The deal was off.

LeBeau’s secret alliance with Bella Donna was over, had been over, for two weeks now. Sure, the accounts were dwindling – but only a few people would notice. Gambit had no reason to panic; no reason to believe anyone else would, and was only focused on one thing at the moment:

The fact that he’d just woken up in Bella Donna’s bed.

He moved quietly, it was just before dawn, blindly leading himself across her bedroom in an effort to find his jacket. He slid it on effortlessly a moment later (it was draped over the chair in front of a computer desk) and made his way toward the window.

One lesson Gambit had learned was not to make his way through the home of the Assassins, if at all possible, so he tiptoed his way to the window. It was already cracked, step one, so he slid it farther open as quietly as possible.

If Remy had one thing on his side, well, it was luck – but apparently the window (and the lack of WD40) had missed the memo.

“Stealing away in de night, huh?” Bella Donna sat up. Most women would have pulled the blanket, tucked neatly across their naked body for subtlety, along with them as they moved away from their bed. But Bell had never been one with subtlety.

“Dat shouldn’ a’happened, B,” Gambit leaned back across the wall as she clicked a light on. God, she was flawless.

“Remy LeBeau,” she smiled, “ever de charmer.”

“I gotta get back,” LeBeau ran his hand through his hair. “And I gotta stop drinkin’.”

“One glass of wine isn’t drinkin’, Thief,” she grabbed his hand and pulled it into hers. It was warm against the breeze from the window. “It’s an excuse.”

Gambit pulled it back and stared into her eyes for a moment – just a moment too long – and slid from the window into the night.

Bella Donna grinned to herself, falling back onto the bed and swirling around in the assortment of comforters and blankets. She rolled to the far side of the bed, pulling open a small drawer from the nightstand beside it. “Thank you,” she smiled into it.

She’d never felt so alive.

The Church of the Lost Thieves was emptier than normal as the sun began to rise. Those of a guilty conscience were seldom guilty of being awake so early, not that many in this town frequented the old building anyway.

It had become Gambit’s renewed stomping grounds, maybe his only friend. He’d found solace there more times than he could count, if only in its solidarity.

What in the hell had happened? He remembered meeting Bella Donna for dinner, a habit of playing with fire deeply ingrained inside of him, and he remembered… okay, he remembered all of it.

He hadn’t anticipated sleeping with her, at least not until he saw her olive gown. It was low-cut, sure, your typical “we are going to sleep together” length, but it was supposed to be a business meeting.

To discuss their options.

LeBeau had a business to run and since putting a stop on his transactions with The Assassins… business was, to say the least, down. There had been one account since then, as opposed to at least seven or eight, and integrity didn’t pay many bills. It didn’t put food on the table.

They hadn’t settled on anything (“sometimes a kill is all you’ve got in de world, Remy”) and so the meeting had been moot… but not in Bella Donna’s eyes. She’d wanted LeBeau and she’d gotten him.

“Don’t play de victim,” Gambit argued with himself. He heard his voice echo and found solace in it. “You wanted it just as much as she did. Y’old dirt bag.”

LeBeau would not be party to massacre, to murder, and if Bella Donna couldn’t accept that…

“You’ll sleep wit’ her,” a voice called from behind. It was the same voice he’d heard just before his last meeting with Bell in the church. Familiar, yes, but undistinguishable at the same time.

Its source was nowhere to be found: it had come from above, it had come from below… to the right, to the left… ahead of him and behind him at the same time.

LeBeau stood. He slid his hand into his pocket, realized he’d left his deck of cards in Bella Donna’s room, and decided to have a talk with Lady Luck. Gambit grabbed one of the old Bibles from the pew in front of him. “Who’s dere?”

“Don’ be worried,” the man called – again from nowhere, “de only one you gotta worry ‘bout is de woman you just bagged.”

Then he saw it: in the far back corner, just for a second, the man’s shadow. Energy coursed through Gambit, from his fingertips to the Bible, and he let it fly. “Show yourself!”

BOOM!

The Bible slammed into a table and exploded on impact. Unlit candles scattered across the church as LeBeau flipped over a pew, then another, and found himself in the aisle.

Alone.

