1963-06-28 - She drinks whiskey better than Gambit
Summary: Jessica tracks down Gambit and holds him to the fire about a recent theft.
Related: —]
Theme Song: Wayne Walker, All I can do is Cry (https://youtu.be/yBYMMZ47ysw )
jessica gambit 


%r%rThe search for Remy LeBeau, also known by some as Gambit, has taken Jessica Jones on a winding, searching road. There were leads, definitely people who knew him and who had seen him, but after the protest and police slaying of scores of mutants (in fairness this was after a police officer was shot), the trail has gone cold.%r%rUntil now.%r%rFollowing a hot tip, Jessica has found that Remy Le Beau may be enjoying a drink at a local establishment, known as the Red Devil in the main part of Mutant Town.%r%r

*

The search for Remy LeBeau, also known by some as Gambit, has taken Jessica Jones on a winding, searching road. There were leads, definitely people who knew him and who had seen him, but after the protest and police slaying of scores of mutants (in fairness this was after a police officer was shot), the trail has gone cold.

Until now.

Following a hot tip, Jessica has found that Remy Le Beau may be enjoying a drink at a local establishment, known as the Red Devil in the main part of Mutant Town.

*

Jewel stands out in a crowd. Jewel has purple hair, a white body suit, and a blue band across it. There wis no way Jewel is doing any investigating, especially because Jewel's help was requested.

This is why Jessica Jones rather than Jewel makes an appearance at the Red Devil. Sporting a knee-length striped black and grey dress with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, Jones looks the part of bar hopper rather than superhero at large.

Her black go go boots clap quietly against the floor as she strolls up to the bar and perches on one of the many stools. Leaning forward, she peers around the room or a few beats before turning her attention to the bartender.

*

"Help ya, little lady?" says the barkeep. If he's a mutant, it's not readily recognizable, though it seems likely that most people who frequent this place probably are. Either way a few days growth of a beard doesn't match the fading top of his curly red hair. He's wearing a white a-shirt and blue jeans, while cleaning glasses.

"You look like a girl who likes wine."

*

Jessica fights the smirk that tugs the edges of her lips upwards. She leans agains the bar or a moment at the comment and asks, "And what does a girl who likes wine look like, exactly?" she arches a single eyebrow and, rather absently, drums her fingers on the bar. She casts a look over her shoulder in silent consideration before turning back towards the barkeep. "I'll have a whiskey. Neat."

Her eyes scan the room once more before she asks, "You get a lot of regulars through here?"

*

"Cute. All the cute ones get wine in this bar."

When Jessica mentions she wants whiskey, the tender raises his eyebrows and reaches for some bourbon. He fills the glass, giving her a little extra as he does for everyone on the first drink and slides it towards her. "Pretty regular crew. We used to get a few folks from over in Alphabet City, but since the massacre only mutants."

Around the bar there are a few men playing darts, two who sit at the bar, and one wearing a black turtleneck with longish black hair, black sunglasses, who is sipping a beer and chainsmoking cigarettes.

*

The comment about massacring mutants warrants a raise of Jessica's brow and a muttered reply, "For now." The drink is accepted with a nod of appreciation. "Anyone who thinks that's where the madness stop — " her eyebrows arch and she eyes the other patrons again.

The folks sitting at the bar, and playing darts remain in her attention for a moment, but the fellow sitting solo is the one who really piques her attention. Jessica slides a twenty across the bar towards the tender — plenty for the drink, and maybe a bit of information? "What's sunglasses' story? Regular here?"

*

"I suppose it's the 1960s. Gal wanna drink whiskey, gal gonna drink whiskey," the bartender says with a smile. As Jessica slides the 20 bucks across to him, his eyes light up. That's about equal to all the tips he's going to get tonight. And probably tomorrow night too.

"That guy? Oh honey, you don't want nothing with him. That's Frenchy. They say he's from New Orleans. Scoundrel type. One person even said the cops were looking for him after what happened to that cop last week. He's been coming in here for the past couple of weeks or so."

*

"Cops manage to find him?" Jessica asks quietly as she takes a sip of her whiskey. She turns on the stool, straightens, and slides off the seat. She manages a flicker of a smile as she curls her fingers around her glass before walking towards the scoundrel she doesn't want anything to do with.

Jessica strides up to the presumed scoundrel and rests a hand on her hip, "So," pause. "This may be a shot in the dark, but I'm guessing you've got a cigarette for a gal in need?" there's a level of expectancy in her tone. "And a light, I'd presume?"

