Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 12

Smiling, Bobby admired himself in a mirror. Always a little too thin, with constantly messy hair and too much baby fat on his face to look mature, he'd never really liked his appearance. But he had to admit, in a five thousand dollar suit, he looked good.

Turning slightly, he looked at the cut of the splendid jacket. It made his shoulders look broader than they were. Even his baby fat was diminished.

"Please stand still," the tailor said politely, kneeling down and holding the cuff of one of his pant legs.

"Oh, sorry."

A low chuckle sounded behind him. Remy was lounging in a chair in a corner of the private fitting room, tapping the cigarette he wasn't allowed to smoke against the hard oak of the arm. Unlike Bobby, he was dressed in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, with his scuffed biker boots and sunglasses. The store owner had almost turned him away at the door, until he pulled out his charge card.

"Be patient, homme. Let de man finish."

Bobby grinned at him. "I can't believe this suit. I can't believe you're buying it for me."

Remy chuckled again. "Ain' not'in', an' y' needed somethin' decent t' wear."

"Hey, I've got suits."

He smiled, a smile Bobby had once thought was arrogant, but now only saw as friendly. "Dose are suits an accountant would wear. I'm tired of y' emberassin' me in public wit' y' clothes."

Bobby looked pointedly at his jeans.

Remy grinned wider. "Don' get flip wit' me, boy. I ain' paid for dat t'ing yet."

The tailor stood up, coiling his measuring tape. "I have the measurements I need. If you will remove the suit, I will have it ready for you by tomorrow afternoon."

Bobby blinked at him. "But it fits."

Remy shook his head. "Chil'en. Dey don' know nothin'. Dis ain' de local suit shop, Bobby. Dat's an Aramani. Dey get fitted t' y' 'xactly."

Bobby sighed and hopped off the pedestal he'd been standing on. The tailor took the jacket and went out of the changeroom as Bobby began unbuttoning his shirt, stepping behind a screen so that Remy couldn't see him. The Cajun chuckled again.

"I can't wait to see Hank's face when he sees me in this," Bobby said as he changed back into clothes to match Remy's. "Or the rest of the X-Men either."

"Ain' gonna see you in it."

Bobby looked around the screen at him. "But I look great in it! Why not?"

"'Cause dere no reason an' no way f' de X-Man Bobby Drake t' go 'round in a $5000 silk suit. Y'd stand out like a sore thumb. I t'ought y'd learned dat bein' discrete de name of de game. Why you t'ink I train Bobby an' not Iceman?"

Bobby flushed. "But you wear suits like this."

"Not at de mansion I don'. T' de X-Men, I'm jus' a scruffy Cajun wit' a problem wit' author'ty."

Yanking on his sneakers, Bobby walked back out to him. "Why is that? Why make them think you're something you're not? Why hang out with the Thieves Guild if you're not a thief anymore?" These were all questions he'd wanted to ask for a long time, without knowing how. "Why always pretend to be something you're not?"

Remy tilted his head to one side as he regarded him, thinking. Bobby faced him squarely, waiting for his answer, if one came. He'd gotten to know Remy well enough to know that he didn't answer anything he didn't want to.

Finally, the Cajun sighed and pulled his sunglasses off, his red on black eyes squinting in the bright overhead lights. "Why you t'ink I do it, Bobby?"

"What?"

The Cajun's grin gleamed in challenge. "You tell me why I keep secrets an' hang wit' de Guild, an' if y' right, I'll tell you."

He wants me to play twenty questions? Bobby wondered and looked at him. No, he wanted him to think rationally, take what he knew of his personality and his actions and come up with a hypothesis. It was another lesson. And like all the lessons the Cajun taught him, it was one the younger man couldn't afford to let himself fail.

"I think I need to think about that one for a while."

"Take all de time y' need." He stood. "C'mon, I bought you clothes, you can buy me lunch."

"Great, McDonalds it is!"

Remy looked at him in hopeless despair, then shook his head and laughed.

"Y'know, when I was a kid, I used t' have nightmares 'bout workin' in a fast food place, wearin' a stupid hat on my head an' askin' ev'body if dey wan' fries wit' dere meal." Remy looked at his burger in disgust. "Used t' get nightmares 'bout eatin' de food too."

