Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 9

Jean Gray Summers sighed to herself and raised a hand to scratch her forehead. The tiara that went with her costume always itched when she was annoyed. She wasn't sure why she kept the stupid thing anyway. Nostalgia, she supposed. But on mornings like this one, nostalgia didn't have much of a voice.

#REMY!!# she roared mentally. She was standing in the Danger Room with Scott and the others gathered around. A few were still trickling in, but that was normal for early morning sessions. As was having to drag a certain Cajun butt out of bed. Normally, she had a more tolerant view of Gambit's tendency to hibernate until noon. But she'd been up late herself last night, and if *she* had to get up this early then so would he.

Unfortunately, she couldn't just dump her thoughts into his head like she could with any of the others. He was a telepathic ghost, impossible to grab hold of. So all she could do was aim her thoughts in his general direction and shout. Most of the time that was enough to wake him, if she threatened enough mayhem.

#REMY LEBEAU, I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF BED I'M COMING UP THERE WITH A BUCKET OF ICE CUBES AND ALL THE TELEKENESIS I CAN MUSTER.#

She felt his sleepy chuckle. You don' tell Scott, den neither will I. And then he was gone again, burrowing back under the warm covers.

Jean growled some rather unlady-like curses, making Scott's eyebrows rise. "Problem, Jean?"

She smiled grimly. "Nothing that an experienced Den Mother like myself can't handle," she assured him. Then she turned. "Bishop!"

The mutant in question turned away from a conversation with Beast and Logan. "Yes?"

"Would you mind very much fetching Gambit for practice this morning?" Her tone was saccharine.

Bishop's expression didn't change, but Jean imagined that she saw a glint of humor there nonetheless. It was obvious to her that Bishop bore some strange but deep affection for Gambit. She was at a loss to explain it, but on mornings like these, it came in handy. Gambit was the only person in the house that Bishop would treat so disrespectfully as to drag him bodily out of bed.

"Phase Two," she muttered to herself as Bishop left the room.

"Is there a Phase Three?" her husband asked.

Jean glanced at him and smiled. "I'm sure I can invent one if Phase Two ever fails." Her expression elicited a chuckle.

"Remind me to stay on your good side."

Jean's smile widened. "Well, you know, I can always be bribed with sexual favors."

Scott laughed, slightly embarrassed. "I'll remember that." Then he looked around.

"Are we missing anyone else?"

"Bobby's not here yet." Logan adjusted the fit of one long blue glove.

"Perhaps his alarm failed this morning," added Beast.

Jean made a quick pass through the house, searching for the Iceman. She found him where she expected to-in bed, still asleep. She shrugged. "I'll have Bishop knock on his door while he's up there."

A terrific booming noise dragged Bobby out of darkness. Then a thunk. And a thud. It sounded like someone was breaking furniture. But just as he was about to wake up enough to get alarmed, a voice added to the mix, cussing someone in a mix of languages. Bobby relaxed and let the sleepy dark reclaim him. That was Gambit. And if he was making that much noise, he wasn't in any serious trouble.

Bobby drifted off into a dream of snowflakes. Big, fat snowflakes, the kind that would fill up the yard in no time, filling the world with white. And Diedre in the midst of it, laughing.

BAM! BAM! BAM! The booming noise was back with a vengeance. Bobby groaned and rolled over as the sound resolved itself into someone banging on his door.

"Go `way," he mumbled and tried to get comfortable again. He didn't want to lose his dream. And besides, it couldn't have been more than ten minutes since he'd lain down.

"Bobby, you are supposed to be in the Danger Room," said Bishop through the door.

Bobby absorbed the meaning of the words after a few moments and then groaned again. He'd forgotten about that completely. He and Remy hadn't gotten in until after three, and the practice session was scheduled for seven. He cracked an eyelid and was dismayed to find that sunlight was, indeed, streaming through his window blinds.

Bishop's fist pounded on the door again, and Bobby winced at the noise. He was stiff and sore from the workout Gambit had given him-they'd broken into some kind of office building that had more security than Bobby would ever have imagined-and his head ached from the lack of sleep. All the racket Bishop was making just made his headache worse.

"Okay, okay, I'm up already!" he told the door. The words had the desired effect. The noise stopped. With a sigh, Bobby closed his eyes again.

