| Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue. Chapter.2. Logan got into his office, slamming the door shut behind him. The cord of the open blinds rattled against the smoked glass window that was set into the door. An arched insignia of J. Logan: Private Investigator was printed on it in bold, black lettering. He didn’t turn the light on as he removed his hat, placing it on the stand just inside the door. Then he shrugged out of his sopping wet camel brown trench coat. He shook most of the rain off, then reached into one of its inside pockets, pulling out a bunch of rolled up papers, before hanging it on the hook next to his hat. Going over to his desk he plonked himself down in his black leather, spring-backed chair, throwing the papers down and stretching out with a yawn. He sat for a moment, in the dark before reaching up and turning on the small lamp on his desk. Then without warning his thoughts turned back to HER---the sweet sway of her hips, her voice as rich as honey. That smile, that devastatingly slow, heart-stopping smile, it was enough to make any man sink to his knees. “Jailbait.” He grumbled low to himself, he had to remember that there was a job to do here. He couldn’t allow himself to fantasize about a client’s wife---it simply wasn’t professional. He lent back in his chair once more, running both his hands through his hair before clasping them together at the back of his head. Then he looked down at the papers that he presumed Forge had got someone to slip into his coat. Logan lent forwards again, retrieving the papers but as he did so he yanked open the bottom draw of his desk to his right-hand side. Fishing around the loose papers inside he grabbed the bottle he always kept topped up in there. Putting the Forge’s papers down in his lap for a moment, he gave the bottle lid a swift twist, making it spin right off and drop to the floor. He didn’t care as he took a large swig of whiskey from the bottle before setting it down on the desktop. “Right, let’s see who this swarthy goddess is then.” He unwound the elastic band that bound the papers together then unravelled them. The first few documents were photographs. It appeared that Mr. Forge had tried a bit of amateur sleuthing recently. There were four candid shots of the singer, surprisingly in colour; one of her outside of Smokey Jack’s talking to a tall auburn haired gentleman. In fact on closer inspection, judging by their body language it seemed they were having a rather heated discussion. Logan flicked through the other ones quickly; there wasn’t much revealing information in them. Shots of her shopping, meeting with female friends---nothing special. Logan then turned his attention to the sheet that contained the written information. Carefully, he read her name off the top of the paper, aloud, “Ororo Munroe.” He rubbed his free hand across his lips as he repeated the words quietly, “Ororo Munroe.” A vague smile brushed his lips, his hand still resting on them as if trying to hide or halt the gesture. Speed reading the rest of the information nothing he saw surprised him. There was a list of her regular haunts and her closest friends and then her biographical details. She was the only surviving child of an immigrant couple that had moved to America from Kenya in 1920 and she’d grown up in Harlem. Her parents had died when she was still young---in suspicious circumstances it seemed--- and she’d been forced to make her own way in life. There weren’t too many details about that period but Logan supposed that she’d picked up more than a few dodgy contacts along the way. According to this information she’d decided to become a singer at the age of nineteen. After dragging her act around almost every club in the City for three years she’d finally auditioned in a new club that opened in 1934---one ‘Smokey Jack’s’. It appeared Mr. Forge had been taken with the young beauty straight away, as they were married within a year of her starting work there. “Can’t say I blame him.” He muttered to himself as he threw the papers back onto the desk---all save for the first photograph. Picking up the bottle once more, he drank from it as he studied the photo again. There was something oddly familiar about the man in the picture. Logan new almost every hustler and dodgy character in this city, so there was a good chance that he’d come across him at some point. But he usually remembered every face—it unnerved him that he couldn’t pin the man down. He closed his eyes; his lids had suddenly become very heavy. Letting the photo and the bottle rest on his chest, he relaxed back into the chair. Eventually his head began to loll to the side as he promptly fell asleep. * * * Across town at Smokey’s... Ororo Munroe was in her husband’s office, lounging on the green velvet sofa that sat against the wall opposite the desk. She lay stretched out, her eyes resting shut, but she wasn’t asleep. Ororo detested this part of the night, every time he had some kind of business to conclude. He never let her go back to their apartment without him so after she’d finished performing of an evening she had to sit around and wait for him. Sometimes his ‘negotiations’ went on long into the early hours of the morning. She never had any idea what his ‘business’ was about but she was street wise enough to know the people he mixed with were a rather unsavoury lot. In fact, on occasion she’d recognise a face or two---but through mutual understanding, both party’s would pretend not to. Tonight, as far as she could tell, Forge was having talks with the Lensherr Twin’s, Pietro and Wanda. They usually came as their father’s proxy if he didn’t deem the associate important enough to deal with himself. Apparently, her husband was one such associate. Her mind began to drift and she thought briefly about the rough looking little man that she’d seen Forge with earlier in the evening. By his scruffy dress and particularly unkempt physical appearance, she was shocked he’d made it through the front door---never mind getting a private audience with the boss himself. So lost in her thoughts was she that she didn’t notice as the office door began to open. The tall blond man, Victor, that had been talking with Forge before he met Logan crept quietly into the room. An odd, somehow vicious, grin came to his lips as he stalked slowly over towards Ororo. She was falling into a stupor and for a moment didn’t notice a thing. That was until she sensed a shadow over her. She didn’t open her eyes as she smiled and said, “So are you finally ready to leave darling.” She let her head fall in ‘his’ direction. Her cheek laying flat against the soft velvet material as her soft hair fell down to caress her neck. Victor came in close, kneeling down at Ororo’s side he brought one large hand up to her leg. Looking up at her serene, smiling face he hesitated for a moment before eventually laying his hand on her shapely calf. She made a soft groan of pleasure as Victor began to trail his hand up her