Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones and Lori McDonald
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 15

Bobby leaned back against the cool brick of the storefront, waiting patiently. Just beyond the edge of the awning, rain fell in a steady patter. It was just enough to make the night cold without sending people in search of cover. Bobby had lowered his body temperature slightly to keep from feeling the chill, but only someone touching him would be able to tell.

Or someone watching us through a thermal scope. Say, mounted on a sniper rifle. Bobby shoved the thought aside. The last thing he needed was to pick up any more of Gambit's paranoia. Not that Gambit didn't have a right to be paranoid. . . Bobby wasn't certain what he himself might be like if his name was on a few assassins' `kill him if you get the chance' list. Of course, they couldn't want Remy too badly-he'd been living in the same city for two years now and as far as Bobby knew, no one had come looking for him.

Oblivious to Bobby's train of thought, Remy stood a few feet away watching the street. Or, more specifically, watching the continuous passage of people along the sidewalk across the street from them. Against the backdrop of pedestrians who walked by with their heads down, intent on their destinations, the hookers stood out in clear relief. The brightly dressed women stood in groups of two or three, and from his vantage, Bobby could hear them calling out invitations and occasional obscenities to the cars that slowed as they passed by. A group of teenage boys lounged around the hood of an ancient black caddy parked a little further down, but they didn't look like real trouble to Bobby. Wannabe hoods, maybe, but nothing he would be worried about. Several other kids lurked in the background of the scene, nearly invisible. Most were teenagers, both male and female, and their ages ranged widely. They didn't talk to each other, but seemed simply to wait in the shadows, unnoticed. Occasionally, one of them would come out to talk to the driver of a car that pulled up, and a few moments later retreat. Bobby saw one girl get into a car, and he wished he understood what he was watching. The girl looked like a refugee from the grunge movement, her form hidden by layers of shabby flannel and her hair hanging lank and stringy around her face. She obviously wasn't in the trade, or she would have been dressed like the loud women congregated at the corner.

Just as he was about to ask Remy about it all, Gambit seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the tiny orange glow from the tip accentuating his angular features. Again Bobby got the feeling that something was bothering him. There was nothing he could identify that Remy was doing differently, but it was just that feeling he got sometimes that Gambit was highly disturbed by something.

"See de boy dere," Remy nodded toward the people across the street. "dark hair, fatigues jacket?"

Bobby searched the scene until he found him. He was a teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old. He stood a little ways away from any of the others, hands in pockets, as he watched the passing traffic. There was something hollow about him. . . something hungry that immediately grabbed Bobby's attention. An intensity that was somehow part of his cool detachment rather than being hidden by it. Bobby was stunned that he hadn't noticed the boy before Remy pointed him out. Now that he'd seen him, he found it hard to tear his gaze away.

"His name is Toby Mather," Remy said before he could ask.

As they watched, a silver BMW pulled up to the curb. Toby sauntered forward and leaned down to look in the passenger side window. After a moment, he straightened, and Bobby had the distinct impression of both disappointment and relief. The BMW pulled away and Toby went back to his position in the shadows.

Gambit's expression darkened. He dropped his cigarette to the pavement and ground it out with the heel of his boot. "C'mon."

Bobby kept his sigh to himself. He still had no idea what they were doing out here tonight, and if he wanted to keep his appointment with Michael, he was going to have to lose Gambit sometime in the next few hours. He still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, but the decision was made. The Guild had rules about ignorance that he hoped would protect Gambit if he'd made the wrong choices. Bobby might have to suffer the punishment of an apprentice who lied to his master, but that was better than setting Remy up for Michael.

Together, they walked to Remy's car. Bobby was relieved. Maybe this little trip to the city to stare at hookers in the rain was all Gambit was going to require of him tonight. It was no more and no less strange than some of the other things they'd done over the past few months.

Bobby settled into his seat and closed the door. "So, do I dare ask- -?"