When he next opened them, it was to find Bishop's face less than ten inches from his own. "It's time to get up," Bishop told him calmly.

Deciding that he wouldn't win an argument on the issue, Bobby rolled slowly into a sitting position and put his head in his hands. He tried to wave Bishop away. "I'm coming. I promise."

He felt Bishop move away. "I will wait outside for you." Bobby was glad his hands covered his expression. Bishop was like a glacier. Big, solid and inescapable.

When Bobby was finally dressed and feeling at least partly human, he opened the door to find Bishop leaning against the wall, facing away. Bobby glanced down the way to see what Bishop was watching, to discover Gambit just emerging from his own room. He didn't look any better than Bobby felt, though he did appear to have taken a shower, at least.

"After you, mon ami," he said to Bishop, gesturing for the big man to precede him. His tone was studiously neutral. Suddenly Bobby wondered what all the racket he'd heard earlier had been about.

Bishop glanced at Remy, then back at Bobby, and Bobby could almost imagine the gears turning over. He grunted once, and then did as Gambit had suggested. Bobby darted a look at Remy behind Bishop's back Does he suspect? he wanted to ask, but dared not. Remy shrugged lightly. It was a gesture Bobby had come to know meant something like "Maybe yes, maybe no. It's not important either way."

Still nervous, Bobby followed the other two down to the Danger Room. He was beginning to wonder who would find him out first-the Guild, or the X-Men. And he wasn't entirely sure which one might be the better option.

One. Two. One. Two. Stop. Turn. One. Two. Duck, cause he'll be coming from your blindside. Bobby dodged the blow, stepped back. One. Two. He counted his steps, sticking doggedly to the rhythm Gambit had taught him. And again. Turn. Block. They were dancing back and forth across the grass, and for once, Bobby was doing a pretty good job of holding his own. Of course, he knew this wasn't anywhere near the limit of what Gambit could do-not with those reflexes-but they were at a normal person's equivalent of full speed.

"Arret!" Gambit stepped back, held up his hand. Bobby slid to a stop, breath ragged. Gratefully he bent down, bracing himself with hands on knees as he gulped the sweet early-morning air. Almost unconsciously, he spotted the vicious kick aimed at his head and dove to the side, rolling to his feet in a ready crouch.

Gambit looked pleased. "You payin' attention."

Bobby straightened. "Yeah, well, I figured it was good for my health." Remy had given him several painful bruises as the result of his inattention. He seemed to have a knack for knowing when Bobby's mind was wandering, and that was when he was most likely to spring something like that kick on the unsuspecting young X-Man.

Bobby had been surprised to discover that his training was going to include hand-to-hand fighting. He'd learned the basics, of course, with the X-Men, but he'd never put much emphasis on it because his powers were so much more useful in a fight. But the "no powers" rule made him glad that he was getting a chance to sharpen up. He was beginning to feel like he could take on a skilled opponent without having to resort to his powers to save his hide.

"C'mon. Let's get cleaned up." Remy started off across the park. It was midmorning now, but he and Bobby had beaten the sun there and had been able to spar in relative peace. Central Park was never completely deserted, though, unsurprisingly, no one had approached them. Bobby was incredibly curious as to what could have enticed the Cajun out of bed at such an early hour.

They fetched their bags from the very un-Gambit sedan that they'd taken from the mansion. Bobby hadn't asked about it. He knew if he stayed with Gambit he'd probably get the answer eventually. And Remy was more willing to volunteer information if Bobby had put some effort into figuring it out for himself first.

They walked across the street to one of the many skyscrapers that surrounded the park. On the second floor was a rather exclusive gym that Remy was a member of. Bobby had been there several times already-apparently a great deal of business was conducted between the cross-country ski machines. It never ceased to amaze Bobby that Remy knew all these things. He knew where to go and who to see for just about everything.

They passed the doorman who greeted them both by name, and went directly to the stairs. Bobby spent a fleet moment wishing that he would get enough time to soak in the hot tub for a bit, but he had the feeling that Remy had other plans for them for the rest of the day.

Bobby hummed the Army theme "Be All That You Can Be" as he changed into the suit Remy had suggested he bring. He snugged the tie into position and turned around to find Remy standing quietly behind him, impeccably dressed and apparently waiting. Having gotten used to that sort of thing, Bobby simply asked, "So where are we going?"

