"Probably," Logan said, shaking his hand. "Thanks, Duke. You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "Like I told you, the sheriff around these parts doesn't like mutants too much, and I got a dozen witnesses here says you were being attacked. Or at least, he was on top of you when I shot him. I'll just say you got scared and ran away. Nothing's going to happen to me, sweetheart. Won't even make the papers."

Which was disturbing, and under any other circ.u.mstances, worthy of an in-depth investigation. Except, Duke and the men backing him upa"all of them truckers who had heard the ruckus and come runninga"were trying to be good people. Had been, too. They just had a different perspective on things, and Logan really couldn't blame them. h.e.l.l, psycho cannibal mutants like that corpse in the women's bathroom did not do much for making a good impression.

Scott, thankfully, kept his mouth shut. Logan could tell he was itching to say something, to speak up for the goodness of all mutant kind, but this was not the time or the place.

Duke said, "You take care, Patty. I hope you and your friends make it home safe, without the law on your tails."

Because none of the X-Men wanted to risk encounters with the police, and Duke seemed like the kind of man who understood why it wasn't always good for some people to have face time with the cops.

They got into the car and drove away, fast. Scott was at the wheel, jean in the front seat beside him. Crammed in the back with the others, Logan felt like a little kid about to get a lecture from his mommy and daddy.

"What happened back there?" Scott asked, the moment they were back on the freeway and gunning it at ninety.

"Someone took a look at me, thought victima"or maybe just Happy Meala"and decided to go for it. Might have taken a chunk or two if Rogue hadn't come back to see how I was doing."

"I didn't think anyone, even you, couldn't possibly take that long " she said, squeezed up tight against him. Logan felt grateful for her good Southern common sense. He glanced at Jean, noting the lines of her pensive face.

The gun was in the glove compartment. Logan wondered if she really would have shot that mutant, and decided yes, if push came to shove.

"He didn't even get a chance, though," Scott said. "That man, Duke, didn't ask any questions. He just shot that mutant, and was happy for it."

Logan stared at the back of his head. "Did you miss the part where I was going to be eaten alive?"

"All right, so the situation merited some defensive measures. My point"a"here Logan could barely hear him over the low shocked laughter from the rest of the cara""is that it could have been something completely different. That mutanta"and yes, I know this wasn't the case, but let's be hypotheticala"could just have been trying to help you. Maybe the situation merely looked bad. You can't justify a 'shoot first, ask questions later' policy, just because it involves mutants. And then the way they were going to sweep it under the ruga""

The soapbox was coming, and Logan did not feel in the mood to hear Scott rant about injustice.

"Scott," he interrupted. "If it makes you feel better, I would have killed him myself if I'd had the chance. In cold blood. You don't let psychos like that run loose. All they do is cause pain."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Scott asked, his voice cold. "You think the same hasn't been said about you?"

Kurt made a soft sound of protest. Logan said, "I know it has. Doesn't bother me, because they're partly right I am a dangerous man. And one day, if someone puts me down for being dangerous, I'll know they probably had a good reason. Thing is, Cyke, there are the kind who are dangerous just because, and the kind who are dangerous because they get off on it. Those are the ones you should be worried about. Those are the ones you shouldn't feel sorry for. That was the kind of man who had me pinned down on the floor of that bathroom, and who was going to take a bite out of my face. You can bet I'm not the only one he's cleaned his teeth on. So don't you dare ask me to sympathize, and don't you make me apologize for being alive."

"We're not vigilantes," Scott said. "We can't take justice in our own hands. No one should be able to do that."

Logan said nothing. He and Scott had never seen eye- to-eye on certain issues, this being one of them. Logan was the kind of man who did what had to be done, no questions asked. Scott was the same, except he asked the questions. Which, when he thought about it, was probably the reason why he was team leader, and why Logan respected him for it. Scott could be a pain, but he usually knew what he was talking about.

Except for now.