*

"Supposin' I may, how 'bout you give me a name that I can put wit de pretty lil face," the man with the sunglasses says with a raised eyebrow partially obscured by locks of hair. Quick as a flash a cigarette in one hand and a lighter, already lit in the other. On his hands are an odd pair of gloves with the forefinger and the pinky cut away.

*

A slow amused smile tugs Jessica's lips upwards. "You're quick," her head cants to the side for several beats, and she gently, and rather subtly, sets her glass of whiskey on the table. "What name suits me, do you think?" that same flicker of amusement reflects in her gaze.

*

"Well," Remy says with a slight groan as he hands the cigarette to Jessica and moves to light it, should she comply. "Were I to be your momma or daddeh at the time of yo' christenin, dere only be a few names which might fit. P'haps dey were Shakespeare fans and went wit Rose. Peut-etre they knew you'd be an etoille to light up the world and went wit Rita. One tings for sure, whatever dey named you, reckon I won't f'get."

*

There's easy compliance with the lighting of the cigarette, and the woman takes a long luxurious puff off the stick. She exhales languidly, emitting smoke into the air, and managing a contented smile at the end. "Jessica," she finally declares. "And yourself?" her eyebrows lift.

A glance is given to the chair across from Remy, but Jones doesn't invite herself, instead observing, "Expecting company?"

*

"I go by coupla names. Get called some worse," Le Beau says as he leans back against the wall and takes his own cigarette again. "All in de line of work, I'm afraid." He puts out the cigarette abruptly and immediately lights another.

"Iffen I owe ya money, my name is Jeff."

"Presumin' I don't, you can call me Remy."

The Cajun nods to the seat, "Aint no one comin' for ole Remy but you, Jessica. S'a pretty name. Ain't heard dat one too much in my days."

*

An invitation extended warrants easy acceptance. Jones slides into the seat, giving a look of knowing towards the bartender — her more rebellious nature bubbles easily to the surface.

She adjusts on the seat, and leans forward. With another long puff on her cigarette, Jessica considers, "Remy, then." There's another flicker of a smile as he draws her whiskey to her lips with her opposite hand. "It was one of the Shakespearean ones," she offers. "Mamma and daddeeeh," she attempts to replicate his exact accent as he'd said the phrase, but it is all wrong and altogether over exaggerated, "were those people."

Her head cants to the side as she studies the sunglasses. "So, you too bitchin' to take your sunglasses off inside?" She smirks.

*

"You wanna see ole Remy's eyes," the cajun replies as he reaches up to his glasses and pulls them off. Sure as shit, black with red, just as the young secretary had told Jessica. "Hopin' dat mutants don't bother ya, cherie, or dis gun be a short conversation."

*

There's a humourless chuckle following the thought, "I'm in mutant town. If mutants bothered me, I think I should be visiting another bar." Jessica's lips twist to the side, "Hell's Kitchen has no shortage of dive bars and colourful patrons." She takes another puff on her cigarette. "So… what kind of business do you do, Remy?"

*

Jessica has disconnected.

*

"Only business that matters, chere," Remy says with a raised eyebrow. "Liberatin' my people. Folks be sayin' dere ain't reason, dat mutants don't need no fair shake. Dey say dat on one hand, den dey kills two dozen of em wit'out the newspaper even mention' dere names." As Remy talks he points with his index finger of the hand he uses to smoke. It's about the only topic or time folks would see him speak passionately.

*

As Remy speaks, Jessica's eyebrows arch higher on her forehead. She takes a long luxurious breath inwards around the cigarette and holds the smoke in her lungs for several beats before exhaling equally slowly. After Remy has finishes speaking, she watches him carefully. With careful consideration she reflects on what he's said, "So… you're a freedom fighter, then? AN activist? Or are you engaged in anything more… lucrative?"

*

"Ya t'ink I'd be dressin' like dis and hangin' out here if I was flush with cash, ma chou?" LeBeau shrugs his shoulders, "Ole Remy used to roll wit some pretty rough folks back in N'awlins, but I put dat behind me after I got married." Another drag. "From time te time I still flex dose ole muscles, ya know? But real money? I leave dat for de people on Wall Street, chere."

*

Jessica mmms quietly. There's appreciation that follows the answer, "Not sure dressing any which way says anything about a person." Her lips press together into a tight thin line. "Some get ups speak volumes. Others?" She shrugs. "Example: I wouldn't have guessed you were married."" She takes a sip of her drink.

