It's Who You Know

Part One of the X Chronicles

by Smoot

Chapter 5

Remy LeBeau let the smoke of his cigarette wisp slowly into the air, the intricate patterns of the exhaust twirling and dancing in the breeze, the movements framed by the full moon hanging in the air above him. His eyes, shielded by sunglasses even though the visibility was already minimal due to the darkness of night, scanned the street, taking in every person that walked past him. They were of all sorts, but none were what he was looking for.

A man with dark tousled brown hair and a slight limp ambled his way nonchalantly towards Remy, looking at the scenery as he went. Remy noticed the way the man moved and stood to one side, letting him through.

They walked back into the alley, and then turned a corner so they were out of sight. Remy leaned up against a closed gray door, lit a cigarette, and said, "Start talkin'."

"You know they're lookin' for ya, man," the limper said, looking around nervously, dropping the nonchalant facade. "All of 'em."

"Names, McKeegan, names," Remy said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. "Knowin' jus' what you babble'll get me killed, y'know."

"I don't know any names, man, I just know that they all want you dead," he stammered.

"Who wants me dead?" Remy asked, growing impatient.

"I--"

"Who, homme?!" he shouted, loud enough to startle the man, but not loud enough to alert any other people out on the street.

"I--I can't say--"

Remy grabbed the man by the throat with one hand and showing strength that belied his frame, lifted him off the ground and held him there, the muscles in his hand contracting as he squeezed mercilessly. "Who is tryin' t' kill me, McKeegan," he said coldly. As McKeegan opened his mouth, more than likely to deny it again, Remy picked up a card, charged it, and held it within centimeters of his neck. "Y'have six seconds. Cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un, --"

"Belle! Belle! It's Belle! She's behind it!" McKeegan stammered, flailing his arms wildly.

Remy held him up another second, and then let him drop abruptly, pulling his hand away and letting McKeegan tumble clumsily to the ground. "Belle's here."

"Along with other members of the Assassin's Guild," he muttered weakly, his voice quivering up from the ground. "They came to pick up the shipment of weapons..."

"I know 'bout dat," Remy spat at him. "Now where are dey?"

"I can't say --"

Remy leaned over him and routed more energy into the card, letting it glow vibrantly in front of him, casting a bright pink light on his surroundings. "I t'ink you can say it ver' easily, y' jus' don't want to. Now try, real hard, mon ami, and tell me, where dey gettin' de shipment at?"

"The--the--the warehouse out on Pitchford's property," McKeegan stammered, unwilling to be subjected to the Tongan Death Grip again. Slowly, after Remy leaned back, the man stumbled up to his feet, straightened his shirt, and made a break for it.

Remy calmly snapped his arm out and snatched the back of McKeegan's shirt. "Not done yet, McKeegan," he said, pulling him back. "Where y' t'ink you're goin'?"

"Home?" the man squeaked. Remy found it hard to believe that the man had just squeaked. With a grunt of disgust, he shoved the man forward, letting him go free.

McKeegan half-hopped, half-fell forward, where he straightened, dusted himself off, walked out into the regular area of the street, and his spine became rigid. Gambit looked at him, opened his mouth to say some smart remark, and then closed it, suddenly suspicious.

The contact fell backwards, rigid, as straight as the arrow protruding from his chest.

Remy looked him over in one glance, and with his vast knowledge of medical science and past cases of people shot in the chest with thick arrows like that one, pronounced him dead. Not wanting to join him, Remy was up and moving in the opposite direction.

A chain-link fence hemmed the alley in, but Remy saw it merely as a momentary nuisance. With agility comparable to that of a cat, he sprang up onto a crate, jumped off towards the wall, rebounded off that easily,, and made his way up the corner before dipping over the top of the bar, his coat skimming on the tip of it.

A ripping sound caught his ear, and he righted himself in the air and landed in a crouch. A slight gash in the corner of his coat caught his eye. I can' be dat out of practice, he thought to himself.

Then the moonlight reflected off the shaft of an arrow jammed into the wall, the arrowhead stuck in the cracked brick of the building. Remy wrapped his fingers around the neck of the arrow, placed his foot against the wall, gritted his teeth, and yanked as hard as he could. After a few pulls, the arrow came out, a few bits of brick and mortar tumbling out with it.

He turned it over in his hands and ran a finger along the shaft. It looked to be some polymer of a metal, one strong and lightweight, and did not bend in the least. Remy slipped it into one of the interior pockets of his coat, and then ducked involuntarily.

*thwipp*

Another arrow whizzed over his head and kept on going down the alley, probably out the other end as well. Remy took the gap between it and the probable next shot and made his exit, his mind racing with the information he had gathered from the meeting and the man's death.

On to Chapter 6