I know its been awhile. I know, but--well, I sort of couldn't write before now, nothing was happening--and anyway, Mexico isn't exactly known for its great postal service. I don't know how much you got out of Scott--and don't tell me you didn't interrogate him either, I won't believe you--but I was pretty sketchy on the details to him too. And frankly, I think he's from that school that says it is better not to know.
Am I confusing you? Okay, lemme start at the beginning. Mexico was a huge bust, so I drove back to the border with a case of tequila from a really sweet kid in Mexico City--he kept saying how he needed the money so badly and so I bought it. And some hats and other stuff, because once I bought from one cute kid, all the cute kids locked on to me with money-radar--so expect a package in the mail soon, I can't do anything with hemp rope--well, I could, maybe I'll have you send that back to me if Logan proves intractable--or pottery--thought its really pretty, give that to Jean--well, you get the idea. You'll see.
Anyway, I drove into Brownsville and stayed there a night and did some poking around the area--I mean, a man can't disappear without a trace, right, and I know he really doesn't care to fly much, so vehicle all the way. I checked the motels and the bars and even a few strip clubs (dear God, don't tell anyone that, please), but nothing doing. So I'm sitting in this border city contemplating my own two feet, because I'm thoroughly lost as to what to do now--and I get a really bright idea. I mean, at the time, it sounded pretty damned good, anyway.
I went looking for the underground fighting.
Now you're looking at me and thinking--I know what you're thinking, Jubes. I know. But it wasn't like that--yeah, I wanted to see one, but this was *business* you understand. Just business.
Logan left me some memories--I found the right contacts--and if you ever, ever tell Scott I'll use your head as a mop, babe--and found out there was a huge fight up in Harlingen that week. And think about it--the purse was huge, even Xavier would have been shocked by just how much--and I kept thinking that if Logan heard about it, he'd be there. Hey, it's a shot!
Anyway, to get in, I had to be someone else, so Erin Costevas was born right there. Gotta thank Xavier for the extra IDs. I left the car in a Brownsville garage--the address is on the business card enclosed--and hopped a ride with the crew taking the trip. Before you start choking--trust me, these people were spectators at best. I could have taken them all without breaking a sweat. So I told them I wanted to participate and showed off a little on the ratty kid who seemed to be under the impression girls can't fight--that was fun. No, I didn't hurt him--remember, I'm Out To Save The World when this little quest is done, so I'm not going to go injuring those I'm supposed to protect or anything--but he was suitably impressed with my prowess and so none of them even considered trying anything.
Lemme give you the run-down of my erstwhile companions here.
Jack was the only one I really talked to--the ratty kid that I was showing off for. He's maybe eighteen at best, really kind of nice if you get past the macho crap he kept trying to pull. Reminds me of Logan without the charm--don't laugh, either, doing a comparison, Logan comes out way ahead. This kid does it for show, though, which may make the difference. His brother--well, there are words for what that sicko is. I'm thinking he was dealer, but I never found anything in the car--well, anyway. And there was a really faded girl with them, the brother's girlfriend if you want a euphemism that works. She didn't say much, and well--
Later on her. She figures in prominently later.
Anyway, we get to Harlingen and of course, I end up in the crappiest possible place in the city--you'd think with the all the funds Xavier gave me, I'd stay somewhere I didn't have to worry about being killed or being eaten by lice or fleas, but hey--I'm looking for Logan, not a Rockefeller here. So I get a room--alone, Jubes, I don't trust those three any farther than I can throw them--and do a little scouting of the area and find a place to store my stuff. I sure as hell wasn't leaving anything in that room, and see, I can have good sense, because when I got back, my room had been searched by a very-much-less-than-expert. I did leave some money under the mattress just to see if anything would happen, and it did, and when Jack's brother showed up with new boots--well, ya know, that's how it goes. Considering how little I had to spend on bribes to random apartment managers, I'm still ahead.
Since I was in the area, I decided to check out some of the nightlife, thinking that if Logan had been here recently, someone here would know about it. Well, yeah, he was, about a year ago--which is pretty useless to me, that would date before Des Moines--but something else happened which is really beginning to bother me.
These contacts of Xavier's keep disappearing. And they tend to disappear a few weeks after Logan does. Shit, Jubes, don't look like that--I don't think he had anything to do with it himself--I'm thinking someone beside me is following Our Hero. Yeah--and so I took some chances and asked a few less than discreet questions and found out that someone else has been asking questions about Logan--and they've been asking in such a way that the people they talk to aren't terribly interested in telling anyone else. And they aren't trying to locate Logan himself--they're looking for a girl, Jubes.
And you know what? I'm thinking about that girl in Chicago, the one that disappeared with Specter. So tell the Professor, kay? I'm in a hurry so I can't get this to him privately.
Anyway--I didn't find out much other than he'd been here and that one of Xavier's contacts had packed up and vanished into thin air--this time with his possessions, so there's nothing much here to search. Before that, he wasn't very visible anyway, but that's the last anyone saw of him.