Bobby glanced at him over his shake. "So ask them to cook it Cajun style and burn it."

"Ha ha. Ver' funny."

"Thanks, I thought so."

Remy shook his head at him, wrapped the half eaten burger up and tossed it across the room, right past a startled diner's head and into the garbage can. "You be awful playful t'day. T'ings goin' good?"

"Things are going great." Bobby sighed dreamily. "Diedre is great."

He heard the familiar Cajun chuckle. "Sounds like I'm gonna have t' meet dis woman someday."

Bobby sucked on his shake noisely. "And watch you use your Cajun charm to steal her away? No chance!"

Remy smiled, a little sadly. "Don' worry, homme. I ain' lookin' t' get involved wit' nobody right now."

Bobby put his shake down. "Are you alright?"

"Yah."

He was looking out the window, a sure sign in the Cajun of approaching depression. Bobby knew exactly why, too. He'd once tried to freeze the man on a rooftop because of it.

"She'll be back," he said softly.

"Maybe."

The word was barely a whisper and Bobby struggled to think of what to say to him. Finally, he shoved his fries at him. "Here, have a fry. They'll make you feel better."

Remy blinked at the fry and laughed, already looking more like himself as he took one. "Maybe it will at dat."

After lunch, the two X-Men wandered out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk. Bobby didn't know where they were going, or even if they were going anywhere at all. It was just nice to walk down the street pointing out good looking women and idiots with a friend. He'd used to do the same with Hank, but Hank was too busy in his lab now, and even when he had time, he tended to wax philiosphical about beautiful women in a way that was not only confusing, but a little embarrassing, since it was out loud and often overheard. Remy was far more subte, indicating the passing of a beauty with a quick elbow in the ribs and an incline of his head. There also seemed to be more of the beauties around as well. Strolling down the sidewalk with the Cajun definately got more womens' attention than being with Hank did. Even with an image inducer, Hank looked a lot like himself.

It suddenly occured to him that, on one level, he was closer right now to Gambit, who had time for him, than his best friend, who didn't.

Passing by them, he saw a gorgeous woman in elaborate makeup and a strapless dress walking a trio of afghans on a leash. He looked back over her shoulder as she passed. "Now, that is a woman I wouldn't mind chasing," he admitted. "If I didn't have Diedre that is." She didn't even compare, but she was still pretty sexy.

"Dat woman would eat you f' lunch. Hey, watch it, homme!"

Bobby turned to see a scruffy man in a torn coat bump into the Cajun, almost dancing around him to try and get past. "Sorry," he apologized.

Suddenly, Bobby saw the man pass Gambit an envelope. It was subtle. If Remy hadn't drilled him for so long on noticing little things, he never would have seen it. He was sure no one else did. A moment later, the man was past them and continued on out of sight. There was no sign of the envelope as Remy kept walking down the sidewalk, just as he had been before.

Bobby looked back the way the man had vanished, then hurried to catch up to the Cajun. "What did he just pass you?" He whispered.

"Shush," Remy hissed.

Immediately, without resentment, Bobby shut up, actually embarrassed that he'd forgotten himself and asked such a question in a public place. Then he blinked and smiled. The Cajun had definately had an effect on him, and obeying his orders was becoming second nature.

Suddenly, a frightening thought occured to him. What if Scott and Remy each were to give him contradictory orders? Scott had been his leader in the X-Men for years, but Remy was his master and mentor, as well as his only way to get to Diedre. Who would he obey?

Chewing on that thought, he followed Remy across the street and into a park. The Cajun led the way down the jogging trails into the woods, then off the path into the bushes. They reached a clearing and he closed his eyes, turning around slowly. Bobby's eyes widened. Remy was using his spacial awareness sense to detect if there was anyone watching them or in the area. He almost never used his powers outside of the X-Men, so whatever this was, it was serious.

Finally satisfied, Remy looked at him coldly. Bobby hesitated, then dropped his head. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"For what?"

Bobby flinched. "For drawing attention to the envelope." He was blushing bright red.

"Good."