Remy's expression didn't change. "De bank."

Well, that explains the suit, at least, Bobby thought. He followed Gambit back to the car, wondering silently if he weren't also trying to include a little fashion sense in his training. Bobby had always thought that he had pretty good taste-at least for a man. But after spending some time in a few of the upper-class places Remy favored, he had begun to realize that there was a whole other level to these sorts of things. Even a nice suit from Sears looked shabby next to designer silk. Bobby kept his sigh to himself as he spotted his reflection in a storefront window. There were some drawbacks to not stealing for real.

They walked into the bank twenty minutes later. It was one of those massive stone buildings, and the interior was enough to take Bobby's breath away. The ceiling was a full forty feet above their head, and from it hung two chandeliers the size of automobiles. The floor was marble, veined with gold. Dark paneling covered the walls, which matched the antique-looking furniture exactly. Their footsteps echoed in the massive space, and Bobby found himself trying to step more lightly.

"Relax, mon ami," Remy commented with a smile. "Dey make it intimidatin' on purpose. Even gets t' me, an' I could break dis place."

"Is that what we're doing?" Bobby asked in an undertone. A fairly alert-looking security guard was watching them, so Bobby tried to keep his expression easy.

Remy chuckled. "Not today. I jus' need t' get some cash."

"What? You couldn't use the ATM?"

Remy didn't answer as they approached the reception desk and the very lovely blond seated there. "Good morning, Mr. LeBeau," she said with a blinding smile. "What can we do for you this morning?"

"Withdrawal, please."

She took a ledger from her desk, opened it to a half-filled page and scribbled something. "The amount?"

"Two million. Cash."

Bobby tried not to choke.

"U.S. currency?"

"Oui."

She finished writing and turned the ledger around. "If you'll just sign-" she indicated the spot with the pen, "I'll let Mr. Raymond know you're here."

"Merci." Gambit accepted the pen and signed the book. The receptionist laid that brilliant smile on them again as she reclaimed her ledger. Then she gestured toward the waiting area, a cluster of leather couches and hardwood tables.

"Please have a seat. Can I bring you coffee? Tea?"

"Non," Gambit declined, apparently for both of them.

As they walked over to the couches, Bobby hissed, "Two million?"

Remy sat down, crossed his legs and picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal from the side table. Bobby blinked in surprise. It was like he'd suddenly switched personalities. This was a high- power executive, a lawyer. Maybe a commodities trader. Not the somewhat scruffy ex-thief and general troublemaker that Bobby was familiar with.

"Remy, sometimes you scare me."

Remy glanced at him over the paper. "Really? Why's dat?"

Bobby only shook his head. "So what's the money for, anyway?"

"We got business t' do tonight. Gon' need it."

Bobby bit back his curiosity. This wasn't the place to discuss details, even if Remy were willing to. He settled himself to wait. It turned out to be a good thing, too. The process of prying that much cash out of a bank was a long and boring one. They spent a total of four hours at the bank, most of them waiting to see someone or another, before an armed guard set a black briefcase down in front of Remy.

Remy flipped the catches and opened the case. Bobby tried not to stare at the neat rows of crisp, new fifty dollar bills. It was definitely the most money he'd ever seen at one time. Remy nodded and closed the case.

"Do you want an armed escort, Mr. LeBeau?" the banker asked.

Remy shook his head, and Bobby tried not to smile. "No t'anks. I c'n manage."

They walked out into the midday sun and Bobby heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm glad that's over."

Remy grinned that disconcerting grin of his. "Dat was de easy part."

They pulled into the drive of a truly spectacular mansion just as the sun was setting. The flaming orange and red of the sky was reflected in the windows, almost making it seem as if the place were on fire. It was a huge house that, honestly, was the closest thing Bobby had ever seen to a castle in the United States. He continued to stare at it as they pulled to a stop in front of the wide marble steps leading up to the front door.

"It's jus' a house," Gambit commented as they stepped out of the car.

Bobby glanced at him over the car's roof. "Who lives here?" All he knew was that they were Upstate somewhere. He'd dozed too much of the trip to know more than that.