leg. Then she let her knee fall to the side, parting her legs as his hand crept further and further until it was under her skirt and at the top of her inside thigh. “Umm----darling.” Ororo pushed her head back against the arm of the sofa, her neck arching upwards as Victor began to caress and knead her leg alternately, occasionally brushing his fingers hard against the silk panties that covered her more sensitive area betwixt her thighs. Her reaction to his touch made the heat of sexual desire rise in him and he could no longer stop himself from emitting a low, passionate growl. “What?!” Ororo’s eyes flipped open immediately as she sprang into a sitting position, drawing her legs up towards herself. Victor couldn’t stop himself from laughing, his dark and frankly disturbing laugh sending a shiver down Ororo’s spine. “Come on baby doll; don’t pretend you didn’t know it was me.” He attempted to lay his hand on her leg again but she kicked his hand away. “You filthy pig! Don’t you ever touch me again.” Ororo practically jumped from the sofa and ran to the door. She was about to open it when Forge came in and she ran straight into him. Catching her in his arms he said, “Hey ‘Ro, what’s wrong?” Clinging to him she turned to face Victor who was sitting back on the sofa casually, as if nothing at all had happened. “He----nothing, it was nothing.” She turned back to her husband, shaking her head minutely. “Don’t give me that,” He looked over at the other man who was now setting about lighting a cigarette. “What happened?” The question was directed toward both of them. Ororo pulled her head back from Forge’s chest and repeated, “ Honestly darling, it was nothing. I was falling asleep and he came into the room and startled me that’s all.” She smiled warmly to try and reassure him. “I was groggy---I over reacted.” Still looking over at his hired muscle he knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of either of them, so he had to concede defeat and didn’t press the matter any further. “Come on, let’s get you home.” Forge wrapped his arm around Ororo’s shoulder as he ushered her from the room. They were just outside the door when he stopped, “Baby, can you go wait for me in the car. I’ll be there soon, I promise.” He planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “Really Kenny, nothing---“ He cut her off by pressing two fingers gently to her lips. “Shush, it isn’t about that---it’s business.” “Oh, if you’re sure?” She felt relieved but at the same time something in her told her not to believe him. “I am, go on.” He physically turned her toward the exit, giving her a playful little push in that direction by swatting her shapely rear. Waiting until she had left the building to make sure she’d done as she was told he went back into the office. * He shut the door behind him as he entered, his eyes trained on the large blond man who now stood by his desk. “So, did you speak with them? What did they say?” Victor asked his boss in is unnaturally deep, gruff voice. Forge stared at the larger man, his gaze darker than ever. He said nothing as he stepped closer to Victor---attempting to physic him out. Despite the fact that he was at least half his weight and almost a foot shorter than the other man he knew he could intimidate him. It was law of the jungle, except in this jungle it wasn’t the fittest, the physically strongest who survived---it was the people with the most dangerous connections. In those terms Victor Creed knew he was small fry compared to his boss. Satisfied with his display of power, Forge answered Creed’s question, “It looks promising. But I still think we should keep our cards close to our chests---play it safe.” “So you trust those two brats?” He asked, bringing his cigarette to his mouth. Forge cocked an eyebrow at him as he gave Victor a sly grin. “Those two? I wouldn’t trust those back-stabbing bastards if my life depended on it.” * * * The Lensherr Penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue... Erik Magnus Lensherr stood on the roof of his prime real-estate home, one of several he now owned around the New York state area, over looking the magnificent view of the city. A cool breeze blew into his face as he savoured the open space. It had finally stopped raining about an hour ago and Magnus, as he preferred to be called, wasted no time in making the most of the rest-bight in the weather. This was his favourite view and he’d done an awful lot in his life to obtain it. “Father?” He heard his daughter’s voice calling for him from the apartment. They’d finally returned from a bit of business that he had no care to deal with personally. Magnus had distanced himself from the nitty-gritty of his work a long time ago. His twins took care of that side now---the heirs to his empire. Wanda came out onto the roof, making her way quickly over to her father. The clip-clop of her red stilettos against the concrete surface echoing out across the space. As she came to him she placed her hand on his back and looked out onto his view. “How are you Father?” “Well dear, very well.” He reached down and took her other hand in his but didn’t turn to look at her. “Did you conclude the business tonight?” Wanda sighed, shaking her head with remembered annoyance, “He was stubborn Father. He knows more than he’s letting on I think and he wants to use it to his advantage.” She gave a short, bitter laugh before adding, “ That, plus the fact that he clearly found it distasteful to do business with a woman.” Magnus said nothing but he did pat her hand a couple of times as a gesture of comfort. Wanda took her other hand from her Father’s back and laid it on top of his as she leant her head on his broad shoulder. Her styled shoulder length brown hair moved restlessly about her face in the breeze, some strands getting into her mouth, sticking to her immaculately painted scarlet lips. As she brought her hand up to remove the hair she asked, “Would you like to talk to Pietro on the matter?” Magnus chuckled, “My dear girl, whatever for?” Wanda closed her eyes as she winced internally. She didn’t know how much longer she could put up with her Father’s sniping at her beloved brother. She felt she was stuck between the two---a surrogate wife to one, surrogate mother to the other. It seemed he would never except Pietro as his male heir---she appeared to be his substitute for all and it was a weight she was finding increasingly difficult to carry. Magnus took his hand from his daughter and beckoned her to go inside. “Please Wanda, come inside, it’s chilly and you’ll catch your death. The last thing we want is for that boy to be running the empire when I’m gone.” Wanda ignored the jibe at her brother as she tutted at her Father, “Don’t speak of such things, please.” “Now Wanda dear, we know the time will come one day---it pays to be prepared.” He linked his arm with hers and started back towards the apartment. “So tell me, did Forge have any additional information or was he just bluffing?” -TBC- |