Subject: [OTL]: Kai & Logan: Drug of Choice
Date: Tue, 15 Jun 1999 01:22:59 EDT
From: Jazzwulf@aol.com
Reply-To: outsidethelines@Mailing-List.net
To: outsidethelines@mailing-list.net

Logan's Marvel's.  No money.  Don't sue.

The rest (in this part, at least) are mine.  Use without
permission and I'll introduce melted plastic to your nasal
cavities drip, by drip, by drip...

Semi-sorta a follow-up to "Some Can't Be Won."  Remember
the asshole boyfriend in that story?  He's back.  This is either
part one of two or, more likely, a story that will be followed
shortly by a direct sequel to it.  Yes, it's sorta cliffhanger-ish...
but I have reasons for that.  None that'll mean anything to you
guys, but they means things to me. ;-)  I've had this one
hanging around forever, but since the muse isn't cooperating in
letting me work on other things I figured I'd go ahead and toss
it out as a sacrifice to whatever deity watches over Inspiration.
Maybe he/she/it will take pity on me. ;)

Comments (if you'd be so kind ;) to KayleeSama@aol.com.

Enjoy!

Kai & Logan: Drug of Choice
By Kaylee

"She ain't paid rent this month.  I don't got no patience for
whores with no money.  If she don't come up with the cash in
a week, she's out."

Logan shifted the phone against his ear as he snapped a match
to life, touching the flame to the tip of his cigar.  "Why you
tellin' me this, Bob?  If you got a problem with a tenant,
shouldn't ya take it up with her?"

"You're the fuckin' Samaritan over there, pal.  I figured I'd
give you a chance to set the hooker straight 'fore I toss her on
her ass."

"You're all heart, Bob."

"I'm all 'the bottom line,' Logan.  That old coot in 3B pays on
time every month.  The nightowl in 1B pays his rent on time.
You an' your lady pay your rent on time.  Most of the time.
But since that other whore moved out, JoJo's been a landlord's
nightmare.  I ain't got the money to let her float."

"Yeah."  Bob's manner was grating, but Logan couldn't argue
much with his point.  Bob wasn't much better off financially
than the average tenant unfortunate enough to live here.
Rudeness aside, he _had_ let Jo slide three weeks on her rent.
>From him, that was tremendous generosity.  "You asking the
same for her place that we pay ya for this one?"

"That's right."

"And she ain't paid any of it?"

"Nope."

Logan took a puff from his cigar.  Blew smoke out and
watched it curl.  "You'll get your money tomorrow, Bob."

"She prob'ly don't _got_ the money, an' I--"

"I'll pay it if she can't."  The smoke was spreading, thinning.
"Talk to ya tomorrow, Bob."

"Wait just a--"

With a frown, Logan hung up the phone and leaned against the
counter.  He'd promised Candy he'd look after her old
roommate.  Evidently he hadn't been doing a good enough job.
But despite all her faults, Jo'd kept up with finances halfway
decently in the past... so what had changed now?  Had she
really depended so much on Candy to keep her going?

He stubbed out the cigar in the little glass ashtray on the
breakfast bar, still frowning.  Whatever was going on with her,
he had to try to help.  Not just because of his promise to
Candy.  He'd made JoJo one of _his_ people, and that created
a loyalty... no, an _obligation_... deeper than simple
neighborly duty.

The door creaked, the stairs squeaked, and the floorboards
weren't much quieter.  All things they'd picked this particular
building for, actually; built-in early warning systems.  As keen
as his ears were -- not to mention Kai's -- someone tiptoeing
around out here might as well have been driving a semi.  Even
though it was against code, the building didn't have fire
escapes; anyone trying to get in from the outside would have
to scale crumbling brick and pry open a stubborn window to
get in, which would give either of them plenty of time to ready
the friendly welcome bat, claws, knife, or fists, as the case
might be.

If Jo heard his approach, though, it didn't make much
difference.  She didn't answer when he knocked lightly on the
door of 2B.  He knew she was in there -- scent placed her, as
well as the faint sounds of slight movement beyond the door.
But still no answer.

"Jo?"

What sounded like a smothered giggle, then nothing.

"Open up, Jo.  It's Logan."

Another giggle, quickly quieted.  She was holding her breath
and trying to pretend not to be there.

That wasn't like Jo.  She wasn't this... playful.

"Jo, I know you're in there, darlin'."  More laughter.  "Look,
I'm just gonna come on in..."  He tried the door.  Found it
unlocked.  ~Careless, Jo.~  "Hope you're decent..."

The door opened.  Another, fainter scent hit his nose, layering
her own taste on the air.  He frowned, looking around, sniffing
lightly.