"No." Remy turned the engine over. It picked up immediately, settling into that growling purr that made Bobby insanely jealous. This time, though, he didn't pay attention. The curt dismissal was annoying. He knew better than to say anything, though. Not in this kind of situation, when he was student and Gambit was master. He counseled himself to patience, which was the best way to deal with the man when he was in a bad mood.

Remy pulled away from the curb, immediately doing a U-turn to send them back past the street corner they'd stood and watched for nearly two hours, and hopefully then on toward Salem Center. Bobby was just about to start relaxing when he pulled over sharply, coming to a stop right in front of that same stretch of sidewalk that seemed to fascinate him so.

Beside Bobby, the window began to roll down as Remy manipulated the controls on his side of the car. The sudden burst of air was cold and wet. Bobby turned up his collar against the rain drops that occasionally found him, wishing pettily that they were in England so that Gambit could sit in the rain instead of him.

A figure approached the car. Bobby recognized the nonchalant walk before he saw the boy's face. Toby. The one Gambit had been watching. He approached the car and leaned down to peer in the window, his darting gaze taking in the both of them before settling on Remy. They stared at each other, Remy cool, the boy defiant. Bobby took advantage of the moment to look Toby over more closely, but all he could discern was that the boy was badly in need of both a haircut and a bath. Finally, Toby spoke.

"Cost ya extra for two."

Gambit nodded sharply. "Get in."

A dozen questions popped into Bobby's mind, but he held his tongue. Questions had to wait until they could talk privately. He slid his seat forward, giving Toby room to climb into the Ferrari's tiny rear seat.

Remy pulled out into traffic without another word, or even a glance in Bobby's direction. That wasn't too unusual anymore. Remy tended to simply go about his business, leaving it to Bobby to keep up, both mentally and physically.

They drove in silence, pulling up in front of one of New York's many Hilton hotels. To Bobby's surprise, Remy parked the car himself rather than using the valets like he normally would. He opened the trunk and grabbed his workout bag, tossing it over his shoulder as they headed toward the entrance. It was becoming obvious to Bobby that he was trying not to draw too much attention.

They walked into the hotel lobby. Bobby surveyed the room automatically, noting the multiple exits and guessing at where they would lead. Hotels were all laid out basically the same, and in moments he had worked out two routes that should take him out of the building. He didn't see any security, and didn't expect to.

"Stay here." Remy walked over to the main desk and spoke briefly to one of the women behind it. Bobby watched the transaction in bemused silence-money for room key, signatures on various sheets of paper. He began to worry that Remy was going to keep him all night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to come up with an excuse to get him out of that. But, maybe that was for the best. Maybe. There was a part of him that did not want to let Michael do whatever he had planned tonight without at least one of them seeing it.

Remy returned to where he and Toby waited in silence. The kid was a little creepy, Bobby thought. He stood with his head down, his hands in his pockets. He was the picture of teenage boredom, except that he hadn't moved. Not one millimeter. Any other boy his age would have been wandering around, or at the very least fidgeted in place. Then it clicked. Remy had taught him that the way to become invisible to someone scanning a room was to be completely still. That kind of searching gaze picked up on motion more than specific shapes or patterns. So you became part of the background-a piece of the furniture rather than something that might stand out. Toby was effectively making himself invisible.

Following Gambit, they made their way to the third floor and a very nondescript room. It wasn't even a suite. Two double beds and a gigantic entertainment center filled most of the room, and there was a small round table with two chairs by the window. Remy tossed his bag on the bed and unzipped it, rummaging through it and coming out with a pair of sweats and the LSU t-shirt he often exercised in. He tossed them both at Toby who barely caught them.

"Clean up." He jerked his head toward the bathroom. His voice was still that same flat monotone.

Toby looked down at the clothes in his hands, then over toward the bathroom door. Without a word, he went.

