How in hell did he wind up as the welcoming committee? More to the point, Logan figured, why the hell did Cueball think this was anything resembling a good idea? He was the one they sent out when they wanted six tidy holes in something, not when they wanted someone patted on the shoulder and brought back into the fold.
Still. If he was going to be the welcoming committee, he was going to have a beer while he did. It was the only way he was going to deal with anyone with any kind of grace and courtesy. Especially given the recent circumstances.
He took his bike and drove fast, enjoying the fast ride all the way down to the city, cutting in and out of traffic, finally nipping into a parking stall and killing the engine when he reached the place. He locked up the helmet, glancing briefly over the place as he did. He'd been in worse. He'd been in some real yuppie bars in his time. The place probably didn't have much in the way of entertainment, which meant he could wave to the kid and get back to work.
Walking in, he glanced over the place, and it wasn't all that hard to spot the kid he was supposed to be meeting. Weren't many other mutants with scarves, even in the city. He wandered over to the bar, dropped money on the bar and got his larger, ignoring the stares of the bartender - and that was why he hated the city. Too damn many people, and they were all curious.