NYC - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Broadway
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own every single character in here. They're mine to do with as I please. I own Every. Single. One.

Obviously that's a big fat lie!!!!! Marvel owns them; I don't even own a hair on Scott's chinny chin chin.

Couple of Notes that will be REALLY helpful: It's Alternate Universe set in the forties in NYC. Scott's a Private Eye, Jean and Remy are brother and sister, and trust me, Rogue fits into it. But you'll just have to find out how later...

Private Detective Summers tipped his head back and covered his eyes with the brim of his charcoal black hat. The fresh case lain before him not five minutes ago by a spicy redhead was definitely a challenge. How do you find a very rich, very discreet Manhattan smuggler that undoubtedly had the entire city's underground in the palm of his hand?

The door to Scott's office creaked open and a mass of auburn hair with a shock of white peaked through the crack. The curvaceous body of a slender woman made her way into the room and perched herself in a chair placed in front of the detectives desk.

"Can I help you, Cher?" Scott asked his sassy, southern secretary of three years, Cheryl Knight whom more than often preferred to be addressed as Cher. The woman simply shot him a knowing look and tried in vain to suppress the smile curling at the corners of her dark red lip-sticked lips. "What's so funny?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. Ah'm just glad to see your eyes back in your head, Ah guess, that's all."

He leaned back in his chair and straightened his shoulders, eyebrows lifting in mild amusement. "Excuse me?"

She cracked a grin."Ah had no idea you were weak for redheads." She paused and respectively let the humorous mood slip away as she proceeded to pick questions about the woman. "Who was she?"

"Her name," he glanced down at the notebook still open to the page he had been scribbling in, "is Jean White."

"Ah, and what does Ms. White require of yah?"

"Find her missing brother as of three nights ago. His name: Remy White." Scott took in the startled expression on the face of his secretary. "Sound familiar?" She stared at him absently. "That's right, the same Remy White notorious in our records for smuggling every kind of merchandise from jewelry to guns to drugs. Who knew he had a sister? How cute," Scott added wryly before a disgusted look overcame his handsome features. "It makes me sick that men like that drag good people like this Jean woman into their sad little lives without their even knowing."

"You mean this woman, Jean, doesn't know what her brother does for a living?" Cher asked, blowing a rogue strand of hair out of her bright green eyes.

"Nope. I guess she doesn't bother to know where her penthouses or pearls come from as long as they come." He threw a smile to Cher. "Just like a woman, hmm?"

Before Cher could retort, the phone rang on her desk outside the detective's office. She strode purposefully out of the room and Scott heard her announce "Detective Scott Summahs office" in her thick Southern drawl.

He kicked back in his chair, pleasing creaks emanating from the worn wooden legs, and thought again about tackling the case. He was already mentally listing people on the streets he could dig up for dirt, anything that could be helpful in finding this low-down, rotten thief. His mind wandered to the pretty li'l thing that sauntered into his office, asking he find her brother.

Scott still found it hard to believe a scoundrel like Remy was in any way related to a woman like Jean. Had she been any other type of broad, Scott would have dismissed the whole thing as a good for nothing mongrel running away from his problems, probably impregnating his girlfriend or something of that sort. But no, Jean had class, style, a certain sophisticated air that lingered in her presence with her head held high and her hands folded primly in the lap of her modest, shin-length skirt.

Scott sighed. Oh well, he said he'd take the case and he did, now it was up to him to find the kid. And why did I take the case, Scott pondered silently. But one thought of the client that had moved into his office with a sway of those hips that he was willing to bet was illegal in nine states and flaunting that glorious mane of crimson curls he was certain she knew he had a weakness for, and he remembered exactly why he took the case.

Detective Summers smirked inwardly, shaking the thoughts from his head and focusing on the problem at hand: a missing thief. How do you find a very rich, very discreet Manhattan smuggler that undoubtedly had the entire city's underground in the palm of his hand?

Simple, one word: connections.