"Let's go inside." Remy handed his keys to the valet that approached him. Then he started up the stairs, and Bobby followed. He had the briefcase, Bobby noted.

They were met at the front door by two men in suits. Both were large and solemn, and Bobby had no trouble recognizing their type. Not that the noticeable bulges under their jackets wouldn't have given them away also. Bobby had learned enough about what to look for that he knew that those bulges were much too big for simple handguns. They had to be sporting some kind of uzi-like small automatics.

Remy handed the briefcase to the first, then spread his arms wide and allowed the rather thorough weapons search without visible reaction. Bobby tried to copy his detachment when it was his turn. But he absolutely hated the process. It was. . . violating. But Gambit had drilled it into him-if you're going to let them search you, let them search anything they want. Never react. So he stared at the wall and forced himself to be still until it was over.

The goon that had searched Remy also examined the briefcase. He had Remy open it, and then made a careful search of the money and the case. Finally satisfied, he relocked it and returned it to Gambit.

The goons turned them over to an assistant of some sort, who led them into the house. The foyer emptied into an immense gallery that appeared to run the full depth of the house. Bobby tried very hard not to gawk, but it was more impressive than the Smithsonian. He didn't know enough about art to know how much the paintings were worth, but he could guess. Statues and sculptures lined the walls in individual niches, and there were occasional pedestals displaying smaller pieces. There was even an airplane hung above their heads, though Bobby wasn't certain what it was or what historical significance it might have.

Gambit noticed him staring up at the single-engine plane. "It's a Zero," he said.

"What?"

"A Japanese Zero. World War II fighter. De Kingpin's an airplane buff. Dat one's his favorite."

"Oh." Then Bobby registered the statement in full. "Wait a minute. The Kingpin? The Kingpin?" The X-Men had files on the Kingpin, master of organized crime in New York. But even they didn't know where he lived.

They left the gallery and stepped out into the crisp evening air. They were in some kind of covered colonnade that crossed through a garden area on its way to another part of the building. Their guide had said nothing up to this point, and continued the trend as they went through the door at the far end. Bobby was surprised to find himself in a pool room. The pool itself was lilypad-shaped, with a multitude of slides and diving boards ranged around it. A fully-stocked wet bar occupied a small island at the center of the pool, but none of that was what grabbed Bobby's attention and refused to let go.

The pool was in use. By something close to a dozen of the loveliest women Bobby had ever seen, X-women included. And every one of them was completely naked. They sported in the water, laughing and splashing. An occasional playful shriek echoed across the room. Sometimes someone would climb out of the water to go to one of the slides, bouncing all the way. Bobby felt like he had walked into the middle of a porno flick.

The sharp elbow Remy planted in his ribs brought Bobby out of his reverie. "Let's go."

"But--?"

"Dey wallpaper, Bobby. Ignore dem."

Bobby stared at Gambit in surprise, but his expression was as flat as his voice. He turned and followed their guide without so much as a glance at the pool. Not certain what to think, Bobby tried to copy him.

"Hello, Remy." The Kingpin's voice was a deep, resonant bass.

Not surprising, Bobby thought, considering all the room it has to echo around in there. The Kingpin was not a small man. Bobby estimated him at about four hundred pounds.

"And you must be Bobby Drake." Bobby's heart froze at the sound of his name. The Kingpin knew him? How? From the X-Men? Had he somehow given Remy away?

Bobby tried to control his sudden burst of panic. He nodded in response to the question, forcing himself not to look toward Gambit.

"Bonsoir, Kingpin," Remy replied. If there were any reason to panic, Bobby couldn't tell it from his voice.

The Kingpin sat behind a truly monstrous desk. It seemed to have been custom fit to his bulk. Remy walked up to the desk, set the briefcase on top and opened it, turning it around so that the Kingpin could see the contents. The Kingpin nodded and Remy closed the case again, pushing it off to the side. Then the Kingpin reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a large manila envelope. He slid it across the desk to Remy, who picked it up.

"So how's the day job?" the Kingpin asked conversationally as Remy opened the envelope and began examining the contents. It appeared to hold several official-looking documents, though Bobby couldn't tell what type.

Remy shrugged without looking up from his reading. "De usual."

