Chapter 16: Ride ‘em Cowgirl
Tessa was abso-freakin’-lutely amazing. What was that about the quiet ones? They were bound to be spitfires in bed? Well, Tessa wasn’t a spitfire: she was better, like a Harrier jet. Up and down, left to right, she did it all. At least, she did all the stuff Bobby saw in his extensive stash of porn.
For some reason, despite his pleasure, he couldn’t help but feel a little used. As always, Tessa seemed lacking in the emotion department, but the hugest blow to his manliness was, well, right now. They’d just finished and Bobby lounged in the “I need a cigarette” zone when she sprung out of bed and slapped on her clothes.
No pillow talk. No after sex jitters. No overwhelming disgust. Just boom, boom, boom, clothes go on. She resembled a decathlete striding off to her next event.
“Ummm, do I get any feedback?”
Tessa shot a glance at him as she tied her shoes. “Like what, Robert?”
“I dunno. Nice ass? Sloppy moves? Awesome packaging? Fast shipping? A++?”
She actually looked contemplative for a moment. “Good package. Average technique. May do business again. 3 out of 5.”
3 out of 5? “Are you calling the Drake Express a crappy ride?”
“No. Considering my expertise on sexual intercourse, a score such as yours is admirable.”
Geez, way to stick your neck out there, Bobby. After sleeping with her, rake up memories of her spy days in the Hellfire Club and see what happens. Bad enough he came off looking like an insecure, clingy castaway, but now he also trended into forbidden waters.
Spinning to save the moment, Bobby blurted, “What’s the rush, Tessa?”
“Robert, the time is 8:37 PM. The night is still young.”
“What’s wrong with watching the night grow old and wrinkled in bed?”
Nothing turns a girl on like sweet talk about geriatrics, right Bobby?
For his sake, Tessa let him down slow. “Please, I still need to sleep in my room later. Go and watch Cinemax in the commons.”
Bobby’s sensible option would be to bow his head, put on his clothes, and spend the rest of the night beating himself over his mistakes. When it came to Bobby, he never trusted sensible. The man flew by the seat of his pants, most of the time straight into trouble, but on occasion...
“Was I a pity fuck?”
On occasion he flew over the cuckoo’s nest.
Anyone else would’ve mashed him into a bloody pulp, but Tessa wasn’t anyone else. Her steady demeanor and analytical mind made her virtually impregnable to emotional tantrums, and right now, for Bobby, that was a good thing.
“We needed this,” she evenly replied. “Your fear of your secondary mutation has made you unstable. You required someone to show you that the ones you hold dear will not think less of you. Me, I expelled my stress through sex. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“So I was a pity fuck...”
“What do you want, Robert? Would you like me to shout my undying devotion to you from the roof of the mansion? Would you like to be bound in an exclusive relationship with another X-Man? Would you like to dine on the Orne river of France and feed each other the cuisine de terroir?”
He had no idea what cuisine de terroir was, but it sounded good. “Well, yes, yes, and YES?”
“No, the correct response is none of the above. Exclusive relationships on the team are complicated, and more often than not, end miserably. Have you witnessed Scott and Jean’s marriage? How about Warren and Betsy’s fling? Remember when Rogue left Gambit to die in Antarctica? I will not be embroiled in that kind of drama. My devotion to you is the same as it always was: a friend and a teammate. For the time being, I find you a comfortable distraction, devoid of demands, expectations, and judgments. My reluctance along with your maturity level dictate that this will be the best arrangement for us.”
Bobby was just about to argue more when a green flash of light pulsed through Tessa’s window. As this was the X-Mansion, green flashes of light on the property only meant trouble, so Tessa threw on her trench coat and Bobby iced up. They raced down the stairs in time to see Scott throwing open the front door and shouting, “Who are you?!”
The man wore a dark ski mask and a coat similar to Tessa’s--similar enough, she noted, to be similarly armed to the teeth. A... contraption was behind him, something which looked like a huge, four-legged beetle. He had a sports bag draped over his shoulder and his other hand lay at his side.
“My name is Fantomex,” he said to the three X-Men, “and I need asylum.”
“From who?” asked Scott, cautious and skeptical.
“From the Weapon Plus program. I’m prepared to offer information and money.”
Scott was about to tell him to take his money elsewhere when the Professor called out from the background, “Let him in, Scott.”
Trusty, old Professor Charles Xavier, always the good mutant Samaritan.
Sage smiled.
*****************
Whoever killed Aubin did a masterful job. Cleaved the poor, tubby man clean in half--no ripped skin, no jagged bone, no asymmetry, not even on his massive gut. Done like a pro, no one heard anything amiss and no one saw anything out of the ordinary. Most importantly, no one saw a killer. Busy street out there, and pretty amazing no one saw a damned thing. All anyone knew was Aubin walked into the alley and never walked out.
People thought the devil did him in.
“Might not be far from de truth,” Remy mumbled to himself.
Again he looked through the desolate, dead-end alley. La Boulangerie bakery to one side, the Pawtuck Saloon on the other. Both extended about eight stories up, the floors dotted by apartments, offices, and businesses. Nothing to really go on, not even a footprint, but in a world of mutants, the lack of leads didn’t surprise anyone. Every Guild member had been instructed to not let each other out of sight, but somehow, Aubin came in here by himself.
Which meant someone he knew was here or someone he knew set him up.
Remy frowned. The days of Thief versus Assassin were past them, but blood feuds died hard. Could be a grudge from days back rearing its ugly head. Aubin was a fence and not exactly the most well-liked guy, but for someone in the Guild to outright kill him?
The scenario didn’t make sense. Why would a vengeful killer indiscriminately kill Assassin and Thief while calling out the absentee leader of the Guild? No, this person had beef with the Guild itself...
Or Remy himself.
A killer this good wouldn’t go to such lengths to lure Remy here, back to his home turf where he had an advantage with local knowledge and numbers. No, this chase smelled more and more like a game. Whoever this was wanted a set of specific conditions, but puzzling out the madman’s reasons proved elusive.
Why kill once a night when you could do it any time?
Why random Guild members?
Why even give the Guild a warning?
Why not kill just Bella Donna if he wanted to send a message?
And why a freakin’ sword? Make no mistake about it, Aubin got cut in two by a long sword--needed something lengthy enough to get past all his blubber. Nothing made sense--Remy was at his wit’s end and needed to leave.
Aubin stank.
Another twenty three hours before the killer struck again. No clues, no motive, no way to stop him. Rogue’s offer for help looked mighty tempting, but he couldn’t bring her into this, not when she could die.
Remy LeBeau wasn’t that kind of man.
********************
- To be continued...
Deviant Hearts Archive | Back to main index