

"That's the newspaper," Betsy said, gesturing to a Long Island number. It would have been long distance from here; Scott made a mental note to have the phone records for the building pulled, until he remembered that they weren't undercover, they were investigating on their own and he had no official capacity here.

The addresses on the flipside were all their victims, complete with names. Whoever had made the list couldn't have been too worried about anyone finding it.

Betsy pointed to the last number on the list. "What's that one?"

Scott recognized it from somewhere, he was sure he'd seen it or dialed it, or seen Logan dial it. He pulled his phone out and, without thinking, dialed, holding it out so they could both listen. Two rings, and a familiar voice answered, sounding tired and scratchy, "yes? That was quick, get going."

Betsy ripped the phone out of his hand, then closed it and turned it off. "Do not turn your phone back on," she told him sharply.

"What was." Scott looked at his phone, at the inert display. "I don't get it."

"Do not turn your phone back on," Betsy said. She didn't seem inviting anymore. Betsy took one last look around the office, then said, "Let's go." She pointed to the folder resting dumbly in Scott's outstretched hands. "Bring that."

Downstairs, Logan and Remy were arguing. All the lights in the place had come on, and they seemed to be trying to decide something rather urgently. As he and Betsy descended, they shut up abruptly.

"Bets," Logan said. "We gotta get out of here." The fluorescent lights of the front hall made the marble look gaudy and unfinished. Logan had his gun in his hand, down by his hip.

Betsy was already pulling Remy to her side, and pulling out her own revolver. Scott clutched the list of phone numbers to his chest. Betsy said, "we have a bigger problem." Logan looked at her. "Scott found a list of our phone numbers." She clutched her gun. "The bottom one was Xavier's home."

Remy's face was white, scared; Logan said, "Remy's pager just went."

~

"Kitty," Betsy said into her phone, "Where are you?" Scott looked back at Betsy. The four of them were in Logan's SUV. Whenever Logan turned a corner, Scott held onto the handle near the roof to keep from swaying. Betsy said, "excellent. Stay there. No, if you need to, call Emma." She hung up, and the car was quiet.

Scott didn't even bother to watch where they were going. He knew exactly what Betsy and Logan were planning to do to Victor Creed, knew what they intended. Tomorrow morning, the New York Times would have a two page spread about Erik Lensherr's work and contributions to the community and to journalism; nothing about his personal life or why he was stabbed. Somewhere in the middle of the paper there might be a mention of a Victor Creed, tourist, found dead in New Jersey. But maybe not. It might not be newsworthy.

Logan pulled up to a hotel bar, one with no name on the door like the one Logan and Betsy seemed to frequent. Scott had his hand on the door handle when he realized that all the doors were locked from the inside – he looked into the front seat and saw Logan holding his finger on the release button.

"This it?" he asked Remy. Remy nodded. "Okay. We're going into the lobby; you go in."

There was no sign of Creed and no sign of who Remy was supposed to meet. Remy hesitated only a moment before he opened the door. Scott realized he was scared.

~

The lobby was beautiful, with a small fountain in the middle and a discreet lounge area off to the side. They could just see Remy, sipping a glass, at the bar. Logan had showed the clerk his badge and settled into an armchair near the fountain, Betsy and Scott beside him. "Now what?" Scott said.

"Now, we wait," Betsy murmured. She put a piece of hair behind her ear, and folded her hands in her lap. A low ringing sounded, and Betsy stood up to take her call. Her heels made little noise as she made her way across the bronze tile.

Scott listened to the soft tinkling of water. "How do you plan to kill him?" he asked Logan. Logan looked at him. "I didn't." Scott watched the water. The clock at check-in said they had about ten minutes. "How?" he asked.

Logan turned around to face him; he said gravely, "Listen. I didn't want it to go down this way, Slim. But you gotta let me do my job. I gotta do my job."

Scott said, "What job?" Logan pulled out a cigar, even though there was a no-smoking sign on the wall right in front of them. "The rules are not there for us to break," Scott said.

Logan puffed his cigar. From across the room, Betsy smiled at Scott, lips very, very red.

~

Three seconds before Creed showed up, Logan said, "I don't like this." Betsy stared at him, sharply, and Logan added, "We're just waitin' here for him."

"You don't think--" she started to say, but whatever Betsy thought, Scott never heard it, because Creed opened the doors to the lobby, not the bar, and strode over to where the three of them were sitting.

Scott had his hand on his pistol, one eye on the clerk at the desk. "You're gettin' old," Creed said, staring down at Logan. "Time was you'd never end up here."

Logan stood up, casually, stretched. "Figured you'd come anyway."

Scott felt every muscle in him tense, he could feel every hair on his body. Betsy was a shadow out of the corner of his eye, he was watching Creed. Creed said, "consider it payment."

"For what?"

Creed looked over to the bar; Scott saw that Remy was long gone. Creed turned around, calling over his shoulder, "I owed you a favour, don't anymore. From the old days."

Scott felt his heart beating, so rapidly that his whole body was trembling with tension. He was afraid. He could barely see Creed out the doors anymore; the tails of Logan's trenchcoat were disappearing around the corner after him. Scott looked around dumbly, said, "are we, what--"

Betsy was already on her feet, looking frantically around the lobby. "Jesus," she said, and then said urgently, "Scott, get *up*."