"You're thinking too much in black-and-white," Logan said. "Those guys back there are good people."

"If you're not a mutant."

"Maybe so, but imagine the kinds of experiences they've had with mutants. Tonight might be the closest any of them has come to one, and what do they see? A murderer, a cannibal. What do you expect them to do, hold hands and sing the praises of forgiveness? I don't think so, bub."

"So it's okay? They've got carte blanche to discriminate and kill anyone who they think might be a threat?"

"Don't you twist my words, Cyke. You know that's not what I'm saying."

Scott remained silent, stewing. He was good at that. Logan wondered if he ever tried to pull that s.h.i.t with Jean and decided he wouldn't dare. At the moment, she watched him sternly, and if Logan had not been certain she was no longer telepathic, he could almost swear she was giving him some kind of mental lecture.

She probably is. He just ain't hearing it.

"So," Rogue said, breaking into the silence with a wry smile for Logan. "How long until we get there?"

"You're only allowed to ask that question once a day," Logan said. "We're about twenty-four hundred miles from home. That's, what, almost thirty-five hours of road time. If we don't stop much, we'll be home the day after tomorrow."

"We'll probably run out of money before then," Scott said. He seemed calmer, more in control. Logan gave all the credit to Jean's nontelepathic vibrations.

"Too bad we can't sell this car," Rogue muttered.

"And then steal another?" Logan gave her an amused look. "Have I created a monster?"

"The monster was always there," Rogue said, and there was a slight edge beneath the humor, enough to give him pause. He did not push her for more, though. Logan was not a big fan of dredging up issues. If people wanted to talk, they did. Simple as that.

The sun came up, illuminating rock and tree, mountains bright. Logan rolled down his window, inhaling the scent. Homesickness swelled inside his hearta"not for New York, but for this, this precious solitudea"and if the situation had not been so dire, if he had been whole and healthy inside his body, he would have forced Scott to stop the car and let him out. Let him go, deep into the wild to disappear for a day or a year.

They pulled over at a truck stop in a little town outside Bozeman. It was midmorning and the tank was banging on empty. They had only ten dollars left and all of that went to the gas.

"What's our food look like?" Scott asked, leaning on the car. His black hair looked a little on the greasy side, but his skin was clear and his dark almond eyes had that glint in them that was pure Fearless Leader.

Kurt peered into the plastic bag. "We still have some bread and peanut b.u.t.ter left, but the doughnuts are gone and we're almost out of water."

"We could always fill up inside a bathroom faucet," Logan said. "Food is another matter. We might just have to go hungry until we get home."

Jean pulled her dreadlocks back, twisting and knotting them into a bun. "There are some pay phones over there. I'm going to call the Mansion."

"Okay, but if one of us answers, hang up. The less we talk to them, the better. No need to give our counterparts an excuse to start looking for us, or tracking our location."

"I'm going to the bar," Logan said. Everyone stared at him.

"Bar?" Rogue asked. "There's a bar?"

"Sure," Logan said, amazed they hadn't noticed it. "Look over there by the gas station."

Rogue squinted. "That's a shack, sugah. I've seen tool sheds in better condition."

"Yes, but this one has beer. They've got it advertised with a nice little neon sign."

"It's ten in the morning."

"And there are cars parked outside."

"You're broke."

"Who says I'm going to buy?" Logan hefted the water botde. "I'll be back."

Scott frowned. "I better go with you."

"Oh, Lord." Rogue looked at the sky, while Kurt crossed himself. "Save us now."

"Laugh it up," Logan said, and marched off toward the little bar which did resemble some rough toolshed, but no doubt carried the scents of cigarettes, liquor, and cheap women: parfum d'Logan.

It was all of those things when he went in, minus the cheap women. Just a bunch of men sitting at a tiny counter that barely had room for a bottle of vodka, let alone gla.s.ses and elbows. The rest of the bar's floor s.p.a.ce was taken up by an emerald holy grail, illuminated by perfectly placed track lighting that seemed to light that gleaming surface from within.