“Dere’s a big hole in de Church,” Henri notified Gambit as he made his way into his office, “an’ you’re wearin’ de clothes you left in last night.”

“I’m always wearin’ dis,” LeBeau ignored him.

“I know. I hate it. Your father’d flip over in his grave, his son’s lack of style. You’re like a cartoon character, Remy.

Montgomery told me he heard an explosion at de church.”

“Montgomery’s an old homeless drunk, Henri. He told you last week he saw a vampire.”

“Says de man who’s been to de moon. Maybe he did. ‘Sides, you’re de only one who goes to dat church, Remy.”

“Lemme ask you somethin’, Henri,” LeBeau lit a cigarette from behind his desk. “You ever get tired a’yer own voice?”

“Dis old t’ing?” Henri smiled as he took a seat opposite his leader. “Non. De only t’ing I get tired of is cleanin’ up your mess. You missed a meeting this morning, Remy.”

“Shit.”

“Luckily yer ol’ pal here is always on standby. Sleepin’ is a waste.”

“Luck indeed. How’d it go?”

“We got it. Some kind of ‘family heirloom’ gone missin’, somebody up North a few ticks, and we gonna get it back for ‘em. I won’t bore you wit de details. You look like hell, Remy LeBeau.”

“Nearly blowin’ up a church’ll do dat,” Gambit dragged on his cigarette.

“See,” Henri sighed, “I don’ know why you try to lie to me. You can’t do it.”

“I never said I didn’t blow a hole through de wall, Henri. You’re just too busy callin’ me a cartoon character t’notice.”

“And yer too busy sleepin’ wit’ de enemy to run dis Guild,” Henri stood. “And don’ lie to me.”

“Ain’t gonna,” Gambit sighed. “Get outta here.”

Henri made his leave after a concerned look or two. LeBeau leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. He could still smell Bella Donna’s hair.

“Still smells like him,” Bella Donna crammed her sheets into the washer. Normally she’d have someone do it for her – but many of the women in the Guild knew LeBeau’s scent – too many – and she’d left the bliss of last night behind and moved into rage. Into abandonment.

“Don’ be a victim,” she told herself, stuffing the sheets farther down. “You knew what you were gettin’ yourself into, girl.”

“Bella Donna,” the tiny laundry room door opened from behind, “you got company behind the house. And why’re you doin’ my job?”

“Invite ‘em in.”

“Well…”

“Who is it, Caroline?” Bella Donna meant to ask. Those that called at the home of The Assassins didn’t receive blind invitations: her head was still on LeBeau’s chest, still in the clouds. Get it together, she thought bitterly.

“Wouldn’t say. Looks like a T’ief t’me.”

“Anybody see him?”

“Just me an’ your daughter.”

“Keep it dat way,” Bella Donna turned the washer on and made her way to the back. She moved quickly through to the back porch and then into the yard.

“Bella Donna,” the Thief known as Davis pulled his hood back. “I know you told me not to come here, just calm down.”

“I remember a time,” she surveyed him, “dat anyone from your Guild, or anyone from even mine, didn’t know what daylight was. I guess dat was before your time.”

His blonde hair mirrored her own – and although he was only in his early twenties, she’d wager, he looked older than she did. “I need more.”

“You ain’t gettin’ it, Davis.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“Good,” she glared at him. “Because you ain’t gettin’ it.”

“Don’t mess with me, woman.”

Bella Donna spun quickly, her foot connecting with the new Thief’s chest. He fell to the ground, his reflexes slower than any Thief she’d ever encountered, and she rested her heel on his throat.

“You think I won’t go to LeBeau?!”

Her eyes narrowed. “You think I won’ kill you right here?”

“You’re making a bad decision, Bella Donna.”

“What can I say?” she removed her foot and pulled him to his feet. “I’m on a roll. Dere is no more. You want some, you go to New York.”

“How am I supposed to go to New York?”

“Tell LeBeau it’s for a gig.”

“And get up there with what money? Funds are low, Bella Donna… but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“What are you sayin’, boy?”

“What every Thief knows, that’s all. He’s written all over you.”

The Assassin reached behind him, grabbed his hair and pulled his head down into her knee. He doubled over in pain, stumbled back and pulled a gun from his pocket. “I know you have more!”

