It was a dark and stormy night. Raindrops splashed into puddles outside the window, making a sound like pouring rice. The neon sign of the all-night diner across the street blinked on and off, casting horizontal bars of light through the venetian blinds. Orange lines blinked across my boots, illuminating their many scuffs, like a boxer's scars. My white shirt rustles as I reach for a cigar. Smoke from my cigar curls into the air like a phoenix taking flight. I'm alone in my office. Alone with my desk and case files. I like alone. My job is to clean up the scum of this city. I'm a private eye. I'm Logan.

The light on my intercom blinked on, casting a red glow over the desk. I jammed my thumb into the talk button. "Yeah?"

Ms. Kitty, my secretary answered. She was a sweet dame, she kept me fed and sane. "There's a Miss Grey here to see you, Logan."

"Show 'er in, Kitty."

The door creaked open like a rusted trap. The Dame was hot. Hot like an enchilada being cooked on the sidewalk of New York City during a record heat wave by a kid with a magnifying glass. She walked with a swagger that made you think she was top heavy. Kitty rolled her eyes and closed the door again.

"So, Mr. Logan, you gotta light?" The dame had a long, black cigarette holder in her fingers.

I fumbled in my pocket for my rusty Zippo. With a flick of my wrist, the lighter opened with a sound like an empty pistol. A tongue of flame wavered into the air, casting shadows over the room. The brim of my trusty yellow fedora left me still in the dark. I held out the flame to her and she sucked in on her cigarette holder. The end glowed like an ember. Her eyes met mine and I felt like she could read me like a dime novel. She slid into one of my chairs, crossing her legs and adjusting her green skirt slightly. She wore a white blouse, buttoned low, and green jacket over that. Her flame red hair hung loose and poured down over her shoulders.

I know no-one comes to talk to me because of my wonderful conversational skills. I like my conversations like I like my pencils. Straight to the point. "Whadda you need, toots?"

The dame blew a smoke ring. "My husband's disappeared."

"You looked behind the sofa?" I asked sarcastically.

If looks could kill, I'd be dead. "He'd gotten into some trouble with the Mob. I think The Professor had him picked up."

That was the one name that made me shiver. The Professor was the local mob boss. He had a hit squad that was unparalleled. He had as many enemies as he had hairs on his head. And he was completely bald. Nobody had gone up against The Professor and lived. Then again, I wasn't nobody. I'm the best at what I do, even when it isn't very nice.

"Normally it'd be a lot more, but since you're in a hard place, and I'm a sucker for dames in trouble, $50 plus expenses." I flashed a smile that's made women stop dead in their tracks and jump me.

She ignored it. "When can you start?"

"Tonight. And I know just where to start."

"Let's roll," I said as I left my office. Miss Kitty left her desk gracefully as always, pulling on her blue jacket. I strapped on my holster and pistol from where it hung on the coat rack. My worn yellow trench coat hung under it. It rustled as I pulled it on. I straightened my fedora and made my way to the car. Kitty followed with her usual question.

"Why do you continue to insist on wearing that old coat?"

The paint of the car is scratched in places, by no means brand new. The keys clicked in the lock and I opened the door. The leather seat was torn and patched in places. I slumped into the drivers seat and turn the key in the ignition. The car purred to life. Kitty sat next to me and buckled herself in. I turned and answered her question.

"What would you prefer? Yellow Spandex?"

The bar stunk like a cesspool in spring. I saw Kitty wrinkle her nose in disgust. The smoke was so thick you could barely see five feet. The sounds of a fight wafted through the smoke. With a name like "The Danger Room" you could tell what type of a clientele this joint had. I avoided this place when I could, but it was the one place you could be sure of finding the shifty character I needed for information. The bartender was an old friend of mine. The kind of old friend you needed like you needed a knife in your back. Which was exactly what I got from him the last time we met up.

I made my way through the assorted drunks and lowlifes to the bar, clearing a path for Kitty along the way. I waved to the bartender and shout to him, "Wilson!"

"Well hidey-ho, neighbor," said the bartender.

"Can the sitcom references, Wade," I growled.

"Well excuse me for living!" Wade continued. I forgot to mention he's ugly as sin. Some skin condition makes him look like a burn-ward escapee. I stopped listening to him as he went off on a rant. I think his upper lip was begging to fall off. I noticed him signaling subtly and hoping I wouldn't notice.

I heard some thug lumber out of the gloom behind me. He probably had a knife or some blunt instrument. "Kitty, take care of it," I said.

Ten seconds later the thug was on the ground and would have a concusion and a bruise in the shape of a high heel in his face in the morning.

I grabbed Wade's collar and brought his face so close to mine I could smell what he had for breakfast. Hard boiled eggs, orange juice and Hostess Snack Cakes. "You can't honestly think I would have fallen for that, Wade?"

"Well you can't blame a guy for trying, can you?" Wade was panicking.

"I don't like attempts on my life, Wade. They make me angry. You don't want to see me when I'm angry." I love my life.

"Um. Uh. So what can I do you for, Logan?" He was definitely scared now.

"Where's the Cajun?"

"Sorry, I can't help you there, my fine friend!" He was lying. I could smell it. I slammed his head into the bar, turned it sideways and popped a claw on either side.

"Wanna try for three?" This was the most fun I'd had this week.

"HE'S IN THE BACK!" Wade shouted.

"Much obliged." I retracted. "Kitty, tip the man."