"Make sure y' wash y' hair," Remy called after him. He still did not look at Bobby. Instead, he surveyed the contents of the little nightstand between the beds and plucked what looked like the room service menu from the midst of a batch of various brochures and flyers. He opened the menu and began to read through it.

"Hungry?" he asked, and this time shot Bobby a quick, unrevealing glance.

"Not really," Bobby answered. "You want to tell me what we're doing here?" Actually, he was starved, but he was willing to trade dinner for some answers.

Behind them, the shower came on. Remy turned toward the sound for a moment, and Bobby had the feeling he was tracking Toby's movements with his mutant power. Then he relaxed some and tossed the menu onto the bed in front of Bobby.

"Do y' know what de boy t'inks he been hired for?" he asked quietly. He sounded incredibly tired all of a sudden.

Bobby frowned and tried not to let his frustration show. "Not a clue."

Remy's smile was completely humorless. "He t'inks he's been hired to have sex. Wit' us."

Bobby blanched. "You're kidding." For a moment, he couldn't think of anything except that Remy had to be wrong. It was just too sick.

Remy read his reaction easily and shook his head. "Pick somet'ing t' eat." He walked over to the table and collapsed into one of the padded chairs, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle.

Uncertain what else to do, Bobby picked up the menu and settled on the edge of the bed. He looked through it without really registering what he was seeing. Finally, he put it down.

"So what are we doing here?"

Remy stared at his toes, and for a moment, Bobby thought he wouldn't answer. But then he looked up. "Most o' de kids like dat one-out on de street-dey runaways, maybe orphans, maybe dere folks on de street, too. Dey got a lot o' reasons f' bein' dere." He shrugged. "Some too stupid t' go home. Some got no place t' go home to."

He straightened a little in his chair and looked toward the bathroom for a moment. "He's one a de strong ones. Got a whole pack a kids he takes care of-makin' sure dey get somet'ing t' eat, a dry place t' sleep now an' den." Remy's stare bored into him. "An' he tricks so de others don' have to."

Bobby thought about that for a while. What would it be like to have no place to live? To be on his own so young? For all the faults he found with his parents, they had always taken care of him, always loved him and tried to give him the best they could.

The shower cut out abruptly and Remy stood. He walked over and picked up the phone. "You decided what y' want?"

Diedre wrapped her arms more tightly about herself as the cool breeze off the water curled around her. The sand beneath her bare feet was deliciously chill, and she scrunched her toes with a self- conscious smile. She had decided to take a couple of days and come out to the beach house. She needed to get away from Michael. She needed to think.

The waves rolled gently into shore, coming up almost to her toes before sinking back into the great, dark body of water. Diedre loved the ocean. It was hypnotic, soothing, but somehow violent and powerful at the same time. She often wished that she had a boat and she could just climb in and sail away, never to be seen again.

Sighing, she sat down in the sand. The sun was already invisible beneath the horizon, though the sky still glowed with reds and oranges. She admired it for a moment, but then her thoughts reclaimed her. More than anything, she wished she could figure out how she'd gotten where she was.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Tyre?"

Diedre hid a small frown. Frank always called her "Mrs. Tyre". No matter how many times she tried to get him to use her first name. But despite that, he was just about the best friend she had. The only friend she had. Except for Bobby, and she didn't have any idea what to think about him. Just hearing his name tied everything inside her into knots. She didn't know it was possible to feel so much anguish.

"Frank? Will you. . . will you tell me something?" She stared out at the rolling ocean.

"If I can." Diedre knew that was a yes. Frank didn't like to make absolute statements. He said it was because he didn't like lying to people, even unintentionally.

"Am I . . . pretty?"

Frank was silent for several moments, and Diedre bit her lip. She knew he wouldn't lie, and his silence seemed like a confirmation of her worst fears.

To her surprise, he stepped up beside her and then squatted down so they were nearly at eye level. "Why do you want to know?" he asked.