There was no recrimination in the Cajun's voice, no sign that he held it against him once he apologized. He just wanted to make sure the younger man understood, and Bobby did. If anyone had been tracking them or that man, they may have missed the pass, until he stupidly pointed it out. He'd potentially put them into a lot of danger, but this was the last Remy would mention it unless he were so incredibly stupid as to do it again. If it was Scott, however, he'd have to sit through some long lecture. Still, he wasn't sure which of the two men he'd rather be chewed out by. Both of them left you feeling like a little patch of dirt on the ground, Scott more so than Remy, but at least Scott didn't have a mental tally in his heads on how many times he'd let you screw up before he gave up on you.

Remy pulled out the envelope and opened it and Bobby sucked in his breath at the sight of the thick wad of green bills in it. He didn't think he was a newbie in regards to seeing large amounts of money anymore, but certainly not large amounts received like this. Remy removed out a folded letter and tossed him the envelope. "Count dis," he ordered and proceeded to read.

Bobby blinked at the money he held and proceeded to count it. There was five thousand dollars there, in new, unmarked bills. He looked at the Cajun, who was just finishing off the letter.

"Why would a scruffy drifter give you five thousand dollars?" He asked. A sudden thought occured to him. "He was just a messenger, wasn't he?"

Remy tapped the folded letter against his cheek. "Yup. F' someone who wants t' remain nameless. My guess be de Kingpin or some ot'er big crime boss, but dat's jus' a guess. He's pretty good at coverin' his tracks, an' I don' got no reason t' ferret him out."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "He isn't buying more information off you, is he?" That still bothered him.

Gambit grinned at him. "Nah. He wants me t' stop a gang war."

"What?!"

The Cajun sighed. "'Cordin' t' dis, the Pythons an' de White Cranes are goin' t' have a rumble t'night. Dis money be payment f' me to go an' negotiate a peace 'tween dem."

"Why would they listen to you?"

"'Cause I got a reputation f' bein' fair, neutral, unbribable an' havin' de power t' beat de shit outta anyone who cross me."

Bobby sniggered in spite of himself. He'd seen Remy fight, he could believe it. "Are you going to do it?"

He grimaced in disgust. "F' five t'ousand? Dis guy's cheapin' out on me."

Bobby gaped at him. "But, people could get hurt!"

He cocked his head to one side and regarded him. "So? Gangs ain' nice, Bobby. Dey loot an' steal an' sell drugs, 'mong other t'ings. De man who be tryin' t' pay me wants dem at peace so dey can keep workin' f' him. He don' care if dey live or die normally. I'm a little surprised dat he don' just let dem fight it out an' sell dem guns in de process, den put de winner under his foot. Somet'ing mus' be up." He looked thoughtful.

Bobby bit his lip. The Cajun was serious. He'd turn his back on this if Bobby couldn't convince him otherwise. Worse, he saw a lot of reason in what he'd said.

"Remy, what about the innocent bystanders?" He tried to sound logical when he just wanted to grab him and shake him. He knew that wouldn't go over at all well though. Remy had a serious problem with people telling him what to do at the best of times, and as his apprentice, Bobby wasn't even supposed to be questioning him. "If the gangs fight, they won't just keep it to themselves. It'll spread out and a lot of people who aren't even involved will get hurt. Sure, they do a lot of shitty things, but there's always the chance they'll learn to change, and you can't do that when you're dead. It's just like the X-Men stopping mutants from fighting before they destroy a city or something."

Remy seemed to be considering his words, but Bobby detected a faint smile on his lips.

"You bastard, you already plan to stop them!"

Remy laughed. "Yeah. Jus' wan'ed t' see what you t'ought 'bout it."

Bobby groaned. "Does everything has to be a lesson?"

Remy looked sad for a moment. "When everyt'ing in life a struggle, den yeah." He stuffed the letter in his jacket, along with the money. "I got 'til ten but I wan' t' get dere early an' get de lay a de land. You go back t' de mansion an' play dumb. You don' know where I went to."

Bobby nodded. "Right. What time will you pick me up, or do you want me to meet you there?"

"You ain' goin' on dis one, Bobby. Take de night off."

The younger man blanched at that. "You're not going alone, I'm coming with you," he decided.

Remy suddenly seemed cold and distant, as intimidating as Magneto, or Apocalypse. Bobby had to quench a sudden urge to run. "Dis ain' Gambit asking Iceman. Dis is Remy LeBeau, Master T'ief, orderin' his apprentice t' go home. You goin' t' challenge me on dis?"