The Kingpin steepled his fingers in front of his lips, his expression amused. Bobby wondered why he was the only one who felt like panicking. The Kingpin had to be referring to the X-Men. Did he know that Gambit was an X-Man? Worse yet, did Remy give out information he learned as an X-Man to people like the Kingpin?

The Kingpin's gaze shifted to Bobby. "They call you Iceman, correct?"

Bobby couldn't help but look toward Remy. How was he supposed to play this? But Remy was still engrossed in that cursed envelope, and didn't seem to be listening.

"Yes, they do."

The Kingpin's expression of amusement had not faded. "You don't look like a thief."

Bobby could only stare at him, completely at a loss. Was the Kingpin trying to trick him into giving something away? Or was it just an innocent observation?

"Dat makes him perfect, non?" Remy quickly folded up the papers and returned them to their envelope. He tucked the package inside his coat. "Never seen a security guard look twice at him."

The Kingpin chuckled. "Maybe so." He paused, changing subjects. "I hope that is satisfactory." His nod seemed to indicate the mysterious envelope.

Remy didn't seem very eager to talk about it. "It's as much as I was expectin'," he said. Bobby had become familiar with the guarded expression on his face.

Remy began to turn away, but the Kingpin went on, "Then I'll add this to it for free."

Remy turned back, and Bobby found himself tensing in expectation, though he had no idea what kind of trouble might be brewing.

"You're stepping in over your head on this one." The Kingpin said simply. "I know how much you value this mutant crusade of yours, but I doubt that even the X-Men can tangle with this and emerge unscathed."

Remy watched the Kingpin without expression. "You got interest in Draxar?" he asked, and Bobby was left wondering who or what "Draxar" might be.

"Not enough that I will take sides." The Kingpin leaned back in his chair. "I'm giving you this warning because I appreciate the way you do business. Do with it whatever you like." And with that, he pulled out a folder and opened it, apparently dismissing them.

They left without further conversation. Bobby was never so glad to get out of anyplace in his life. The Kingpin's manner had set his skin to prickling, and set off every warning instinct he had. And, unfortunately, had also set him to wondering why such a powerful criminal knew so much about the X-Men.

"How much does he know about the X-Men?" Bobby asked the moment they were in the car.

Remy shrugged. "As much as he wants to." He put the car in drive and started away from the house. The casual way he spoke, combined with Bobby's growing suspicions, ignited a small fire of anger deep in Bobby's stomach.

"Do you - do you sell him information out of our files?"

Remy looked over at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Sometimes."

Bobby's anger blossomed into full-blown fury. He thought he'd begun to understand Remy. He'd certainly begun to trust him. And now to find out that he had betrayed the X-Men's secrets to someone like the Kingpin. . . . He was unaware as he transitioned to his ice form, spreading out into a sort of spiderish shape that gave him excellent balance and mobility in the car seat.

Gambit slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a controlled stop on the side of the driveway. He turned to stare directly at Bobby, apparently unaffected by his sudden shapechange. The hand that Bobby could see glowed with power, though Gambit wasn't currently holding anything.

"Where y' wan' go wit dis, Bobby?" Remy asked softly. Bobby understood in that moment that Gambit would meet him on whatever terms he set. If he wanted a fight, he would get it. If he wanted blood, he would get it. He was stunned to realize that Remy would kill him, if pushed to it.

"I just want an answer," he finally said.

Remy stared at him. Then, "Do y' have any idea what's really important t' a man like de Kingpin?" he asked.

"Money," Bobby answered promptly.

"Exactly."

Bobby watched him warily. "What does that have to do with you selling out the X-Men?"

Real anger flickered behind Gambit's eyes and Bobby watched him warily. He thought he had the advantage in this tight space, but Gambit was just so unpredictable that he wasn't going to count on it. His heart was pounding in pure terror at the thought of taking Gambit on. Not so much out of fear for his own safety, though he knew he'd need an advantage like the last time they'd fought or he'd never be able to take the Cajun. It was more from the realization that he would be destroying the tenuous friendship they had developed. Bobby hadn't imagined until then that it might be important to him.