Well, I got back to the motel where Jack and compadres were getting ready and they had tickets. They had a big guy with them too--apparently, the dude that organizes these here little shindigs, and they were kind enough to tell him that I wanted to participate.
So I was screwed. I mean, what the hell was I supposed to do? I needed to get in and--well, okay, I baked my own goose with this bright idea, so I went with him and hoped to God I found a payphone so I could get one of Xavier's friends to rescue me.
But once I got there--
Wow. They are financed by someone with money, I'll tell you that.
God, Jubes. It's unbelievable. I mean--totally beyond words unbelievable. It's on the outskirts of the city, almost rural, completely underground literally. Like a thousand steps to get down there and you've got to know where it is to even find it. And the second I got in there--they had a place for the fighters to warm up--I knew I could kick all their asses, I just knew it. No one there had half my training or my strength, and the women--well, hon, that little faded chick of Jack's brother could have taken them on. And you know--they were intimidated by me--me, Marie. I strutted and tried to look like Logan does when he's having a bad day and I guess I carried it off pretty well.
The ring is huge--fifty by forty, about ten feet deep, and enough spectator room to house at least thirty thousand people. I walked it over and checked out the lay of the land--just for information, 'kay, don't get your panties all in a twist. There's VIP seating--leather and Ikea again, what a shock, but this is a definite step up from the Pitt, I can tell you that right now. The price per night was minimum two hundred--and now I'm sure Jack's brother is dealer, he can't have that kind of money--and those good seats--I'm guessing they run in the thousands at least--before the manager started getting all weirded out by my little tour I saw some damned fine crystal in the VIP booths.
One odd thing, though--it's really clean here. You wouldn't expect that, would you? The ring is lined with wood and the floor is pavement--real smooth when I tested it--and its cleaner than that suburban house I stayed in. Like, scrubbed, and the whole place is whitewashed, making it damned bright.
So the manager showed me to the warm-up room so I could be tested for prelims and while I was working out, I considered what a *bad* idea this was, then kind of considered my options.
Logan would kill me.
Scott would kill me.
And I don't care.
No--no, I'm not going to do it--but you know what, I kind of want to. Yeah, it's sick and yeah, it's just not something I should consider doing--but Jubes--maybe it's Logan or Eric in me or something, but when I look at that ring, I get this quiver all through me. I'd fight fair, keep my gloves on--you gotta have gloves anyway, not the boxing type, and they seemed pleased to see I had my own. But--I want to try.
Yeah, I'm an idiot. So shoot me.
Anyway, they ran me through some paces and gave me a card and let me go--my first fight is tomorrow night, against the really unlikely name of Narcissus (you heard me), a tiny blonde who can't possibly be seriously considering doing this. I'll be gone by then anyway--free win for her!--because here's the best part, Jubes, it just rocks. I almost kissed the guy.
Logan is in Rio. As in Brazil, baby.
I was talking to this skinny guy while I watched some of the testing--he looks like he could be blown over by a good wind, but damn, is he strong. He saw the tags I was wearing and asked if I was in the army. So I gave him the spiel about looking for a friend and he looked at the tags--seems Logan has been using Wolverine again, and in the ring. Apparently, he didn't go into Mexico at all--he was in Albuquerque for most of January at least, and said Logan didn't say anything about a trip south. Seems like Logan found out something about his past--the guy didn't know what, he only saw him for a few days and they hung out at a bar. Relatively upscale from where Our Hero usually hangs, if the description is at all accurate. Anyway, he and the bike--he's back on Scott's bike again, how the hell he gets that thing to still run is beyond me--headed to the airport--and you know Logan hates to fly, so it has to be good.
Well, it was pretty cool--I'm at the motel now, getting ready to depart my dear companions, and the washed out girlfriend--did I tell you here name? it's Brenda--comes in and sits down. So I'm trying to figure out how to get rid of her without looking like I'm getting rid of her--and she asks me to get her out of here.
Yeah. Right straight, no pussyfooting.
Seems Jack's brother is even sleazier than my first instincts said, and has her pretty much trapped. She can't go home because her parents threw her out--I know, I know, I have a weakness for that and just about hugged her then--and she has no place to run even if she could get away. No money, no friends--she's so alone in the world. I've been there, Jubes. And you know, maybe its some kind of debt I owe--Logan saved me from this. And I keep thinking that maybe Xavier can find her someplace to go and anyway--
So I'm sending her to you, okay? She's messed up--I think it's heroin, the way she was twitching around the room--seems Jack's bro is a dealer after all--but she's desperate, and I figure you can do something for her, okay? Get her in detox or something. I'm calling Scott to tell him to pick her up at JFK tomorrow night--I'd bring her home myself, but I'm so close, Jubilee--I can feel him, if that doesn't sound too weird. I know I'm close.
I'll overnight this when I leave, okay? She's in her room--Jack's brother is off, doubtless selling his crap to some idiot on the street--and packing up. We gotta hurry--I don't want any trouble, not now.
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