Diedre turned to stare at him. Because I want to know if it's true. She remembered the boys she went to school with. None of them had wanted to talk to the shy, pale, gawky girl until she'd started wearing her skirts so short and quit wearing a bra. They'd called her "pretty girl" and flirted with her and carried her books. At least, until she'd given them what they wanted. The first time, she thought it was just Tommy Carlyle being mean and that he would quit after a while. But he didn't. And so she thought maybe someone else would be different. But they weren't. If she offered, they'd have sex with her, but they still wouldn't talk to her at school. Eventually, they started calling her "whore" instead of "pretty girl". It wasn't until she'd met Michael that she'd even considered the idea that a man could really love her.

Michael was amazing. He was so beautiful, and when he looked at her it was like he was looking only at her, like the rest of the world didn't matter. He brought her flowers and told her that she was beautiful. He bought her expensive dresses, and took her dancing in the glittering fairylands of private clubs. And even though he was a busy man, he'd made time to have lunch with her. He was even there in the morning sometimes when she woke, and the servants would make breakfast for them both.

She almost didn't believe it was true when Michael asked her to marry him. She wanted so badly to find someone to love and spend the rest of her life with. To be faithful to, so that no one could ever call her "whore" again. And someone who would fill the aching void inside her. She'd said yes without hesitation, and her wedding day had been the happiest moment of her life.

But now, she didn't know what to think. Marriage wasn't what she thought it would be. Somehow, she had failed to be a good enough wife to Michael. He was always mad at her for something or another. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to make him happy.

Frank sighed softly, and she jerked out of her thoughts. "Michael will never love you," he said matter-of-factly, "because he is incapable of loving anyone but himself." He paused, his expression softening. "Bobby, on the other hand, loves you with all his heart."

Diedre could only stare at him. Bobby loved her? The thought sent warm shivers all through her, but she wasn't sure she believed it. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to, but she'd been down this road too many times. And he didn't act like he loved her. He was sweet and kind, and she would call him a friend without hesitation. But he didn't. . . well, he didn't want her. He'd even come to her bedroom and nothing had happened between them. At the time, she'd been mostly grateful because she didn't want to do anything to mess up her marriage, but oh how she'd wanted him.

Whore she thought angrily. She was married to one of the most powerful, amazing men on the planet, and still she was thinking about someone else. Michael had a right to be angry with her. She wasn't much of a wife.

"You're wrong." Frank was always soft-spoken, but now she thought she heard a hint of anger in his voice. It hurt to think that even Frank was mad at her now.

"And stubborn," he added, sounding more irked now than angry.

"About what?" she finally asked.

"About Michael. Remember, I can feel what you're feeling. It's almost as good as reading your mind." He smiled as he admitted listening in on her. "So I know that you think you're not good enough for Michael."

Diedre lowered her eyes. That was very much how she felt.

"But you've got it backwards," Frank went on and Diedre was compelled to look back up at him. "Michael isn't good enough for you."

Diedre could only stare at him. Frank wouldn't lie. He wouldn't. So why was he saying such a crazy thing?

Frank watched her with disappointment written on his face. "I can tell you don't believe me," he said after a minute. "But maybe you should start paying more attention to what Michael really does for a living. Maybe then you'll start to see what kind of man he is." He straightened and looked out at the ocean.

Diedre leaned back to look up at him, the questions churning inside her. "If you don't like Michael, why do you still work for him?" she finally asked.

He laughed, a short bark of bitter amusement. "Because of you. I work for Michael because of you."

Toby wolfed down the sandwiches Remy had ordered for him, though he kept a wary eye on both men while he did so. Clean, and dressed in the oversized clothes, he looked much more like the boy he was supposed to be. Bobby could imagine having a little brother that was a lot like him.

Bobby picked at his own food, distracted by his thoughts. He was very curious what exactly Remy was going to do. He felt rather unprepared to play along, but knew that that was what Remy would expect of him.

Oh well. After seven years with the X-Men and these last couple of months with Mr. Unpredictable, I ought to be able to improvise.

