SO THESE GUYS WALK INTO A BAR . . .

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just thought it would be fun to take them out for an evening. So don't sue me.)

          It didn't look like a bad place from the road. Not that they had any choice. The car had broken down just off the highway, and this was the closest building within walking distance. In fact, it was the only building within walking distance.

            The parking lot was jam-packed, which was only natural for a Saturday night. At this hour, most of the bar's patrons were probably just getting started.

            As they got closer to the door, Logan could hear music—real music, the hard-driving, axe-grinding stuff he liked. Sounded like his favorite band, Beast, who hadn't performed together since 1981. Any place that played Beast was okay with him.

            Looked like a pretty decent place. No college kids or yuppies (or whatever they called themselves these days), just serious drinkers having a good time. It was the kind of place he wouldn't have minded spending an evening or two.

            If he were alone.

            Unfortunately, he wasn't.

            His three charges were all underage, which meant he might have a hard time getting in. Not that they'd be drinking; in fact, he himself wasn't planning on staying longer than the time it took to call a tow truck. But the guy in charge might not understand what he was up to.

            The boys grouped loosely behind him, trying to peer in the door and see what was going on. Probably none of them had ever seen a real bar before, much less been in one.

            "Stick close to me, boys," he said. "Don't  wander off, don't talk to anyone, don't even look at anyone."

            "Don't look at anyone?"

            "Trust me." He looked back at them, thinking: If I don't stick with them, they'll get themselves killed.

            Scott Summers, in the lead, was trying to look nonchalant, as if he went into bars every day. Since he was only seventeen, that wasn't likely.

            Behind him, Evan Daniels stared defiantly into the dimness. He extended a row of spikes about an inch from his arms, confident that they would protect him in case of trouble. Logan shook his head and sighed. Kid didn't know anything about places like this. A couple of calcified spikes wouldn't stop these guys.

            Bringing up the rear was Kurt Wagner, who clutched his hockey program like a shield. His eyes darted nervously from side to side, as if he expected to be attacked at any second.

            Logan shook his head and sighed.

            No one said a word as they walked in. The other bar patrons were so involved in their drinks or their conversations that they never even noticed three underage kids had joined them. The noise in the bar drowned out any attempts at conversation.

            Logan led the boys into the back, to a hallway with three doors: MEN, LADIES, and EMPLOYEES ONLY.

            "Ach, zhis place gives me zhe creeps!"

            "Just stand here," Logan said, lining them up against the wall. "Don't move from this spot. Got it?"

The boys nodded. "Okay," Scott said. "Where are you going?"

            "Like I said, to find a phone and call a tow truck." He stalked off, muttering something about leaving them in the car next time.

            With Logan gone, the boys weren't sure what to do. They looked around the place, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

            "That Harley Davidson banner's nice," Evan commented.

            "Yeah," Scott agreed. "And check out the ladies!" He stared at a trio of leather-clad biker girls who were clearly out of their league. Most of them had less coverage than the Montreal Expos' first day of spring training.

            Neither of them noticed Kurt sneak away, excited upon hearing his native language spoken after so long. He found the speakers highly attractive, with their lusciously curved lips . . .

            "Guten tag, ladies."

            They looked at him as if he were something they had found on the bottom of their shoes.

            Who is this little boy? one of them said in German.

            I don't know, but he needs to go home to his mommy.

            I'd rather go home with you! Kurt said, licking his lips suggestively.

            I don't think so, little boy. she retorted, crossing her arms and curling her mouth disdainfully. It only encouraged the boy.

            So . . . you live alone, or do you have a roommate? Maybe you two share?

            The second girl gave him a glare that could have frozen lava. Get lost, you worm! she snapped. It you're not gone by the time I count to three, I will call my boyfriend and he will beat your scrawny little body to a pulp. Now leave.

            Oh, come on . . .

            All right, you asked for it! She looked over her shoulder and called out, "Gunther!"

            The floorboards shook as an enormous walking mountain crossed the bar. People got out of his way, for fear of being crushed.

            The mountain stopped before Kurt and looked him over. What's this?

            That's it, I'm dead, Kurt thought.

            "All right," Logan said, coming back to where he'd left the boys. "There's a guy at that table over there who has a tow attachment on his truck, and he says . . . where's the elf?"

            Scott and Evan looked around. "He was just here!" Evan exclaimed.

            "Well, he ain't here now. You two head outside. I'll go find him."

            Logan looked around. There were a lot of people in here, but if he needed to, he could find Kurt by smell.

            As it turned out, he didn't need to. His ears picked up a stray bit of German. It sounded like a threat. He followed the sound until he found the boy, being confronted by the biggest man Logan had ever seen.

            What do you think you are doing? the huge man demanded.

            Just talking to your lovely friend, Kurt said.

            The giant glared at him. Get away from her, you little--

            "You got a problem, bub?"

            The huge man looked at Logan, then swung a gigantic fist at him. Logan countered with a kick to the midsection, and suddenly the whole bar was in motion.

            "Go back to the car!" Logan shouted to the boys, who were frozen in fear.

            "You're gonna take all these guys on yourself?" Evan asked.