"That's some pool table," Scott said, peering over Logan's shoulder.

"Sure is," he said. Men stood around, holding their cues like spears, weapons of war. They looked at Logan and Scott, looked with the eyes of men unaccustomed to having their inner sanctum invaded by outsiders, and Logan suddenly had a brilliant idea. He glanced at Scott, and smiled.

"Oh, no," he said. "Logana""

"h.e.l.lo boys," Logan said. "Nice sticks you've got there."

They had to leave the bar for several minutes in order to tell the others where to park. Logan also used it as an opportunity to give Scott some instructions.

"Unb.u.t.ton your shirt," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have much cleavage, but if you unb.u.t.ton your shirt a little more that won't matter. See? Look at me."

"I cannot believe I'm doing this."

"Think of yourself as breadwinner. Like some boxer from the thirties, throwing himself into the ring to bring money home for the wife and hungry kids."

"It's a little different," Scott said. "You want me to sell my body."

"I don't want you to sell your body. I want you to sell an image. When they buy that image, then kick their b.u.t.ts."

"What are you doing to my husband?" Jean asked, meeting them as they walked to the car.

"He's trying to make me s.e.xy," Scott said. "Is it working?"

Jean closed her eyes. "I don't want to know. Really, I don't."

"Did you get through to the Mansion?" Logan asked.

"Busy signal. I must have called twenty times, using different room extensions, and it was always busy. I think they've cut off the school."

"Makes sense, if they were worried one of us would get through. c.r.a.p. I hope the others are okay."

"Who's there right now? Ororo?"

"Gambit," Jean said. "Jubilee."

"Jubilee," Logan said, clenching his fists. "She's going to figure it out."

"Why would that matter?"

"Kid's going to spend one minute with my alter ego and know that something's wrong. And then she's going to start making some noise."

"If we're lucky, all of them will figure it out and start taking action."

"And the busy phone lines? That's not the kind of action I was hoping for, Cyke."

Rogue and Kurt waited for them outside the car. Logan looked for cops. He didn't see any, but it made him nervous, the car sitting out in the open for any length of time. Driving felt different, but this was like being a sitting duck.

"We're paid and ready to go," Rogue said, and then, "Scott, honey, your shirt is undone."

"Yes," he said. "You need to park the car over by the bar. Logan and I have ... business in there. It may take a while."

"Business," Jean said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, no." Rogue covered her mouth. "We're not that desperate."

Scott shook his head. "Just. . . move the car."

"I want to know what this is about," Jean said.

"Earning some easy cash," Logan said. "They got a pool table."

"Oh," she said, and then, "Oh."

"Exactly."

Jean looked at her husband and mussed his hair a little more. She tweaked his shirt, pulling the tail from his jeans and tying it in a knot around his thin waist.

"Go get 'em," Jean told her husband with a crooked smile.

The men in the bar certainly appreciated the new look. Whistles accompanied Scott and Logan's entrance. Jean waited outside with Kurt and Rogue. Having male friends join them at the pool table would ruin the illusion of sweet innocents just wanting to pa.s.s the time, to try their hand. They had no money to add to the betting pool, but that did not matter. No one expected them to win, anyway. Taking their money in a bet would have been ... ungentlemanly.

But that did not mean Scott and Logan couldn't collect.

Logan played only two games, losing both. Scott went up next, and Logan let the bartender buy him a beer as he sat back and watched the show.

One of the lesser-known facts about Scott Summers was that the man played pool like a G.o.d. Even Logan knew better than to compete with him. It had something to do with his powers, his ability to know exactly how objects would move, rebound, deflect. A side effect, perhaps; Logan had seen him hit mission targets that were out of sight, simply by calculating the best angle at which to release his energy beams. Bing, bang, bong.

A couple of b.a.l.l.s and a cue were child's play.