His eyes focused on her in the darkened room, then narrowed.
Her gaze was turned to him, dancing, childlike.  She sprawled
against the wall, breathing in slow, heavy gasps, chuckling on
each inhalation and sounding wheezy on each exhalation.

The soft rubber strap tied around her upper arm told the story.
The syringe lying on the ground beside her added to it.  As if
the scent alone wouldn't have been enough.

"Life wasn't shitty enough, was it," he muttered to her,
fighting back anger.  Didn't recognize the scent of the drug,
though it seemed somehow vaguely familiar.  A cocktail,
maybe?  Home-brewed high?  "Where'd you get it, Jo?"

She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them
tightly, hugging herself and pressing eyes that leaked tears
into her kneecaps, her dark, lank hair cascading over her like a
broken waterfall.  More smothered laughter.  The distortion
made it sound like sobbing.

He didn't really have to ask where she'd gotten it.  There was
another scent here... one that was more than vaguely familiar.
He'd marked it in his mind a while ago, taking special interest
in seeing that he didn't forget it.  An excuse... he'd only needed
an excuse...

Kai's Jeep pulled up outside, rumbling noisily.  He walked to
JoJo.  Offered her an arm.  She clung to it tightly and let him
pull her up, then pressed very close to him, clogging his nose
with the stench of the drug.  Her breath was warm and heavy
against his ear.  "... fun... we could have... look after me...
Candy said..."  A hand with rosily painted fingernails slid
brazenly down his chest, heading boldly southward.  He
caught it more tightly than necessary and pushed it away.

"Shit," he growled when she sagged against him, giggling
once more.  Her heart was beating entirely too fast.  "You're
really fucked up, aren'tcha?"

"Logan?"  From the open door.  Kai, groceries in arm.
"What's up?"

His arm slid around Jo's waist to help support her.  "She's
wasted.  Take a whiff.  That bastard boyfriend o' hers got her
the shit."

Kai swore and set the bag down before coming in to take Jo's
other arm.  "What is it?  I don't know that scent..."

"Dunno.  New to me, too."

"Her heart's going awful-- Jo?"  She reached up to cup the
hooker's chin in hand.  JoJo's head swung loosely from her
neck.  Her eyes had closed and her breathing slowed and
thickened.  "Passed out."

The flavor of JoJo's abusive boyfriend's stench was all but
burning in Logan's brain.  "Can you handle this?"

"Yeah."  Kai turned worried auburn eyes on him.  "I'm gonna
get her to the hospital.  I don't like this."

"You do that."  He freed himself from the limp woman and
stepped away, grabbing a dishtowel from the breakfast bar and
using it to pick up the syringe.  "Take this so they can type
whatever she was usin'."

"Got it.  Are you...?"

"Yeah."  Eyes hard, he handed over the syringe.  "I'll meet ya
back here later."

"Be careful," she cautioned, already stooping to pick JoJo up
and carry her to the Jeep.

"I'm not the one who needs to be worryin' right about now."

"I meant," she said distinctly, "be careful about the _law._"

Logan brushed past her, scent locked firmly in his brain, hands
already digging in his pocket for keys.  "If they don't want us
to break the laws, they shouldn't make laws that protect scum
like him."

If she had an argument, he didn't wait around to hear it.

***

Frank Bascetti didn't know it, but he'd been marked for
months, now.  Shortly after his first encounter with two self-
styled protectors of a certain rundown neighborhood, he'd
been followed to his small house towards the north of the
Lower East Side.  His address had been noted.  His security
measures had been explored.  His garbage had been snatched
and sifted through.

That was weeks before Bascetti had been approached by a
stranger who offered him a great wad of cash to help get some
'merchandise' moved.  What had been a simple, fortuitous
transaction had resolved itself into a lucrative business.
'Desire,' the stranger called the stuff.  Carnal Desire.  It created
a special euphoric state that worked amazingly well at creating
and satisfying its namesake.  Desire had been a real hot seller
over the holidays.  Discounted rates ensured ensnaring enough
customers to have a satisfactory financial base, and Desire
guaranteed repeat business.

And then Bascetti decided to up his profits by cutting and
mixing the stuff.  The more he made, the more there was to
sell, right?  It made perfect sense.  His supplier figured it out
rather quickly, but didn't seem to mind much at all.  The
faceless man -- always hiding beneath the shadow of that
ridiculous floppy hat -- had only laughed and warned him not
to cut _his_ share of the profit short.

It was Bascetti's queer version of generosity to supply his
girlfriend with the stuff for free.  She took it, she grew rowdy.
Randy.  Insatiable.  Just the way he liked her.  He didn't even
have to waste the good stuff on the hooker -- she responded as
readily to his diluted mixture.