Remy seemed to relax slightly, as if reading Bobby's reluctance. The glow of his hand faded and then disappeared. "De Kingpin don' like trouble-from mutants or anybody else," he said in a fairly normal tone of voice. "It's bad f' business." He shrugged. "Sometimes, de trouble c'n best be handled from dis side o' t'ings. A little pressure from someone like de Kingpin. A little money. A favor here or dere."

Remy paused to dig a cigarette out of his coat. He didn't bother with a match, but simply flicked the end with one finger. The flash of pink was immediately drowned in a flare of orange as the tobacco lit. "If it's mutant trouble, de Kingpin's boys usually come t' me. If I t'ink he's got de means t' keep t'ings from getting out a hand, I'll sell him de info he wan'. Den his boys c'n do de X-Men's work for dem, business stays good, an' everybody happy. N'cest pa? I even make a little off de deal."

Bobby stared at him, uncertain what to believe. Remy sighed, blowing smoke, and shook his head. "I wouldn' give him anyt'ing dat give him a handle on de X-Men. Don' worry. I'm not stupid."

Bobby found himself relaxing. What Gambit said made sense, in a certain kind of way. "That's o.k., Remy," he found himself replying. "I was only questioning your loyalty, not your intelligence." He had the satisfaction of seeing Remy's eyes widen, as if he weren't certain whether to take the comment seriously or not. Unfortunately, Bobby couldn't' quite hold a straight face, and Remy's lips quirked into a wry smile.

The last of Bobby's tension drained away. He leaned his head back against the rest, suddenly exhausted. "Let's just go home, all right?"

Remy continued to watch him for a moment longer. Then "Right," he agreed, and put the car in gear once again. They made the long drive home in silence.

It was only long after they had arrived back at the mansion that Bobby realized that he'd never asked Gambit what was in that envelope that was worth two million dollars.

Bobby yawned hugely as he stepped out the front door of the mansion. He'd actually gotten a chance to sleep in for once, and had enjoyed taking full advantage of it.

"What's going on?" Bobby came up beside Hank and glanced at his friend. Hank grinned and waved toward the large truck that was parked in front of the house.

"I believe Gambit's car has arrived."

"And everybody came out here to watch?" Nearly all of the X-Men were gathered on the front porch. "Doesn't anybody have a life anymore?"

"Oh, hush," Jean made shushing motions at him. "Besides, we've got a pool going as to what kind of car it'll be."

"Considering all of the trouble Gambit has gone to in bringing it here," Ororo added, and Bobby turned to stare at her.

"You're in the pool?"

Ororo chuckled. "I could not resist."

Bobby was beginning to feel a bit excluded. "So why didn't I hear about this?"

"Probably because you're never around these days," Scott said, staring at Bobby over his wife's head.

"Scott!" Jean elbowed him lightly. "Be nice."

"I am being nice. It's true."

"So? Bobby is entitled to his own life."

"Thank you Jean." Bobby gave her a mock bow and she smiled at him.

"It's about time," Logan growled from where he leaned against one of the columns that supported the porch roof. Bobby turned to follow his gaze and saw that the workmen were lowering the ramp on the truck. When it was down, Gambit climbed nimbly up the steeply sloped surface and disappeared into the dark interior. After a moment, they heard the roar of an engine.

Well, it sounds fast. Bobby leaned over to Beast. "So did you bet in this pool?"

"Indubitably." That had to be Hank's favorite word, Bobby thought.

"What'd you pick?"

Hank grinned. "Something classic. A restored treasure."

Bobby simply raised his eyebrows.

"A 1967 Corvette Stingray."

"Geez, you picked years?"

"And colors. Red."

Bobby couldn't help but laugh. "I really haven't been around enough."

The metallic clanking of the ramp as the car's tires hit it brought Bobby's attention back to the truck. He watched in mild shock as Gambit backed the car slowly out of the truck and onto the mansion's drive. He pulled over to the edge of the pavement, then killed the engine and stepped out.

There was nothing but silence on the porch for several seconds, but then it was broken by a snort from Wolverine. Logan walked down the steps and approached Gambit. "Ya mind?" he asked, waving at the front of the car.

Gambit shrugged. "Help y'self."

As the other X-Men, including Bobby, drifted down the stairs, Logan went around to the driver's side, reached in, and popped the latch on the hood. Like every expensive European sportscar, the hood was hinged at the nose. Logan pushed it open, then busied himself examining the engine beneath.

