NaNoWriMo, Day 3: WHATISTHISEVEN
12001 / 50000 words. 24% done!
I feel like I should jump around with victory fingers. And I AM happy. But the mystery's only starting to unfold. Lebeau might end up even longer than Rasputin, which clocked in at about 61,500 words.
*cough*
Six-fifteen that evening, Marie stood by the old pay-phone booths at the [subway station] [train line]. The booths in most other stations had long been converted into tablet and phone charging kiosks but a couple of the old, rectangular monstrosities still hung from the walls in a couple places, maintained by nostalgia and bureaucracy. Calls out cost a hell of a lot more than a quarter now but the payphones only accepted coins or phone cards.
She pulled Logan's powers out of her mind but she didn't know what she needed to sense in the overwhelming crush of rush-hour traffic. Scents drenched the station, hanging suspended in the air indefinitely from humidity. Erik only revelled in every speck of iron running through the subway system so she shut him down until further need. She contemplated poking at Remy, but no, his story was way too distracting. Besides, if her mystery texter intended to hurt her, Logan's healing factor would come in handy. Marie didn't think she was being paranoid; she did have Lebeau's grown kid try to carve out her eyeball last night. Early that morning? Whatever.
Several times, different individuals stood next to her, seemingly seeking her out and Marie tensed for a fight. But each one eventually shoved their way into a train, leaving her to catch her breath again. Erik's psyche demanded to tear the station apart until the coward showed himself. Sauron wanted to hack and slash the crowd. Marie put all of her strength behind Logan's psyche, pushing the others down until he placed her right on that fine edge of alert and calm.
That was when she spotted him.
He wore jeans, a tee, sneakers, a baseball cap, the ubiquitous uniform of the American male. He moved a little too casually and kept his hands outside his pockets. The bill on his cap kept most of his face in shadow even in the glaring fluorescents of the station. What the cap didn't hide, his dreadlocks did. He made eye contact with Marie then tilted his head at the oncoming train. Marie leaned off her pillar.
They entered the same cab using different doors, Marie taking the back door to keep an eye on her mystery texter. He seemed all right with the arrangement. He hooked buds into both ears and stared at his phone. Marie did the same. They passed three stations without a message between them. At the fourth stop, the man exited the train. Marie followed but she was getting more than a little pissed off. More at herself than the man. She should've just gone with the vacation idea.
The man disappeared behind the stairs out of the subway. Marie ducked in to follow, again tensed for a fight. Instead she found the man with his cap off and both hands up in the international sign of no-harm.
"Thanks for meeting me, Detective," he said.
"Where did you get that code?" she asked.
"You know where. And you know that means I'm safe."
"Maybe, maybe not. Depends on why you dragged me around town like some 1980s spy movie."
The man almost smiled. "I'm going to reach into my back pocket and give you a thumb drive."
"What, you couldn't send me the file or a link?"
"Wi-fi can be traced. This is a little less bulky than hard copy but just as secure." As he promised, the man slowly reached into his left back pocket and drew out a dark blue drive. He held it out in the middle of his palm.
"What is it?"
"I can't talk about it too much. Just know that if you take this case, I'll feed you as much information for as long as I can go undetected. This has to make it out to the public. The people have a right to know the degree of corruption that's been swept under the rug."
"I don't have clearance for government conspiracies," said Marie.
"You have the brains, the passion, and the publicity. Make the case. Spread the word. You have... connections to back you up."
He meant Xavier's Institute. "So do you."
The man shook his head. "I can't use them. I can't tell you why. It has to be you."
"Don't I just feel extra special and shiny," Marie muttered. "Just so you know, I'm not one of their cheerleaders. They're great and all but I have serious issues with some of their philosophies."
"This information affects many groups of people." He held his hand out further.
Despite a million voices-- okay, maybe just twenty-six, she hadn't absorbed that many people-- shouting "no," Marie took the drive. This time, the man really did smile. The expression shifted the shadows around his face and Marie caught two lines on his right cheek running parallel to his nose. They weren't quite scars, nor were they tattoos.
She hefted the weight of the drive in her hand. "What if I look at this and decide I want nothing to do with it?"
"Give it to someone who'll give a damn. I'll contact them."
Marie didn't want to know how he'd know. Maybe the guy was a mutant. Possibly a telepath. It would explain how he knew Cyclops' stand-down code and his woo-woo secret agent schtick.
"I won't promise anything more than a look," Marie said.
"That's all I ask," the man said quietly. "You should go now."
Pressing her lips together, she nodded and walked away. Another train was heading down the track. A crowd clogged the stairs both ways, blocking any visibility into the alcove underneath it. Marie let the crowd push her up into the street. A lighter type of humidity refreshed her skin. The corners of the drive pressed against the palm of her right hand. Without looking at the files, Marie already knew she'd accepted the case.