So Frank Bascetti was a very contented man when he pulled
into his drive after a visit to his girl and a brief stop at a bar to
set his mind to singing.  He wouldn't touch the _drugs,_ of
course.  No one could call _him_ stupid.

His happy state of mind lasted until he'd made it inside and
closed the door, reaching for the light switch absently.

And finding instead a hard hand closing over his wrist,
twisting sharply, and a strong arm muscling him into a painful
throw that knocked the wind from him as he hit the floor.

Bascetti turned, blinking desperately against the darkness,
trying to gather breath for a yell for help.

A fist took his face and filled his mouth with blood before he'd
so much as uttered a squeak.  Fingers tangled in the beer-
soiled neckline of his shirt, raising his head off the floor.  In
the dimness he could just make out the glint of dark eyes in a
lined, angry face.

"Remember me?" the visitor asked softly in a gravelly voice.
"Remember me, ya little fuck?"

Bascetti didn't remember.  But he was about to be reminded.

***

Logan closed the door behind him, rubbing sore knuckles and
trying to convince himself that there was no reason for this...
dirty... feeling.  The sonuvabitch had asked for this... had it
coming.  Beat on a helpless woman.  Shot her full of mind-
altering shit.  As bad in Logan's mind as any of the would-be
world conquerors he'd faced over too many long years full of
seeing the worst in humanity.

But it'd been too close in there.  He'd meant to rough the guy
up a bit and make him see the error of his ways.  Maybe drag
him down to police headquarters afterwards to turn himself in
like a nice, tame little stooge.  Losing control... administering
_that_ beating... hadn't been in the plan, and it certainly didn't
hold with Kai's admonition to keep the law in mind.  Sure,
Bascetti _deserved_ everything he got.  Logan shouldn't have
had to descend to his level to give it, though.  He was
supposed to be better than that now.  He was supposed to be a
_hero,_ who used the _law_ whenever possible and only went
outside of it when it couldn't handle the extremity of a
situation.

Or when something was very personal.  Which he supposed he
could rationalize this as being if he tried hard enough.

He'd figured the beating and the warning would be enough to
keep the man away from Jo, meaning that he could avoid
hauling Bascetti down to the police station and having to
answer too many uncomfortable questions that might end up
with _him_ being scrutinized.  Especially if Bascetti started to
babble about what had happened when he'd knifed Logan
between the ribs -- that would be a fun one to explain to the
boys in blue.  Mutants were bad enough in their eyes.
Vigilantes equally so.  A mutant vigilante... most definitely
not welcome.  He'd be booked and facing charges in no time,
doubtless, regardless of whatever justice he was serving.

So the beating.  The words: "Be outta town tonight.  If I see
you here again, you'll wish I hadn't."

But now he was left with a deep exhaustion and the awareness
that once again he'd tread far too close to the abyss when
dispensing his brand of morality.  He felt sick.  Tired.
Numbly angry and frustrated.

Damn this city, and damn the rats it bred.  It made him want
nothing more than the crisp, clean air of a Canadian
wilderness... the breeze on his face and the howling in his
chest, freeing him from all the cages that trapped a soul here...

His bike roared, loud enough to distract him a bit.  He revved
the engine and pulled onto the street, squinting in the wind and
trying to lose himself in pure sensation to avoid noticing the
heavy feeling sitting just below his heart.  Ends and means.  A
dirty job someone had to do.  Fighting fire with fire.

All the platitudes made sense... and fell flat.  It was wrong,
what he'd done, but it was less of a wrong than what Bascetti
did.  That was the only saving grace he could find.

It wasn't a long drive to the apartment.  Not long enough to
wipe the stench of blood and adrenaline-drenched sweat from
him.  He parked the bike beside Kai's Jeep, relieved in a
distant way to see her back already.  If she wasn't staying with
Jo at the hospital it couldn't be all that bad.

The stairs creaked their early warning faithfully.  The door
was unlocked, and Kai was just hanging up the phone as he
came in.

She took a moment to turn to face him.  Something clenched
in his gut instinctively as he read her body language, then the
hooded expression in her eyes.

It wasn't her way to waste time in softening the news.  "She...
didn't make it."

For once he doubted his ears.  "... What?"

"JoJo.  Her heart... she..."  Kai shook her head, a hint of
something very like anguish creeping into her face.  "He cut
the drug with cleaning agents, Logan.  He had her shooting up
with the stuff we scrub our fucking _floors_ with.  It... it was
too much for her... her system wasn't exactly the strongest..."