Remy finished up his meal and tossed his napkin onto the plate. Then he reached into his jacket, emerging with two well-worn fifty dollar bills which he laid on the table between himself and Toby. The boy froze for a moment, but then went back to eating like nothing had happened. Bobby was a little confused by his reaction. A hundred dollars was well below market value for a trick, though he had to admit he had no idea how different this kid's market might be. He pushed further thoughts along that line aside before they gave him a serious case of the shivers. He had the feeling that Remy was offering more than Toby was used to getting.

After a moment, Toby reached for the money but Remy pinned it to the table with one forefinger. Toby froze, hand partly outstretched, and Remy slowly pulled off the black Ray-Bans he habitually wore, tossing them nonchalantly on the table.

"Better listen to de offer b'fore y' take de money."

Toby paled under the eerie stare, but slowly he nodded. Bobby was impressed by his self-control.

Remy simply nodded. "Good. You work White Crane territory, eastside by de border wit' de Ravage, right?"

Bobby knew it was a rhetorical question, but Toby nodded anyway. At least he recognized the names of the gangs and knew about where the territory Remy was talking about was.

"You seen de Black Hole out dere? Folks go in, dey don' come out again?"

Toby nodded again. Bobby didn't think he was ever going to say anything. He also wondered if this had anything to do with that gang squabble Remy was trying to resolve. It seemed like it might.

Remy nodded. "I wan' know who goes in. An' I wan' know if anyone comes out again." He tapped the money. "Dere's more of dis, every week. If I get useful information." He leaned back in his chair, pinning the boy with one of his more intimidating stares.

The boy swallowed convulsively, but then slowly reached out to take the money. His eyes never left Remy's face. "They're digging," he said quietly.

Remy's eyebrow quirked, which Toby seemed to take as an encouragement. "The dump trucks come in empty, an' go out full."

"How many?" Remy seemed genuinely interested.

Toby shrugged. "Ten, fifteen a day."

Remy flashed a smile. "Somet'ing I didn' know. You earnin' dat money already. Now get."

Toby didn't need to be told twice. He slid out of his chair and went to the bathroom to gather up his old clothes. Then he was gone.

The door closed behind him with a heavy click and Bobby looked over at Remy. "What are you expecting to get from him?" It seemed strange for a man who dealt directly with the Kingpin to be gathering information from a street kid.

Remy shrugged. "Prob'ly nothing. Don' matter. F' now, he's got enough t' keep him and his fed wit'out trickin'."

Comprehension dawned. "This was all just charity. But, why make such a production of it?"

Remy's eyes unfocused, and Bobby wondered what he was seeing. "Boy's too proud t' take handouts, neh?" There was something about his expression that said he knew that from experience rather than observation. Belately, Bobby remembered that Remy had grown up on the streets himself, before becoming a thief.

"When you were on the streets, did you . . . uh. . . ?" He broke off and flushed violet, berating himself thoroughly for asking such a rude question. It wasn't any of his business. What in the world had possessed him to just blurt something like that out? He'd just gotten used to asking Remy whatever questions happened to come to mind.

Remy didn't seem to take offense. But the smile he gave Bobby was caustic. "New Orleans' not so cold in de winter as New York, neh? Difference between livin' an' dyin' ain' whether y' got a warm enough place t' sleep." He shrugged then, as if acknowledging that he really hadn't answered the question. "Couple, three times, maybe. Could usually get by wit'out goin' dat far." His expression was flat, almost daring Bobby to react.

For once knowing better, Bobby held his tongue. He found himself unable to look Remy in the eye, though, and after a moment, he stood. He barely had enough time to get to the club before ten, and he wanted to get away from there very badly.

"Where y' goin'?" The question was friendly, as if the past few minutes had never happened.

Bobby pulled his jacket up tightly around himself. "To buy my mother some flowers." He was rewarded by Remy's chuckle as he walked to the door, but he didn't look back.