A Year and A Day
Des Moines
by
Jenn



Des Moines, February 20

Dear Jubilee,

Baby, you won't believe it.

I'll bet you're just panting for the good stuff, so I'll try to get it all in. My flight is leaving in less than two hours, so I don't have much time. Read the relevant parts to Scott and the others--I think you can guess what I'd prefer didn't become public knowledge, 'kay?

Here is what I learned.

One--bar fights are sort of fun, if you're winning.

Two--Logan has lousy taste in women. Usually. Don't tell Jean that, though.

The plane flight was--well, pretty good, though kind of boring--what do you know, I forgot to bring a book . Road coach, I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Had muffins. They were pretty bad.

I went to the motel Logan stayed at first. It was pretty--well, I think you can guess. The manager looked *really* uncomfortable when he saw me--I suppose he's used to a less--em, savory kind of clientele. But I showed him money, got the key, and went in.

Yeah, he'd been here. Bad patching on the wall that had the shape of his claws, and it had that indefinable sense of slumming that Logan is so known for. The bed was clean, though, which I'd guess is a necessity, and for a wonder, it held my weight when I sat on it.

Anyway, Xavier was right about a few things--money talks. I kept it below twenty to get info from some of the prostitutes outside--one of which was a tall redhead with the improbable name of Ginger. You heard me right. Not pretty, but close enough. And she talked quick. Though at first, I think she thought I was trying to proposition her or something, because she kept trying to jack up the price. Didn't believe me when I said I just wanted information. Anyway, she remembered a lot--and a lot I'm not going to tell you, because frankly, I'm trying to forget some of it myself.

In case you're curious, she's the reason for the damaged wall. Let your imagination go, Jubilee, it can't get far off from the truth. Her friends joined in with a few more stories--please let some of them be exaggeration or Logan isn't getting in my bed until he gets a fleabath and a doctor's word that he doesn't carry anything that I'll regret picking up, instant healing factor or not. God. No one can be that active.

Okay, never mind that--I should know better. But *damn*.

Anyway, he was here for about three weeks. Didn't do much, apparently, but eat, sleep, and make *a lot* of money in something called "The Pit". From what I understand, two men get in a big dirt hole and try their best to kill each other--or do some serious injury. Cage fighting without the cage part, and throw in some audience participation. There you have it. He's also made some contacts for Xavier I checked on--but that's later in the story.

Anyway, I got Ginger to take me to the Pitt to see what it was like--hey, if he wanted to keep it a secret, he shouldn't have told her. She didn't like it--of all things she was worried and kept saying that I'd get hurt. I told her I could take care of myself and shut her up with another ten. She said she'd take me off-hours--apparently, the actual fights aren't announced until a few hours before they happen to cut down on that annoying police problem.

Now--here's an image for you. Big, round bowl, roughly ten feet deep and thirty feet across with an thirteen foot width. It's well cared-for, so I'm guessing that this isn't just the sport of the poor and needy--there was a very expensive looking spectator's box sitting near the center and when I peeked through--well, leather seats and Ikea furniture doesn't grow in the pavement. I checked through the papers scattered around and I think I recognize a few names--not Logan or Wolverine, but a few others that I'm enclosing for the Professor to look over.

Ginger was like a cat on a hot plate the whole time. I have no idea who the owner is, and from her rather unlikely descriptions, he isn't someone I'd want to have a beer with or anything. I'm pretty sure he's a mutant, though, so you might want to pass that on as well. The address is at the bottom of the letter--though I doubt that this one will be around much longer. If a hooker can find it so easy, it's been around too long and they'll be moving. From the look of the place, it hasn't been used in a few weeks, so I suspect that the last fight was already done and over with. Damn.

I keep thinking I'd like to see one fight. Don't look at me like that either--I didn't say I wanted to participate. Just watch.

Anyway, Ginger got her ass in gear and away as soon as I'd paid her and I got back to the motel in one piece. The manager was perfectly willing to answer some questions too, and that's where I found out where Logan was going next, and why I'm on this next flight.

But let me tell you the good part. Your eyes only, baby. I mean that.

I went to a bar.

Now you look at the letter and wonder on the exact merits of me acting like this is something special. Yeah, I know, we've been to bars. But not like this--it isn't well-lighted, they aren't big into music, and the women--well, let's put it this way, I renewed my acquaintance with the lovely Ginger, who invited me to her table. Which is how I was shooting whiskey with a few hookers and Ginger's pimp, who told me I had real potential.

That is something I needed to know. Really.

