It's Who You Know

Part One of the X Chronicles by Smoot

Chapter 2 The wind whipped through Remy LeBeau's hair as he drove through the small South Carolina town, seating snugly on his prized Harley-Davidson. His trench coat billowed out behind him dramatically, another effect he found himself growing attached to.

His eyes flickered over to the rear-view mirror to his right. Another Harley was behind him, about eight lengths back. Remy had noticed it not too long after he lost that kid when they escaped from the mansion downtown. After creative dodging and ducking behind buildings didn't work, tripping the kid, wrapping a blindfold around his head, and then taking off like a bat out of hell worked perfectly.

He wasn't sure whether the rider following him was the kid or not. If it was, he was going to regret following Remy LeBeau. That would be sure to happen.

He pulled off onto what he was pretty sure was a side road. He still didn't know the area as well as he would have liked to, but he thought he knew it well enough to lose this guy on the streets.

Skidding into a turn, he pulled the bike hard to the left, kicking up gravel from the unpaved country road. As soon as the bike evened back out and he as going straight again, he gunned the engine for all it was worth. Behind him, he could hear the scuffling as the other motorcycle came around the turn.

Remy was banking that since his bike was in a lot better shape than the old, battered thing following him, he could easily outrun it on a flat stretch of raod and then beat it through a turn and lose it.

He didn't bank on the other driver's natural skill.

He came wheeling through the turn, small rocks flying up around his churning wheels as he bent forward over the handlebars. He was still too far back for Remy to get more than a fleeting glimpse at his face before he had to regain control of his bike as it jostled over a pothole.

Remy's greater overall top speed widened the gap between the two motorcycles as they tore over the countryside as fast as their engines would allow. The next turn loomed ahead. Remy braced himself. Almost a ninety-degree turn straight off to the left.

Remy slid around the turn, his knee almost catching the top of the road as he pulled the bike hard to the side. He didn't dare look back for fear of losing control, but his sharp ears picked up the sound of the pursuing Harley throttling down to make the turn, a safety precaution he realized he had decided not to take.

Either way, he was able to pull back up and keep going, picking up more speed as he flew off. Up ahead, he could see that there was a cross-intersection. Three ways to go. He elected right and spun around the turn, disappearing before the other Harley could make it around.

Three more turns later, he found himself back on the main road, his duster still flapping out behind him. With one hand, he steered. With the other, he pulled the strands of his brown hair out of his face so he could have an idea of where he going and be able to see it as well.

A familiar shape behind him caught his attention. He looked at it and swore under his breath.

He had just discovered that whoever this person was, when on their bike, they were going to be harder to get rid of than a bad rash and just about as annoying.

A little further on down the road was a convenience store, its parking lot empty of any customers or vehicles. Remy pulled into the parking lot, swung the bike sideways, killed the engine, leapt off the seat, removed his coat quickly, and stood in the parking lot, a thin silver rod in his hands.

The other bike started to pull into the parking lot, driving almost as quickly as Remy had been.

Remy leveled the cylinder at the guy on the bike and pressed a leve, a cold grin on his face. One end of the cylinder extended itself out into his staff, stopping within inches of the guy's face.

His eyes got wide, and the guy tried to pull to a stop quickly, trying to slide sideways and let the friction stop him. What he ended up doing was letting the bike slide past Remy as he ended up lying on the ground, the staff resting on the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes.

"Um, hi?" the blond kid stammered, looking at the metal staff cross-eyed.

Remy knew who he was. He was the same kid who he bumped into inside the mansion a ways away from the town when he was looking for information on the Assassin's Guild.

His red-on-black eyes burned as his glared down at the kid. "Who de hell are you?"

"Quentin Bailey," the kid responded, deciding now was not the time to withhold information. "And you, sir, are...?" he asked tentatively.

"Remy LeBeau," Remy responded. "Now what ya wan' from me?"

"Um, you mean earlier or right now?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on the staff, which had wavered out a ways.

Remy flicked another lever, and a crude blade popped out of the tip of the staff and came to bear a mere half-an-inch from Quentin's neck. The only words Quentin could find that could be sounded out with his suddenly parched tongue were along the lines of "AaaaeeeuuuieeeeooouuugahhhhhI'msorrydon'tkillmeI'llbegoodI --*erkk*--" He was cut off by the blade pressing slightly against his neck.

"Anyt'ing else y' wanna say?" Remy asked menacingly.

"Please don't kill me," Quentin said quickly. "I'm sorry, I repent, just don't kill me. I have so many appointments with other people who want to kill me, and if you killed me, it would defeat the entire point of setting up the appointments."

"I don' kill people. I'm no murderer," Remy said, still not moving the staff.

"You have no idea how much I respect that right now," Quentin said carefully, suddenly aware that his Adam's Apple was almost touching the blade. "Um, sir, I'd like to be able to breath again, sooo..."

Remy flicked the lever and let the blade swing back up into the staff. Quentin's sigh of relief was plainly audible. "I really am sorry, I just..." he trailed off.

"Y' jus' what?" Remy said sharply, retracting the staff.

"Nothin'."

Remy grabbed him by the lapels of his jecket and hauled him up to his feet, yanking him off the ground until they were eye to eye. "Y' followed me t'rough town 'mongst other t'ings. Now I wan' t' know what it is dat ya want! Else I do somet'in' dat more dan one of us might be regrettin', if y' catch m' drift." He lifted the retracted cylinder that once was his staff and tapped Quentin's forehead with it for emphasis.