She smiled happily and turned to Wade. "Here's a tip, don't mess with my boss." She punchee Wade into the back of the bar and caught up behind me. Wade had a few rooms in the back, he lended them out to good customers. Brushing aside a curtain with as many holes as a fishing net, we got to where the rooms are. Only one was in use.

"Darlin' wait out here," I said to Kitty. I opened the door, making a noise like a cat going through a meat grinder.

The Cajun was a local pimp and information dealer. He was the sorta guy you didn't want to talk to unless you were feeling really lucky. If you weren't, you'd end up at the bottom of a river wearing the latest in cement fashion. That's why most people called him "The Gambit." Stupid name, if you ask me. However, I was feeling lucky.

Gambit was "in the act" as they say, with some blonde. "Hey Cajun! Up and at 'em!" I shouted. He noticed me. So did the blonde.

They pulled some sheets up over themselves. "Logan, mon ami... what brings ya ta m' humble abode?"

"I need to know where The Professor keeps his 'clients.'"

"Dere are many tings I know, Logan, but dat I can't tell ya."

There was a noise like a cat going through a meat grinder behind me. I turned and looked. There was a dame dressed in tight green, with a white streak in her hair. She looked angry.

"REMY LEBEAU! Ah'll kill yah!"

I chose that moment to duck out. It looked like I wouldn't get any more answers there, and staying would be hazardous to my health. As I exited, the Cajun shouted, "Chere! I can 'splain! She m' wife!"

Kitty was talking with a Chinese street kid outside. Kitty turned to me. "The Kid says she can take you to where Summers is." She was skeptical.

"On one condition," the kid added, "You take me along."

"Sure kid. Whatever you say." I could ditch her by the time we got wherever we were going.

The Kid led us to a warehouse on the docks. The place stunk of fish heads. The only light outside the warehouse was a single lamp over the door. It was guarded by two guys I knew all too well. One was one of the Professor's favorite hitmen, going by the name Iceman. The other, a new professional brought in from Germany. He was blue and furry and had a tail. Don't ask me why. He called himself Nightcrawler, after what would eat you when he finished.

"You girls stay here, I'll go take care of the two stooges."

Logan jumped into the light. "You jokers wanna take me on?"

"Let's Ice him!" shouted Iceman.

"JA!" shouted Nightcrawler, in typical German fashion.

"Damn it, why do they always have to make stupid puns?" I asked no-one in particular, while delivering a adamantium enhanced punch to Iceman's face. "Out as cold as his name."

Nightcrawler was attempting to get away. "Can't ve all yust get along?"

"No." I swung my patented right hook at him, but he disappeared into thin air. My fist hit the crate behind him hard. Hard like the first dame to break your heart. All that was left to do now was go inside. There were the answers. I'm the kind of guy who reads the last page of a book before he starts it, so I know how it ends if I get killed before I finish it. So I don't like questions. I tried the door. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. I pulled it open. Surprisingly, it didn't make a sound. The inside of the warehouse was dark with a single, naked light bulb. Situated under the bulb was the figure of guy tied to a chair. He had sunglasses with a red sheen on. The place stunk of fish, so I couldn't tell if we're alone as I made my way quietly to his chair. I pop a claw and slice his ropes.

"Thanks," he saids, turning to me and lifting his glasses. "Sucker," I heard him continue as I crash into the wall behind me. Lucky thing I'm a quick healer.

A quiet laughter echoed through the warehouse. I knew that laugh.

"Very good, Mr. Logan," The Professor said as the warehouse became fully lit. The Professor was in his wheelchair, surrounded by his very best. The former captive, who I assume is Summers, walked over to The Professor, joining the rest of his goons. There are a bunch there. At least a dozen. The German got over there somehow too. I could take 3 or 4, but that's no good. If only I had a holocaust cloak. Ms. Grey is over there too, but she's tied up. I pulled myself up from the floor where I was slumped like a sack of potatoes.

"Mr. Logan, if you'd be so good as put your hands in the air and allow some of my associates to take you for a long walk on a short pier."

"I don't think so, Bub."

There was a cacophony of clicks and snaps as the goons lowered their weapons on me.

"I think so, 'Bub'," The Professor smiled like a Cheshire Cat.

Suddenly, there was a sound like a thousand gunshots outside. The goons looked away. I didn't. I made like a cheetah and crossed the warehouse in record time, jumping into the goons. I thought with my fists and made my way through at least five of them before I was stopped by a Russian Colossus of a man. My punches bounced off him like I was hitting an anvil. He grabbed my hand and held me as the rest of them used me as a punching bag. I'd be feeling this in the morning. Luckily, I noticed something the rest of them didn't. Miss Kitty was behind The Professor. She lifted the hem of her skirt and produced a tiny, ladylike gun, the sort that would shoot tiny, ladylike bullets. With catlike grace, she put it to The Professor's head.

"None of you move, or the Prof gets it." That's my girl. The goons stopped moving. "Now unhand Logan, let us go and don't bother us again, and I'll let Dr. Strangelove here live."

The goons backed up and left us alone. I sliced Ms. Grey's restraints. "Thanks Logan," she kissed me on the cheek, in that special dame way. "Scott, this is for betraying me and letting me marry a total prick like you!" She kicked him where the sun don't shine. I felt almost sorry for the guy. Almost.

At this point, the kid bounced in. "See, I can be useful!" she said, holding a few feet of fireworks. The half-pint had caused the distraction. Good for her.

We made our way out of the warehouse onto the docks. The moon reflected across the ocean, casting a beautiful light over the world.

I turned to Jean. "You know Jean, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Fin.