Jean stopped several paces from the car and crossed her arms. "Remy, I do believe that that is absolutely the. . ." She paused, searching for the appropriate term.

"Yellowest?" Sam supplied helpfully.

Jean grinned. "-- car I've ever seen."

"You should have warned us to bring sunglasses." Scott was, indeed, shading his eyes.

"You're already wearing sunglasses," Bobby reminded him.

"I do not believe that `yellowest' is a real word, Sam." Hank put a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Hey, it fits don't it?"

"Well. . . yes." Hank, too, shaded his eyes as he studied the car. "Though I must admit that once one recovers from the color, it's quite attractive."

Chuckling to himself, Bobby walked over to Gambit. "Do I dare ask why you own the world's only neon yellow Ferrari?" It really was an obnoxious color, especially with the bright sunlight reflecting off it like that. Gorgeous car, though."

"Hey Gumbo!" Logan's voice echoed slightly beneath the hood. "Who built this engine for ya?" He straightened and looked questioningly at Gambit.

Remy grinned. "TRD."

"Who?" Bobby asked.

"Toyota Racing and Development."

Bobby almost laughed at the idea of putting a Toyota engine in a Ferrari, until he saw the respectful lift to Logan's eyebrows.

"Nice work," he said.

"Toyota?" Bobby couldn't help but ask.

Logan carefully lowered the hood. "Best engines in the world, boy. `Specially a custom job like this."

"I didn't know that yellow was a favored color," Beast said as he stepped up behind Remy.

"It's not," Gambit answered.

Hank's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Really? Then why not have the vehicle repainted? Red, perhaps?"

"I'm sensing a theme here, Hank," Bobby muttered to his friend.

Gambit gave Hank a particularly sly look. "Let's jus' say dat it's. . .. highly visible, an' leave it at dat."

"And here I thought that'd be the last thing you'd want in a getaway car." Warren had come up next to Scott. His expression said that he was impressed and hating it.

Gambit's lips thinned. "A getaway car? Dat what y' t'ink dis is?"

"Isn't it?"

To Bobby's surprise, Gambit began to laugh. "Non. A getaway car's f' some sorry excuse f' a t'ief dat don' got de skill t' get out clean." He patted the sleek yellow car. "Dis is an alibi."

"I don't get it." Scott was frowning. Bobby had to admit that he didn't understand either.

Remy shook his head. "Look, it's simple." He sounded like he thought he was explaining something to children. "Dere's only one a dese in de world. De plates are custom, even. It's a great big flashin' sign dat say `Remy LeBeau be here'." He pointed to an imaginary spot on the hood.

"And apparently this is a good thing." Hank's brows were drawn together in a thoughtful frown. Bobby had the feeling that he was trying to puzzle out the reasoning before Remy explained it.

"'Course." Remy was getting that Cheshire grin again. He was enjoying the chance to brag a little. "I'd go to a party, mix it up f' a little while. Make sure t' talk t' everybody. Den, once t'ings in full swing an everybody's gettin' boozed up, I could leave quiet-like. Leave de car in de lot. Come back in a couple hours, an' start makin' de rounds again. Everybody assume dey jus' didn't see me f' a while. An' anybody at de party asks where I been, I c'n smile an' say `Hey, had a private invitation, n'cest pa?'. Dey c'n decide f' demselves who dey t'ink I was wit."

Scott frowned, but his tone was light. "Now, this was before you retired, right?" Bobby shot him a startled glance. Scott teasing?

Remy gave Scott a dirty look, but didn't interrupt his story. "Later, when it all said an' done, de cops c'n ask anybody who was dere about me an' dey'll all swear up an' down dat I was dere de whole night. Dey'd be tellin' de truth, least as far as dey concerned. An' since de car's been dere de whole time. . . " He grinned. "Voila! De perfect alibi, non?"

"That is absolutely despicable," Warren said after a moment.

Something in the superiority of his tone touched a nerve in Bobby. Warren didn't have the faintest idea how Gambit lived. He certainly didn't have the right to call him "despicable".

"Actually, it's slicker than snot," Bobby told him. "You just don't have any imagination." Then he brushed by the startled X-Man and walked back into the house, completely unaware of the stares that followed him.