"She's..."  He rubbed a hand over his mouth, then up to briefly
shield his eyes tiredly.  "She's dead."

"Yeah," Kai confirmed hoarsely.  "That was just... on the
phone, I was putting in a call to an acquaintance in Forensics.
I wanna find out what that shit was.  Beyond the chemicals.
They're saying it's something new they've been seeing a lot of.
Don't know just what it is yet... something foreign.  I've gotta
call back there in a little while to..."  Her words trailed off.
Uncertainty touched her voice.  "You... okay?"

He stepped back.  Leaned against the wall and stared fixedly
at his boots.  "Why wouldn't I be?"

"There's blood.  On your shirt.  Some of it's yours."

"Yeah, well..."  Christ, he'd just _left_ him there.  He'd
_ordered_ him to leave.  If the sonuvabitch had half a brain he
was already gone... and he hadn't looked stupid enough to
linger.  "... more of it's his."

She didn't address that.  Or his evasion of her original
question.  "Where is he?  This is murder.  Second degree, at
least... maybe the DA can stick him with first if they build a
good enough case."

"Gone by now."  He pushed off the wall and looked at her.
Just looked at her, unable to find any words.  ~I fucked up,~
he kept thinking.  ~Where the fuck was my control...?  Why
didn't I _think_...?~  "But I'll go check.  Maybe... maybe he
hasn't left yet.  Or maybe I can track him."

"I'm coming with you."

"There's no point in--"

She stepped forward suddenly, breaking her immobility, and
raised a hand to brush lightly at his face.  "I'm coming with
you."

His fingers caught hers.  He held her hand for just a moment,
thumb tracing her palm.

"All right."

With a slight squeeze, she let his hand go.  Led the way out
the door, looking as if she carried an invisible weight.

But _she_ hadn't lost sight of the big picture to satisfy her
anger.  Jo's murderer might get away because he'd _let_ him.
Hell, he'd _told_ him to get out of town.  Momentary
gratification masquerading as justice.  Testosterone, pride, and
too much surety that his decision was the right one, without
looking beyond the simplest solution.  So fucking _stupid_...

Yet when they passed the door to JoJo's room all of that took a
seat on the wayside for just an instant.  He breathed in slowly,
thinking of how fast her scent would fade.  _His_ person.  The
door, still cracked from one too-enthusiastic entrance on his
part, waited with accusatory silence.  He opened it, listening to
the hinge that'd complained since the same entrance that
cracked the door, and just... stared.  Overly dry wooden floors
that Jo hadn't polished since Candy'd moved out.  Skimpy
dresses adorning the faded furniture.  She'd never shiver inside
of those little scraps of cloth when the winter wind blew again.
The room still smelled of her, as if simply waiting for her to
come home from another night out.

Kai approached quietly.  "She's not gonna be getting beat up
anymore."

"She's not gonna get a chance to give up livin' this way,
either," he answered back, flatly.  "Never gonna find it in
herself to fight back."

"I know."  Her hand pressed against his back, rubbing lightly.
"I should've..."

"We.  _We_ should've."

"Yeah."

"She _gave up,_ Kai."

"I know."

He turned sharply, feeling half-crazed by the scent of the drug
and the woman who'd never come back.  "It's too fuckin' easy
to do that, here.  Buried away in this city."

"Not for everyone," Kai said in a low voice, not hearing his
words-inside-the-words.  "You don't.  I don't."

"We oughtta move."

"Out to the mansion?  _You_ said that if we're gonna fight for
the people in the world, we have to know who they are.  What
we're risking our lives for."  Her eyes were sad.  "Remember?"

"Frank Bascetti," he growled.

"JoJo," Kai murmured.  "Candy.  That kid who stole that
radio, and when you followed him he was giving it to his baby
brother to sing him to sleep.  The dad we saw walking the
streets a couple of blocks over to try to keep 'em safe for his
daughter.  Even that old bastard in 3B with all the war
stories... you ever get sucked into one of those?"

"Sometimes it just seems so fuckin' pointless..."

She looked past him.  Looked into JoJo's apartment.
"Sometimes it is," she told him quietly.

He felt briefly selfish -- she never handled death as well as she
pretended to, and she took failure very, very hard.  Very
personally.  Even if Jo could hardly be considered a friend,
she'd been something more than an acquaintance.  A
responsibility.

His arms slipped around her.  Drew her close, where he
pressed his lips to hers gently, once.  Then he drew back,
reaching out with a hollow feeling in his chest and pulling the
door to 2B firmly closed.

The solid 'click' of the latch slipping into place echoed in his
ears long after the roar of the Jeep replaced the sound.

~end~