Bobby closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at that overwhelming presense. He knew if he didn't acquiese right now, the training would be over. Diedre... he thought desperately. He wanted to, but he couldn't. For all his skill, Remy wasn't all that powerful a mutant. If two gangs decided to kill him, he'd die. Bobby owed him too much for that.

And perhaps there was a way to reason with him and not lose everything he'd worked for. The Guild was steeped in ritual and tradition, Remy had made sure he understood that. And while an apprentice had no say in the decisions of a master, especially not his own master, there were ways for one to ask for the right to plead his case, though it would require him to swallow his pride. With the mood Remy was in, though, it was the only thing he'd be likely to listen to.

"Please, Master," he said softly, words he'd heard other apprentices speak to Michael. "Let me speak." He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed.

Gambit hesitated. "The apprentice may speak," he said at last, formally.

Bobby took a deep breath. "It isn't my place, I know, but I have to disagree. If anything goes wrong, you'll need backup. I can give you that, watch your back. Please let me come. I won't shame you, I swear it."

There was silence for a long moment, then Gambit sighed. "Lift y' head, Bobby." He did, to see to his surprise that the Cajun looked ashamed. It was an expression he'd never seen on his face before. "I'm sorry, mon ami," he said, and he knew it was sincere. "I spent so much time trainin' Bobby dat I forgot he still Iceman. I won' give you orders like dat again an' you can come." His face hardened. "But you gotta keep silent an' 'bey me instantly."

Bobby grinned. "Whatever you say, Boss."

"Jesus, Remy. They look like they're going to start World War Three! Why aren't we down there?!"

"Easy. Dey won' start until dere leaders get here."

Bobby stared at the Cajun's intent face, then down at the floor of the old warehouse where the rumble was to take place. It'd been abandoned for years, all the windows smashed and garbage clogging the corners, but the main floor was relatively clean and it was filled with angry men.

The White Cranes were Asian, dressed in unripped fatigue-type baggy pants and military boots, some with quilted vests over long sleeved shirts with the sleeves pushed up, others with t-shirts. Fingerless gloves were common and many of them carried motorcycle helmets in one hand, weapons in the other. The Pythons were Black. They wore lots of leather and denim, with lots of rips and holes. The bandanas they wore over their heads were all of the same color and pattern. The Pythons outnumbered the Cranes, but from the look of it, the Cranes were better armed. They stood down there and hurled insults at each other.

Bobby whistled. "It's a race war."

"Jus' like mutants an' humans."

"How are you going to stop them?"

The Cajun's smile was cold. "Dis is a fight to see who de biggest kid on de block. I'm gonna show dat I'm bigger dan either of dem. Den I'll reason."

The younger man gaped at his mentor. "You're not powerful enough to take them all on!"

"Dey don' know how powerful I am." He turned blood red eyes on dem. "'Sides, how you know I'm not?"

"I've seen you fight."

He smiled. "Not when I don' gotta worry 'bout who's gonna get up later."

Bobby felt his blood run cold.

Suddenly, the front doors to the warehouse opened and Remy straightened a little where he crouched behind a crate on the walkway just below the warehouse roof. "Dis is it. De Python leader here. De Cranes' not be far b'hind." He shifted slightly. "Now, I'm gonna go down dere alone. You stay here and stay outta sight. If I need y', I'll let y' know. Un'erstand?"

Bobby nodded, his heart racing. This wasn't like what the X-Men did. That tended to be straight action, immediate attack and withdrawal. There was little waiting and certainly no one would hold back while one of their members walked in among overwhelming odds. It felt positively unnatural.

"Be careful," he whispered.

Remy grinned. "Never."

Below, the door opened a second time as Remy slunk away into the shadows, vanishing as silently and quickly as Wolverine would. Bobby hunkered down to wait.

"Fuckin' goddamn motherfuckin' asshole, thinkin' y' can come in my territory an' interrupt my business..."

The leader of the White Cranes smiled. "If you were so good at business, there wouldn't be room for me, now would there?"