A plasma blast moved through her body and left her palms, slamming into the young man and sending his gun flying. He fell back to the ground, his nose still ripe with blood, glaring up at her. “Freak.”

A knife flew from her fingertips a second later, connecting with the man’s throat. There was something satisfying about the sound.

Bella Donna turned to see her loyal housekeeper standing on the porch, staring at her from behind the screen.

“Sorry about de mess, Caroline.”

“Man never cleaned a day in his life,” Gambit shuffled through some old boxes in his father’s former office. He’d left it relatively untouched since Jean Luc’s death, both out of respect and neglect. It was a lot of work, rifling through a lifetime of things. Especially when they belonged to the former King of Thieves.

Henri had taken a team with him to whatever job he’d secured in Gambit’s absence that morning and LeBeau had finally elected to clear out some of his father’s belongings.

At least if he was busy he’d be able to get his mind off of Bella Donna, though that became even more unlikely when he found his wedding picture amidst a pile of notebooks.

LeBeau remembered arguing with his father, even as he lay dying, about the framed picture still hanging upon his wall.

“You look all clean an’ pretty, Remy,” his father had protested.

The picture, and its immediate removal, was the only main difference in the mess of an office… other than an abundance of cobwebs and the vivid memory of his father lying dead on the floor.

“Bullseye,” Gambit pulled a red notebook from a stack of what seemed like hundreds. He remembered it well: Jean Luc would write in it every night.

“Sometimes I t’ink you love dat paper more den me,” LeBeau recalled telling his father one night.

“You live de life I have, Remy,” Jean Luc had replied, “an’ tell me it ain’t important to write some t’ings down.”

Gambit remembered Jean Grey once telling him that he should keep a journal. That it would help him sort out his life, deal with some of his guilt. He’d never felt more different from her.

Maybe she’d been right, just like his father was. But in the end, keeping a notebook full of thoughts, prayers and observations didn’t do his father very good, did it?

LeBeau took a seat at his father’s desk this time, kicking back in it like he would his own – but his own it was not. The old chair gave way, snapping in two, sending Gambit to the floor.

Dust erupted from the old wood beneath him, his hand slamming through an area the local termites had long since begun to work over. He’d definitely have to have that talk with Lady Luck – and soon.

“Hold on,” Gambit said aloud, thinking briefly that he’d been talking to himself too much lately. His hand moved through a tiny area beneath the floor as he straddled the opening. He pulled an old folder from the depths, cleared the dust with his fingertips and decided that maybe, just maybe, luck was still on his side.

Until he saw his father’s tiny handwriting at the bottom right of the folder. Printed, clearly, were five letters:

ESSEX.

“You gotta be shittin’ me.”

Henri shot a look of disgust to the woman before him. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, Henri,” the young Guild member looked up at him. “It’s been a long day, yeah?”

Leah Monx, one of the youngest of the Thieves, was normally beautiful. Flawless. At least punctual. Her auburn hair was unwashed, her face following suit, and her eyes were tired.

“Where’s Davis?”

“He had to check on somethin’ for us before we could go with you.”

“Well, way I see it, you and Davis don’t need to go on de mission. What’d he have to check on, hair product? Dat boy’s a waste, and you’d better believe I’ll be talkin’ to Remy ‘bout him.”

“In a few days, Henri,” Leah stretched, “Remy’ll be wantin’ to talk to him anyway.”

“What’re you gettin’ at, girl?”

“Nothin’.”

“Good,” Henri grabbed her arm to pull her toward the van. She winced and pulled her arm back. The unofficial second-in-command grabbed at her wrist again, pushed her sleeve back, noted the scratches and needle tracks along her arm and stared blankly into her dead eyes.

“What are you usin’?”

“I saw him leave.”

“Saw who leave?” Bella Donna looked down Jacqueline. “Honey, were you spyin’ on your ol’ momma?”

“The man in the trench coat. The man I’m not supposed to talk about.”

“And what were you doin’ up?”

“Watchin’ him leave.”

Jacqueline smiled brightly up at her mother. She was nearly half as tall as she was now, something Bella Donna didn’t care to think about, and as inquisitive as any child ever was. Most children didn’t have the leader of the Assassins for a mother, however, which sometimes was more trouble than it was worth.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout dat,” Bella Donna smiled. “Go downstairs, Caroline’s made you some dinner.”