            "I've done this before. You haven't. Car. Now." Logan turned away just in time to dodge a chair aimed at his head.

            "Come on," Scott said, leading the way. He got halfway to the door before he noticed he was on his own.

            "Guys?"

            "We can't just leave him!" Evan said. "He can't fight off the whole bar all by himself!"

            "Ja, man!" Kurt agreed. "Even Logan can't—"

            CRUNCH!  A table hit the wall inside the bar and splintered into a million pieces.

            "Zhen again, maybe he can."

            Five minutes later, the boys made it to the door and looked back to see the horrible aftermath. There were fragments of shattered furniture everywhere, and bodies sprawled in the wreckage.

            "Ach," Kurt exclaimed, "it's a disaster area!"

            "Man, Logan must've killed those guys!" Evan gasped.

            "Let's just get to the car before some of them wake up and come after us," said Scott.

            The three boys made a beeline for their stalled car. They didn't have the keys, so they couldn't turn the heater on. They sat there shivering for nearly half an hour before Logan finally joined them.

            With him was a man who wore a strange coat that to Scott looked like some kind of metallic sheet.

            "Who's your friend?" Evan asked.

            "This is Mickey," Logan said. "He's the one who promised to give us a tow."

            Scott sighed in relief. The excitement of the night seemed to be over . . . or so he thought.

            Back at the mansion, Logan and Mickey shepherded Kurt, Scott and Evan inside before the weather got too much colder.

            "You think you can manage to keep out of trouble the rest of the night?" Logan said to Kurt.

            Kurt looked down at his shoes. "I'm zhorry I got everyvun into trouble," he murmured.

            "Okay. It's getting late; you'd better turn in. That goes for all of you."

            The boys knew better than to protest, after what they'd been through. They started for the stairs . . .

            Something jumped out at them.

            "Boo!"

            Evan recognized the intruder first. "Toad! What are you doing here?"

            "Scared ya, didn't I?" Toad snickered.

            "How did you get in here?"

            "Followed you guys home and hopped in the open window, yo. "Whoa!" He got a good look at their companion. "What's with Frankenstein here?"

            Mickey stared at him blankly. "Excuse me?"

            "You're not a mutant, are you?" Toad asked nervously.

            The big man considered. "No," he said truthfully. "I am not."

            "OK," Toad gulped. "I'll just . . . uh . . . go now. Yeah. Magneto probably . . . uh . . . he . . . uh . . . bye!" He dashed off through the open window, which Kurt shut behind him.

            "Good riddance," Scott quipped.

            "I think you boys should get to bed," Logan said. "You read me?"

            The three boys started up the stairs only to stop halfway. Scott looked back at Mickey—something wasn't right.

            "Where are you from?" he asked.

            "Canada," the big man said.

            "Is that where you two met?" asked Evan.

            "No," Logan said. "It was at a bar in Long Island."

            "About twenty years or so ago," Mickey added. "We were introduced by a mutual friend."

            Kurt tried to figure out who or what the two could possibly have in common. He noticed, being foreign himself, that Mickey's English, though perfect, came out oddly accented. Wherever he was from, it wasn't Canada, or Long Island.

            Logan gave them a look, and they scurried up the stairs.

            The next morning, Kurt was looking around for something.

            "Vhere is my program?" he wondered aloud.

            "You didn't leave it at the bar, did you?" asked Evan.

            "Ach, I think I did. Can ve go back und get it?"

            "Are you kidding? After what happened last night? We'll be lucky if we're not grounded for a month!"

            "Hey, I didn't start zhe fight!"

            "No, but—"

            "What's the problem now?" Logan came in and caught the last part of the conversation.

            "Vell . . . I sort of lost my program," Kurt explained. "I zhink it's at zhe bar . . ."

            Logan groaned and shook his head. "I'm not going back there for a stupid program!"

            "But all zhe players signed it!"

            "Kurt, we've got more important things to do than—"

            The doorbell rang. Logan went to answer it . . .

             . . . and saw Mickey standing there, program in hand. "Does this belong to you?"

            "You found it!" Kurt was overjoyed. "I thought I'd lost it!"

            "Thanks, Mick," Logan said. "Want to come in for a minute?"

            "I cannot." The big man looked sad. "Mary and I have to be leaving shortly."

            "Oh? Where you going?"

            "The name would be meaningless to you."

            "Not around here, huh?"

            Mickey looked straight up at the sky. "Not around here, indeed."

            "Well, thanks for stopping by. Give my love to Mary and the in-laws."

            "I will."

            "Thank you!" Kurt said.

            As Logan closed the door, Kurt realized that he didn't see a car. Or the truck they'd been in last night. He asked about it.

            "It was a rental," Logan explained. "He said he had to have it back this morning."

            "Vhere is he going? Back home,  to Canada?"

            "Home, yes," Logan said, glancing up in the same way Mickey had. "But not Canada."

(Author's note: this is the first Evolution story I started, two years ago.  Hard to believe it's taken me this long to finish! Mickey is not my character either; I "borrowed" him from Spider Robinson's Callahan series. The story just needed something, and . . . well, he's something, all right.)