But it gets better. Verbatim--

"So what's a pretty girl like you want with that sleazeball?" He's the definition of oily--hair, skin, even his clothes. And the only thing that stopped me from putting a fist through his very ample gut was the fact he actually seemed to know who Logan was. I bought the next round and got ready to interrogate him.

"He owes me money. Laughlin City." I tried to look--well, dangerous. But ya know? I'm not--there's no two ways about it. I look young and naive and really, really vulnerable, which was probably his first mistake. He sidled up close and slinky and said that he could make me more money that Logan is even worth--apparently, he hasn't seen what Logan makes a night then--and starts running a hand up my thigh.

I *really* didn't like that. And it was reflex, Jubilee, I swear. I was only going to knock him away--but you remember when Xavier imported that really hot little oriental number to teach us jujitsu? Yeah, you remember, you're blushing and I know he spent at least one night in our room when I was otherwise occupied. Well, I reacted before I thought--I guess I am a superhero now--and he ended up against the wall--kind of across the table, which meant I lost my whiskey--and didn't look at all interested in getting back up.

Well, Ginger starts screaming like someone was trying to shove a broom up her ass straw end first and the other chicks just went into hysterics--as I understand it, he takes their money in exchange for protection on the streets, though God knows he couldn't protect a dog from a tree if the tree got aggressive. Two *really* big guys wandered over--you remember something Logan said? Probably not, but I do. That there are people out there who actually live to get in some kind of trouble, with a big KILL ME sign on their foreheads. I never believed him--but here they were, two guys coming right over, with that indefinable yet recognizable look of anticipation. They see me standing there like an idiot--I hadn't gotten so far in my thought processes as to start running, like anyone with sense--and they practically break out in a song and a dance. I don't need to be a telepath to know that they are thinking of some free sex that night.

Not to mention the fun of kicking the ass of the chick who kicked the ass of the pimp, who I gather is either a friend or brother of said louts. Go figure.

So they come at me, one on either side, and the weird part is, when I started thinking, I really started to like the idea. They had the height, weight, and reach--I had skin and training and some memories of Logan's that did wonders. The first guy was lucky to get away with a broken foot and a mighty fine concussion that knocked him out cold. The second I threw up against the far wall with what I'm pretty sure was a crushed wrist and that's when I realized that maybe the better part of valor was to run for it, because the whole damned bar was watching at that point. So I dropped some money on the table to pay for the liquor and got my ass out of there.

So if you see any stories in the news about psycho girl in rampage in bar, that's me. Cut out the article too--I wanna keep that one.

Well, it gets better--I got back to the room and didn't even bother going in. The door was open slightly--I left a few things in there, but nothing I couldn't live without, and my backpack was in storage at the airport. Whoever was in there was a bad burglar or an incompetent ambusher, and if the manager hadn't told me where Logan had gone, I think I might have gone in just for the hell of it, but I had a plane to catch and the last thing I needed was for some bright soul to call the cops and get arrested now.

Oh well.

So I went to a payphone, called a cab, and left. And came here, and now I have an hour before flight time and a headache from the whiskey.

Last thing--something the professor wanted me to watch out for.

One of the guys Logan set him up with has disappeared, and I can't get much more than that. Believe me, before the entire bar incident, I tried. But nothing--I checked the apartment he was supposed to be living in and the manager told me he disappeared with some kid a few weeks ago. Left everything, including money, which makes me kind of suspicious. For a fee, she let me go through his stuff. I didn't have much time, but really, there wasn't much there--he lived by the Spartan code of minimalism, let me tell you. I have the address here too--give it to the Professor, I don't have time to write a second letter. The manager will hold everything--I tried to imply that this was Mafia or something, and I'm not sure she really believed me, but--well, it seemed safer than to tell her that a Great Mutant Leader wanted to check out the place. Hey, what would you do?

I'm off to Chicago. Miss you, give my love to Scott and Jean and Ororo and the Professor. And Bobby. 'Kay?

Marie Summers



CHAPTERS:   Prologue   Des Moines   Chicago   Jackson   Harlingen   Interlude   Austin/Los Angeles   Seattle   Vancouver   Calgary/Regina/Winnipeg   Niagara Falls   Epilogue




All references to characters belonging to the X-Men Universe are (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities. All rights reserved. Any reproduction, duplication or distribution of these materials in any form is expressly prohibited. No money is being made from this archive. All images are also (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities; they are not mine. This website, its operators and any content used on this site relating to the X-Men are not authorized by Marvel, Fox, etc. I am not, nor do I claim to be affiliated with any of these entities in any way.