Remy stood in the shadows around the stairs and watched them. He'd seen it a thousand times. Both groups hated the other and wanted them out, while refusing to see any other alternative. He'd grown up in that kind of environment, when he and the other New Orleans Thieves fought the Assassins. They'd at least tried to settle their differences. He had no doubt that he wouldn't stop any hatred between these two groups tonight. At best he'd keep them from killing each other for a while. Which was something, he supposed, if he didn't know he'd see at least some of their bodies in the future.

He narrowed his eyes, peering at them. They were angry, their body temperatures up like a bright red glow in the torso of each of them. It was time.

"Gentlemen!" He called.

Immediately, they all spun towards where he still stood hidden in the shadows, only his glowing red eyes visible, and he found himself the target of close to fifty guns.

"Who's there?" One of them demanded.

Hoping that Bobby wouldn't panic and flash freeze them all, he walked forward, his arms held slightly away from the sides of his trenchcoat. Startled by his presence and his eyes, no one stopped him as he walked over to a crate partway out to the centre of the warehouse, gang members making way for him uncertainly.

"Who the hell are you, white boy?" The Python leader demanded.

Remy smiled slightly and hopped up onto the crate. Raising his voice so that they all could hear him, he called. "I am Gambit." Murmurs and whispering started up. He cocked his head at the two leaders, both of whom stood a wary distance away from each other while they stared at him. "I see some of you have heard a me." He let his red eyes sweep over the crowd. "I am here t' listen t' ye beef an' keep y' all alive."

"Bullshit! Gambit is a legend."

He raised his hands and they began to glow. "I seem t' fit de description pretty well, n'est pas?"

Gang members began backing away.

The leader of the White Cranes spat on the floor. "We didn't ask for any arbitration."

He pinned him with his gaze. "Neverdeless, I been paid t' give it an' I will."

"And what if we refuse?"

Remy shrugged and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with the tip of one glowing finger. "Den a lot a people are gonna die t'night who don' have to, and dere's a very good chance de two of you be 'mong dem." He looked at them intently until one swallowed and the other took an involuntary step back. He had them now.

He hopped off the crate and walked over to the two frightened men. "Killin' an wars don' do business no good. Dey jus' get valuable people killed an' waste money an' ammo, plus riskin' de loss of territory t' any third party dat come in. I give y' my word dat if you talk wit' me, both of you walk out of here alive."

The Crane looked at him critically and nodded a fraction of a second before the Python growled a low "Whatever, I got time."

The Cajun smiled. "Excellente. Now, wait here a moment an' I be right wit' you."

He turned to face the assembled gangs. "I see y' grouped y'selves on either side of de warehouse already. Dat's good." He walked down the open area between the two gangs to the warehouse doors.

"Why don't we just kill him?" Someone asked.

Someone else snorted. "Either that guy's seriously fucked in the head or he has something we don't. Either way, I'm not messing with him."

Remy reached the doors and bent over, tracing his finger along the dusty floor as he walked backwards towards the opposite wall. The men stared at him without speaking, and especially at the glowing line he left behind him. When he reached the wall, he made another parallel line, leaving a 20 foot wide strip between the two gangs, with the leaders and himself in the middle.

He raised his voice again. "If anyone cross dese lines," he called. "I will kill him." He saw a flicker in the upper levels as Bobby reacted to that. "If he cross in person, fires a bullet, t'rows a knife or hurls an insult. Not'ing cross dese lines. Any problems wit' dat?" He swept his gaze over the crowd, but no one said a word and he deliberately turned his back on them, trusting to his powers to let him know if anyone tried to put something sharp between his shoulderblades. He rejoined the leaders.

"Let's talk."

Jesus, they're terrified of him! Bobby crouched in the shadows and stared down at Gambit as he and the two gang leaders sat down on some crates to talk. He couldn't hear what they were saying and considered trying to sneak closer and overhear, but Remy had done a thorough job of intimidating him as well.

With that kind of presence, he could run the X-Men. Hell, he could run half the world. If Remy wanted that much power, though, he'd have it already, and he breathed a sigh of relief for small favours.

For the first time since the gangs entered, he began to have real hope that they weren't going to start killing each other, and all because of one man. One special man. Bobby had no illusions that he could do what Gambit had just done. Then again, he used to believe that his powers were limited to ice slides and snowballs, and that he was a loser. Remy had already shown him the lie in that. Maybe he had other potentials he hadn't tapped as well.

Quietly, he sat there and began to smile.