Quentin's eyes narrowed somewhat. "Don't threaten me, thief. I got enough dirt on you right now to put you away for about a year or two."

"Point," Quentin acknowledged. "Now if you would kindly return me to the ground, I'll tell you why I was following you."

Remy acknowledged, and Quentin dusted himself off, eyeing the Cajun nervously all the while.

"I'm from Pennsylvania originally. I came here 'cause I was kicked outta school up there for beating up the team mascot once a week." He grinned. "Hey, if a giant gecko was your mascot, try telling me you wouldn't belt it once either." When Remy didn't respond, Quentin continued.

"I came here looking to make a real life for myself. Y'know, get a job, maybe a girlfriend, settle down, the whole nine yards. But then that bastard moved into the mansion and set upon making my life miserable, closing down the canning plant where I worked, firing my girlfriend's father and making him move, and buying the apartment building where I lived and ordering it demolished for a freakin' gas station. Pissed the hell outta me. Took it upon myself to try an' figure out why."

"What ya mean?" Remy asked, interested.

"He had to have some reason for bustin' up the town, right? Would you come in and decide, 'Oh, I don't like the decor on that billboard. BLAM!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!' Well, would ya?"

"In dose words? Non." Remy crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Dat still don' justify breakin' inta de man's home."

"Oh, I never steal anything,"Quentin assured him. "I just do it to remind him that I could at any time. Mind games, 'at's all it is. Nothin' else. I'm no petty robber. There is a method to my madness, if that's possible."

Remy cocked his head to one side and looked the kid over. "An' why you tellin' me all dis?"

"Uh, you asked?" Quentin pointed out.

"Not dat, smartass!" Remy shouted. "You say all o' dat like you expect me t' do somet'in' about it," he added, calming down somewhat.

"Well, yeah. I mean, you were in there. You didn't take anything, or at least not as far as I could tell. You seem to be an honorable, if a bit on the eccentric side."

"You one to talk," Remy mumbled.

"I heard that. Anyway, shut up and let me finish. I just want to know whether you plan on going back to the guy's mansion."

Remy thought about that for a moment. "I dunno. Why?" he asked, walking back to his Harley.

"'Cause if you do, I wanna come too. I got a few things I want him to know before I leave town," Quentin said. "If you don't, I'll do it myself. But I just thought I'd let you have the opportunity to be my sidekick."

Getting back off his bike to listen, Remy laughed. "Let me be your sidekick? Good one, homme."

"Okay, we'll be partners." When that was met with as much laughter as before, Quentin shrugged. "All righty, I'll be your sidekick. Sure, I'll let you believe that you wield the power. Good way to keep you entertained. Make my life easier, anyway, since I gotta be baby-sittin' ya an' everythin'... can't even go ten minutes without settin' off some stupid alarm an' havin' ta jump outta window... hey, stop laughin' durin' my speech!" Quentin shouted, pointing menacingly, he thought, at Remy, who was on his knees by his Harley, clutching his side, sobs of laughter racking his body.

Remy pulled himself up onto his bike. "Ohhh, dat was funny. Me bein' your sidekick... heh heh heh... Okay, y' c'n come wit' me, wherever it be dat I'm goin'." He chuckled again. "After dat speech, how c'n I refuse?" He busted out laughing again.

"Shut up, all right?" Quentin shouted, despite the fact that a huge lopsided grin was plastered across his face. "So, buddy ol' pal, where we goin'?"

Remy shrugged and straddled his Harley. "You ain't gonna be wit' all de time, are ya?"

Quentin opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it. "I just realized I don't have the slightest idea of who you are? What's your name, anyway?"

Remy mulled this over. He could give a code name, or one of his many aliases to keep Quentin off track just in case something went down. Safety first, of course.

But something told him differently. Something told him that he should trust this kid, even if he was on the odd side. Even if there was a chance of betrayal. He should trust him with at least his name. After all, he was given a chance he really didn't deserve.

The thought triggered memories of better times. Times when he didn't have to spend all his nights out on the road, looking to reclaim a life he had never wanted. Times when his biggest worry was whether a prankster of a friend had frozen the shower head again. Times when a good friend was all he needed to bring a little more sunshine in his life.

Times when there was a woman for whom he lived for...

Bringing himself out of his reverie, he looked back at Quentin, was still standing next to him patiently. Extending his right hand, he said, "Remy LeBeau." With a smile, he added, " 'Master' t' you, mon ami."

Quentin only smiled sardonicly and nodded. "You just keep tellin' yourself that, Redeye."

That was the first moment that Remy realized that Quentin had noticed his eyes before that moment and wasn't put off by them. "Y' knew I was a mutant?"

"Had a hunch that it was either that or just that you had bad taste in contacts," Quentin joked. After looking in Remy's eyes a moment longer, he simply said, "Cool," and walked back towards his bike.

Remy watched him go, fully aware of the danger involved when releasing information that he was homo superior. Many people were quite unforgiving when one discovered that someone they knew was a mutant. Apparently Quentin wasn't one of those people.

Shaking his head and almost smiling, he mounted his bike and drove off into downtown, Quentin behind him.

On to Chapter 3