He rubbed his face. "Logan's gone, Remy's gone," he said. "Creed's gone."

Betsy had his arm, was tugging on it. Her grip was so tight he'd have bruises on his forearm later. Scott felt sweat on his forehead. "Scott," she said, low, "Creed came here to warn us."

"Warn?" His legs stood, separate from his thoughts. Betsy pulled him, unresisting, to the door. "About what? Where's the mark Remy was supposed to meet?"

Betsy kicked open the doors and with both hands pushed Scott outside and onto the sidewalk. "Come *on*." She tugged him across the empty street, and then turned to face him. "We're the ones that found that list of phone numbers. We're the mark this time."

~

Logan shot him, but not before the hotel exploded.

Scott put his arms up over his face just a few seconds too late. When he woke, he was blind.

~

Xavier came to see him first. "How are you feeling, Scott?"

"I don't know," he said. There was nothing in his room that he could identify; Xavier was to his left, but that was all. He had no way to read the newspaper, though the television set in his hospital room droned news casts endlessly. Scott didn't hear anything about the shooting, or the explosion. It wasn't important enough to mention.

"You concentrate on feeling better," Xavier said with sincerity.

Scott swallowed. "I have something to say, on the record," and he turned to where he thought Xavier was sitting. The section chief had taken the line it was a serial killer hook, line, and sinker, but it couldn't go on. Scott said, "His ritual was an act, Victor Creed was working to try and prevent a mutant rights bill from going through. Someone was feeding him information about how to prevent the legislation - and without Lensherr and Senator Drake, that's it, that's the game. Creed pulled it off, and now that it's all covered up." Scott stopped talking. "On record, the cover-up regarding the extent to which Victor Creed was involved, past and potentially present, with certain members of the department, must be investigated further. Logan and Braddock - they knew him."

"I see," Xavier said, low.

Scott added, "Logan shot Victor Creed in the back of the head."

~

Xavier didn't come back.

Scott put in a call to another department, and got Charlotte Johnson of Internal Affairs to come and see him the next day. She was human.

The door clicked when she came in, and Scott trusted that she had made sure no one would be able to hear them. He told her what happened, all of it, enough to convict Logan and Betsy, Remy if they ever found him - even implicate Emma. When he finally finished talking, Charlotte said, "Are you sure it was them?"

Scott tried to tie his shoes clumsily. It was nearly impossible to adjust to having nothing in your world beyond your own skin and what you could touch, what you could hear. He gave up on the shoelaces. "I'm sure. I'll. I'll testify."

Charlotte told him. "You're doing the right thing."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know." By morning his team would be arrested. But he couldn't let them just get away with murder, he couldn't. Betrayal was necessary in their line of work. It was Logan's first lesson.

~

In-active duty. He just had to go in and sign the paperwork.

Xavier called him up just as he was about to leave for good, cane tapping along the floor.

"It's good to see you mobile, Scott," Xavier said.

"I called Charlotte Jones, Internal Affairs," Scott said. "This morning. I wanted to inform you."

"Are you sure you want to go down this road, Scott?" Xavier asked him. "It's not going to be easy."

"Chief," and he threw his hands up, frustrated. He couldn't even see his hands, his palms. "Just pick Logan up, get Braddock. We can't do nothing."

Scott imagined Xavier steepling his fingers on his desk, leaning back, looking at him. The space in front of his body was a blank. "That may be difficult, Scott," Xavier said. "You see, no one's heard from Logan since yesterday morning."

"What about Betsy?"

"We'll track her down," Xavier assured him. "Don't you worry."

"They're gone," Scott said flatly, and wanted to storm out of the room. "They'll already be gone." He took a breath. The faint smell of cigar smoke – clinging to the room, nothing but a faint odour but obviously fresh – filled his lungs, but he was so angry it didn't register. Angry and disappointed. Scott felt himself exhale slowly. He was finished. "I would pursue the investigation," he told Xavier, "if I was on active duty." He sighed. "I'd find them."

Xavier studied him. "I'm sure you would." Scott pictured him nodding to himself. "You would."

"I'm sorry, sir," Scott muttered, "that I can't."

"I was most concerned," Xavier said softly, "to hear about your, accident, Scott." He shuffled some papers around, and the rustle sounded overly loud. "I'm sorry."

Scott shrugged. "Maybe I'll put in a request for a leave of absence," he told Xavier. "Some time off might be good.

Xavier sounded sympathetic. "I'll make sure the paperwork goes through," he told Scott gravely. "And do," he added, much more lightly, "have a good time on vacation."

Scott nodded to Xavier curtly, at least to where he imagined Xavier to be. "Yes sir," he said. "I intend to." He spun to exit the office, and tried to feel his way to the closed door with the new cane. The space from the desk to the hall was a mental blank; it was possible that Scott had never actually been in the chief's office when the door was closed before, never been privy to such a meeting. And he had no way of seeing now that on the back of the door hung a framed print, barely letter paper size, of three monkeys – hands covering ears, mouth, and eyes respectively.

Scott reached for the doorknob. "Yes sir," he said slowly. "I will."

~end~

back to Lise's stories | Cyke and Logan archive | X-Men archive | comicfic.net