She leans forward and lowers her voice. "How do flex them? What would that entail?"
"

*

"Well, Remy aint married no more. Dat's a huge long story. Speaking of, why you be askin' me all dese questions, chere?" Remy asks, before motioning towards the bartender with a two fingered salute, ordering two more shots. "Beer too, garcon. Merci!" Now, with attention back to Jessica, "I'm guessin' you be knowin' a little more bout me dan me bout you, no?"

*

There's a flicker of a smile at the first question. "Some people are full of questions. Others answers. I'm the former." Jessica leans back in her seat and folds her hands on the table in front of her. "And it's true, I seem to know much more about you than me now. But what's worth knowing about Jessica besides her penchant for cheap smokes and cheaper whiskey? Not much, I'm afraid."

*

"Remy wanna know why you be askin' so many questions about Remy," he replies. He raises both eyebrows. "Y'aint comin' here just pickin' up a drink and a smoke. You be after sometin."

*

Jessica's fingers drum on the table in front of her. Her fingers unclasp and she polishes the rest of her whiskey in one long gulp. The cup is then heavily brought down on the table. A crack can be seen in the glass following the action — begging the question: was that there before Jessica finished her drink?

She reaches into her pocket and extracts a picture. "I'm looking for information. I'm a journalism student." Not a lie. "Apparently there was a theft at Hoppen Mortgage, and you were seen around the building." She takes another long puff on her cigarette. "Did you see anything?" So far she hasn't accused him of anything if she intends to.

*

"Oui," Gambit says with a nod as he takes the shot of whiskey and slams it down upon the table. A bit of an exhale, Jessica took her shot better than he did. "I saw it right after I stole some of dere money and some of dere documents."

*

Jessica's eyes narrow, but her tone remains casual, "So, you completed the theft?" She takes another long inhalation of the cigarette, this one the longest of each of her breaths, sucking in oxygen sharply around the deathstick and effectively reducing it to ash. The remnants of the cigarette are abandoned to an ash tray on the table. Then, and only then, Jessica breathes out the smoke in a long exhalation. "A woman is going to lose her job over it. Apparently." Where Jewel emits just a hint of optimism, cynicism comes easily to Jessica Jones.

*

"Started it, executed it, completed it, oui," Gambit says. "Ole Remy's heart goes out to dat girl, but de question is does dat girl know what kind of people she be workin' for? Worse, if she do, what kind of girl is she?"

*

The woman's head cants tot he's ice and she studies Remy for several beats. "What do they do? And how do they do it?" Her jaw tightens and she swallows hard. "She asked for help, I said I'd look into it."

*

"Dey hide money. Hidin' de money of offshore budnesses. Hidin' de money of offshore bidnesses that profit off of mutant testin' in South East Asia. She tell you dat?" He tilts his head to match hers, "Or did mademoiselle leave dat part out?"

*

Again Jessica's eyebrows arch upwards, "I asked her to keep it out of the papers because I'm doubtful the news of theft would help the mutants' cause here." Her lips twist to the side. "Do you have proof? The documents you lifted, do they demonstrate culpability?" Her chin life, "If not…" she hmmms. "I'll need to find evidence. Imagine it'd be pretty hard to bust into Hoppen now." Not that she can't find ways. She always manages to be relatively resourceful.

*

"De evidence, cherie, be gone. Not gonna lie, de money I kept, but de evidence I give to Interpol. After a friend of mine get a long hard look at dem."

Convenient from a crook.

*

"So," Jessica's tongue clucks, "you stole from a company you claim hurts mutants, proceeded to have presumed evidence, and claim to have passed it on to Interpol so you have no further dealings with it." Her eyes narrow. "What's your friend's name and where can I find them?"

*

"De friend, no. Dat I will not give you. De name of de personne at Interpol? Agent Horatio Gutierrez. He be livin' right here in New York. Sure you can check it out wit him," Gambit says as eyebrows go up. He reaches into his pocket to produce a business card. It's worn, to be sure, but the name matches.

*

Again Jessica hmms. She slides the business card across the table and slips it into her pocket. "Thanks," there's a coolness to the word as the card is considered. "I'll be in touch." One way or another. She reaches into her pocket and extracts a few bills to cover the rest of her purchase before sliding out of her seat.

*

"Keep it," Gambit says, sliding the money back towards her. "Daddy LeBeau always said dun let a pretty girl pay for any drink."

*

Jones' eyes narrow at the comment, but she repockets the money just the same. "Thanks," there's an edge to the word but it's said just the same. "Take it easy, Remy." Her voice lowers, "And watch yourself. I'm sure I'm not the only one with questions."

*

"Errybody's got questions for ole Remy," the mutant says with a wink before he puts his sunglasses back on.

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