“I met him.”

“What?”

“Not this morning.”

“Jack, I swear to God. When?”

“I dunno, last week. Before that. He wasn’t so bad.”

“Go downstairs. We’ll talk about dis after you eat.”

Her daughter obeyed and disappeared behind the door. Bella Donna had employed many tricks in her years with LeBeau, sure, and was even playing with that kind of fire right now.

But she’d never used their daughter to get LeBeau back. It had never even been an option.

If Remy had met her… oh God, if Remy had met their daughter, he had to know.

Maybe that’s why he’d come last night. Maybe that’s why he’d really wanted to talk to her. He had to know… he had to have seen his features, Bella Donna’s features, rolled into one.

He couldn’t be that blind.

LeBeau’s eyes darted across a few documents within the folder. Remy’s birth certificate, signed Doctor N. Essex, turned his stomach, but what bothered him even more was that Jean Luc had signed it as well.

It couldn’t be. It had to be some sort of trick, some sort of twisted seed laid by Sinister years ago. Remy was not Jean-Luc’s biological son – and he certainly hadn’t been delivered by Mr. Sinister… could he?

It had to be a joke. It had to. Gambit sat up, threw the folder on the desk and turned to the bookcase behind his father’s desk. He began rifling through, book after book, notebook after notebook, until he found and victoriously pulled his father’s copy of One Thousand and One Nights. Its pages were handwritten, the cover serving only as the protectorate of Jean-Luc’s words.

Gambit had found it after his father’s death and Tante Mattie had told him years ago to avoid reading it. For once, he listened, always resolving to flip through it eventually. Now was the time. He began to read.

It was easier. It didn’t make it right, but it was easier. He told me he would look after the child, raise him right… with those eyes, Lord only knows how the small-minded people of the Guilds would have reacted. The prophecies fulfilled, the child with red eyes, they’d have torn him apart.

In the end, though, it tore me apart. I got my son back from that monster… but agreeing to give little Remy to that bastard, letting his mother think he died in birth, I lost my sweet love forever.

Couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle it and I never had time to tell her, time to grab that gun, that our son was alive… she never could have understood. I killed his mother with my deception… and all these years later, our boy returned to me, I can’t bare to tell him the truth either.

That Essex and I had a deal. That I’m his real father… that I’m responsible for his mother’s suicide. He’ll never even know her. Does it even matter that he’s home now? That I’m gonna raise him right, try to undo whatever Essex did to him?

King of Thieves, sure, leader of the Guild, yes… but father? I ain’t been a good father to any of my boys. And to think…

It all felt too convenient. Too unreal. That this information, this disgusting information, had been in this room all along. That Jean-Luc really was his father, not in the way he’d always known, but biologically.

That Mr. Sinister had struck a deal with Jean-Luc. That Mr. Sinister had cultivated LeBeau, toyed with LeBeau, since childbirth. That Gambit’s mother had killed herself when his father lied to her about his death.

No.

If something felt too convenient… it probably was.

“No.”

Gambit turned sharply. It was the voice, the voice that had been haunting him for weeks now, the voice that had resulted in the hole in the church earlier that day.

Four cards shot in the direction of the voice, exploding in succession, causing only those few explosions rather than any revelation. Gambit clenched his fist.

The voice, it had to be Sinister’s… this, all of this, had been a careful trap. Years of planning. But for what?

Shadows moved from the smoke and out of the room, LeBeau following eagerly. “SINISTER!”

LeBeau followed the shadows, followed his gut, closely. He ran up the stairs around the corner, through another room, and onto the rooftop.

That’s when the voice was given a face, the voice connected with memory, and Remy’s eyes focused on only one man. It was not Sinister.

“H’lo, son.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

CAJUN CORNER -- Author's Note

Thanks for the reviews on Gambit #1!

I’m still very excited about this book… and feedback always helps. I hope you enjoyed the second issue… part two of fatherly sins changes things up dramatically for Remy and I hope you’ll join me for his solo experience!

Questions, concerns, comments, can always be sent to behindthevisor@yahoo.com... Or I’ll see ya on the message boards!

--Ryan