It's Who You Know

Part One of the X Chronicles by Smoot

Chapter 3 

Remy opened the door to his clock tower apartment and strode into the living room, thankful to be back home. “What a relief,” he mumbled. “Jus’ get t’ watch TV t’night.” 

“Actually, morning,” Quentin said, checking his watch. “It’s four o’clock. Got any beer?” 

“Age?” Remy asked, not even looking up. 

“Seventeen.” 

“In de fridge.” There was no way he was going to argue with this kid for any amount of time right now. “Leave me ‘least one, a’right?” 

“Cool.” Quentin tossed him a Budweiser from across the room and popped the aluminum top on his. “So where can I put my coat?” 

“De coatrack, pref’rably,” Remy muttered. 

“Yeah, that would be a good idea, probably,” Quentin acknowledged. Taking a sip of his Bud, he crossed to the sofa and sat down. “Nice apartment. How’d you get it?” 

“Previous owner lef’, an’ I was de next person t’ wan’ it,” Remy answered shortly. 

Quentin looked at him appraisingly. Something was pissing him off, that was for sure. “What’s botherin’ you?” he asked, trying to make it sound nonchalant. 

Remy’s red-on-black eyes met Quentin’s soft blue ones, and the Cajun shook his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, mon ami. Jus’ t’inkin’.” 

“Well, don’t do too much of it, it tends to screw things up,” Quentin said matter-of-factly, taking a swig of his beer. “Look, I don’t know if your mutant ability is to go without sleep for extended periods, but I know I have to visit Sleepyland periodically. If you need me, I’ll be over here, sleeping peacefully,” he said, walking towards the plush chair off in the corner of the room. “In other words, if you need me, tough.” 

In a matter of moments, Quentin was snoring quietly off in the corner, his legs tucked against his chest, mumbling little nothings that Remy didn’t concern himself with. 

Remy looked around the apartment. He had gotten it when its previous owner got in trouble with the mob. Purely coincidence, actually, that he was the one to swoop it up and claim it as his own, but even so, it seemed to be the course of things in his life. Nothing he ever did seemed to be clearly on the up-and-up. 

Shaking his head, he smiled bitterly, looking at the plush decor that surrounded him. A few antiques here, a grandfather clock to accent the far wall, two recliners, a living room suite in a gray tint, and that was just the living room. His bedroom itself was a work of art. 

Hard t’ believe one o’ my skills was interior decoratin’, he marveled, picking up the remote and clicking on the forty-eight inch television on the far wall next to the grandfather clock. He never had been exactly hard-pressed for cash, and amazingly it had all come through legal means. That for one had helped him get back on his feet. Another had been his stubbornness to just lie down and take the hand life dealt him. 

He glanced back over at Quentin, who had sunk into a deep sleep, the mumblings growing increasingly loud. He contemplated throwing a small object at him, charged, just to startle him, but decided against it. He was still a relatively nice person, sometimes, when he felt like it, which wasn’t often, when he actually got down and thought about it. 

That dilemma resolved, he charged a pen lid from the top of the coffee table and hurled into Quentin’s shoulder. The teenager jumped up shouting frantically and sat down just as quickly. Remy’s laughter only increased when Quentin started sputtering in protest. 

The night slowly wound down from there, finally ending with Remy going to sleep at seven a.m. and not moving from his bed until one. 

********** 

The sound of a Dave Matthews Band song reached Remy’s ears as the Cajun mutant awoke reluctantly, pulling the covers back over his body and trying to convince his body that the day wasn’t important and that everyone should just go back to sleep instead. That defeated, he pulled himself out of bed, threw on a shirt and pair of sweatpants, and stumbled into the kitchen.

Quentin glanced at him from the stove and checked his watch. “Hmph,” he grunted. “You’ve wasted the most important part of the day.” 

“And dat part would be?” Remy mumbled. 

“The part when ‘The Price is Right’ comes on,” Quentin joked. “Hey, you hungry? I threw some bacon on if you are.” 

It took a second for Remy’s brain to comprehend that, seeing how it had only been working for about two seconds and it was still suffering from jet-lag. “You cook?” he finally asked. 

“‘Course,” Quentin said flippantly. “You don’t last seventeen years in this world without being prepared. I cook a mean mac-and-cheese, man. You oughta taste it.” 

"I'll remember dat," Remy said, rubbing the back of his neck and walking quickly over to the other side of the room. A kid on his own, who could cook quite well, and was out for revenge against a business tycoon, and had sided with him? Odd. That was the only word he could find to describe the situation. Odd.

The phone interrupted his thoughts, and he picked up the black cordless phone off the wall. "Oui?" he said, leaning up against the wall.

"You the one they call Gambit?" a sharp raspy voice said.

His eyebrows lowered a bit as he turned away from Quentin. "Who is dis?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Names aren't important, Gambit. This is. You lookin' fer info on Pitchford? I got it. You want it, be downstairs at the front door at eleven tonight. You can bring the kid too."

"Who is dis?" Remy repeated, but the line was dead. Disgusted, he placed the receiver back on the base and stayed facing the wall. Someone knew that he was looking for dirt on that millionaire supplier, but how did they know that he had been there, and with Quentin? And how much else did they know?

The sound of breaking glass caught his attention, and he spun defensively, his hands already searching for something to charge and possibly use as a weapon. What he saw was completely apart from what he was expecting.

Quentin stood next to the counter, holding Remy's staff, one side of it fully extended, right through a lamp. His finger twitched above the already-depressed button that worked the extend function. Quentin looked at Remy, the staff, the broken lamp, and then back at Remy. "I didn't do it," he said quickly, swinging the staff around behind his back.

And why in the world did he agree to let Quentin join?

On to Chapter 4