It was about territory. The White Cranes were being pushed out of part of theirs and were retaliating by trying to take over the Pythons. It was simple and familiar, but something bothered him about it.

"How come y' not fighting f' y' space? Why move out t' new areas dis quickly?"

"Because they're cowards," Cliff, the Black, said.

Remy looked at him. "What I tell you 'bout bein' polite?" The man flushed and he sighed. "I heard y' problem. Y' should take y' people home."

Cliff glared at him. "Not 'til I know that motherfucker ain't gonna try and push into my business anymore!"

"I said I'd handle it!" Remy was annoyed that he'd had to raise his voice and Cliff seemed to sense it. Quickly, he stood and left, taking his gang with him. The other gang, wary of Remy's warning, didn't make a sound.

Remy turned to Han, the Asian gang leader. He was more polite than Cliff, but in his mind, somewhat slimier as well. Still, he could tell that something was seriously scaring him.

"Why y' not fight?" He asked again.

"You think we haven't tried?" Han hissed. "There's a goddamn three block radius in my territory where anyone who goes in doesn't come out. No bodies even. They just vanish."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "Dis don' sound like gang work or even family. What 'bout de peope who live in de area?"

Han snorted. "Nobody lives there now. It was all condemned and bought up by some company called Draxar months ago. They're the ones killing my people and the cops don't even care worth shit."

Remy stared at him, feeling cold. "Draxar. You sure dat's de name of dem?"

"It's the name on the trucks I see going in."

Draxar. That company again. I gotta get off my butt an' finish checkin' dese people out. Dey're startin' t' make me nervous. He'd been spending too much time with Bobby, and too much time in the Guild trying to keep Michael from exposing their powers for profit. He'd learned a lot from the Kingpin about Draxar, but only enough to realize how deep their roots went, and how well hidden their real owners were. He had some contacts he could use, world class hackers. Maybe he should set some of them loose and see what they could come up with. But first he'd take a little firsthand look himself.

Han looked at him suspiciously. "You know what they're doing?"

Remy smiled at him. "Nope. Jus' a li'l weird is all. You got no clue what dey're doin' in dere?"

"None. They got goons telling people politely to keep back. If you don't, you vanish. So we're moving into Python territory." He stared at him defiantly.

Remy sighed. "Fightin' de Pythons get as many people killed as dese Draxar characters. Pull back an' I see what I c'n do."

"Why should I?"

"You really want me t' answer dat?"

Han hesitated, then shook his head. "I'll give you six months, then it's war."

"Dat'll be fine." Remy watched Han and his gang leave. Six months was plenty of time, especially when his gut was telling him time would run out long before then.

"I think I've figured it out."

Remy looked at Bobby as they both walked back to where Remy had hidden his car. "What's dat?"

Bobby frowned. "Why you do it. Why you stay a thief even though you aren't one anymore."

The Cajun smiled. "And why dat?"

He stopped and looked at him. "Because you're in a position to help people in a way no one else really can. You can stop gang wars because people have heard of your skill. You have the political clout and know how to keep an eye on the Guilds, to make sure the mutants in them stay safe." He felt like a light had gone off inside him. "The Professor knows you're doing this, doesn't he?"

Gambit looked surprised. "What make you say dat?"

Iceman shook his head. "You've been feeding information to Kingpin in exchange for his info and dealing with mutant threats." His mind raced to keep up with the realization it was coming to. "But all of our information is kept in the Ready Room and you have to be a telepath to get to half of it. The Professor has to be helping you. But why?"

A final realization came. "It's because the Guilds are mutants. Mutants banding together for protection who wind up on the wrong side of the law because there's no other way for them. So much on the wrong side of the law and so determined not to let anyone know they're mutants that they'd never respond to anything like the Xavier Institute or the X-Men. So you're the Professor's only link to them." He shook his head again, in stunned disbelief and awe. "I'm right, aren't I? It takes a thief to talk to a thief."

Remy looked at him intently, then smiled. "You're becomin' a very wise man, you know dat?"

"Thanks!" He swallowed. "Uh, does the Professor know about me?"

The Cajun grinned at him slyly. "I don' know, but if he calls y' t' his office..."

"Yeah?"

"Start t' sweat."

"Great..."

Remy just laughed and led him the rest of the way back.