Date:         Wed, 13 Jul 1994 20:29:40 EDT
Reply-To:     Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         "(Nancy Cleveland)" <NancySSCH@AOL.COM>
Subject:      Aloha Part 2

Yomoko turned sharply and glanced at him. She lifted her sunglasses and
looked again. "Thank you so much for your kind offer, Mr. MacLeod, but I
don't think a room next to the kitchen is quite what I had in mind. And thank
you for bringing in my bags."

She turned away, ready to do battle with the manager again. Duncan caught the
manager's eye. "Check my reservations, see if the rooms are satisfactory to
Ms. Toma. If not, I'll keep them myself. I'll be in the bar." He turned on
his heel, and left.

< So much for rescuing maidens in distress. > He knew it had gone out of
style, but still, he couldn't get used to being treated like he was the
dragon.

*You should have been born 400 years earlier.*

< I was, remember? >

At least the manager had a reason to come see him, one way or the other,
without a crowd of impatient travelers watching every move and listening to
every word.

He envisioned her gratitude for solving a nasty client problem. Yes, that was
enough to ask her out on. She probably knew a few good places for dinner,
too. He smiled, sipped his Scotch, then tensed as the familiar warning buzz
of another Immortal's proximity alerted him.

< Who? Where? >  He scanned the room. No one was looking at him, no one was
responding to his presence.

"Mr. MacLeod?"

< Damn, it was Yomoko. Not the manager. >  This was clearly not turning into
one of his better days.

"Yes?" Short, abrupt. < This had better be good. Another crack about the
kitchen and her bags will be in the pool.>

She smiled . < Smiled?  What bit her? >

"I just wanted to thank you for offering me your rooms. I didn't realize you
had the Presidential Suite. It would be more than adequate for my needs. In
fact, I have a proposition for you.  If it's not one you like, I'll
understand."

She paused. < Did she actually look nervous? Impossible. >

"There are no equivalent rooms anywhere else. I don't expect you to sleep on
the street, and I'd prefer not to. If you're willing, I'd like to share the
suite." Duncan sat up. This was hardly where he'd expected their conversation
to go.

< It certainly isn't my masculine charm she's after. What's happening here? >


She spoke rapidly, the words tumbling out quickly. "You know how it's set up,
four separate bedrooms, two entrances. We could each use half." She paused
again, bit her lips and then continued.

" I know I seem abrasive at times, its the way I was raised. I wouldn't
intrude on you, up there. I'll understand if you say no."

Duncan paused, before responding. The buzz was subsiding. He still hadn't
pinpointed it, but it didn't seem urgent either.

*Not urgent?*

He ignored the nagging voices. He'd find out soon enough if someone wanted to
challenge him. Since the false Tessa's death, he hadn't  fought another
Immortal. Hadn't even picked up his sword, or worked out. Somehow the urge
for battle wasn't in him anymore.

< Maybe I'm just getting too old? Maybe it's time to let it all go?  What do
I care who gets the prize. >  These thoughts were becoming more common.

* We care! *

** You cared enough to take my head! **

< Maybe I'm just depressed. Too bad  *we* never took the head of an Immortal
psychologist. >

He shrugged mentally. Why not be civil. He could try and chat up the manager
later. A faint curiosity stirred in him. That leather case. Yomoko still had
it. It was just the right size to hold a sword. Tomorrow's auction was by
invitation only. Very few would be there, very little would be for sale, but
what there was, was very special. If she was selling, he might just get a
look at what she had, in advance. He turned back to her, and summoned a
smile.

< Smiling is always easy, on the outside. When will I remember how to smile,
inside? >

"I'd be charmed, Miss Toma.  Yomoko. I'm sure we can work it out. Please,
have a seat."

    * * * * * *

Jari glanced over his shoulder, then eased quietly out the back door. Once he
reached the lawn, he started running. The light of the full moon silhouetted
him clearly against the breakers. He scrambled down the sea wall and pelted
along the beach. Jonathan watched him run out of sight, then lowered his
binoculars and sighed.

This was only the first night, and already the boy had snuck away. He'd
wanted to believe him, wanted for the sake of Aki to trust him, but it didn't
look good. He still felt that same unease that had dogged him for days, the
boy's presence hadn't changed that, just clarified the direction of the
threat. Perhaps.

He considered which course to follow. He could stay and wait for Jari to
return, or go find him, at one of the waterfront dives the runaways and pimps
frequented, near the port. It really wasn't much of a choice. He got to his
feet, already dressed in black jeans and t- shirt, slipped on some running
sandals, and headed out the door.

Jonathan pulled up his Jeep in a crowded parking lot. This was the third
place he'd tried and he was ready to go home if Jari wasn't here. Music
blared from boom boxes set up on the tops of vans, the heavy metal bands
fighting each other in a pitched battle for dominance. His ears ringing,
Jonathan threaded his way among a raucous crowd of  beach bums, sailors and
their assorted women. No tourists here.

A blue neon sign blinked "Coconut Hut" on and off above a weathered wooden
door. It  looked like a machine gun had sprayed bullets across the front. As
he entered, Jonathan's fingers lightly traced the holes, touched metal slugs
at their base. Yes, there had been a shooting, and recently. The edges were
still rough with tiny new splinters. Not a good place to be an innocent
bystander.

Inside, a smoky blue haze half-obscured the far wall, where television
screens showing blurry closeups of men and women grappling in the nude
flickered in the thick air. Jonathan paid the $10 cover to a hulking bouncer,
and had the back of his hand stamped with a fluorescent green coconut in
return. Fresh faced teens with calculating eyes mingled with gray bearded,
pony tailed refugees from the 60's and deeply tanned surfers and body
builders.

Jonathan scanned the bar, then moved slowly around the room, looking for one
particular face. There, a sudden movement in the corner. The boy turned. A
glimpse of frightened eyes, mouth open in surprise, then the  face was gone,
hidden in the swirl of the crowd. Could it be Jari? Jonathan pushed through a
group of bikers and found an empty table where the boy had been. A cigarette
still shouldered in an ashtray. < Damn. Who had he been here to meet? >

 A hand landed on his shoulder with an audible thump. Jonathan turned. A fat
bearded biker snarled at him.

"You don't shove me around, tourist. You show some respect."

Jonathan ducked as a fist swung at his head, and missed. Another  leather
clad biker reached for a bottle and swung it at him. Instinctively he kicked,
using the impact to twist in midair and roll away from the two men who were
now staggering back into the arms of their still seated companions.

"Look, I don't want any trouble. Let me buy you all a drink." He spread his
empty hands wide, and smiled. < Well, it worked in the movies.  Sometimes. >

The pair rebounded from their friends, the entire group coming to their feet
and moving to surround Jonathan.

< Uh oh, this looks nasty. >

A chair crashed into the wall behind him, thrown by the first biker, the one
Jonathan mentally dubbed Big and Hairy. His pal Big and Ugly waved a beer
bottle in each meaty fist  and moved towards Jonathan. < Time to get this
over with and get out. >

Jonathan ducked another wild punch from Hairy, then flipped him into the man
beside him. Jonathan slipped out through the opening this made in the circle.
Other patrons had joined in the fight, tossing chairs and bottles about with
a gleeful abandon. Jonathan disarmed a man on his way to the door, as the
fellow came at him with a pool cue.

< A pool cue? There isn't even a pool table in here! >

Jonathan pushed past the bouncer and out the door, hearing another chair thud
into the frame as it closed behind him.

< What a waste of time.  But I have to be sure. >

Jonathan stepped off the black top of the parking lot  and settled into some
shrubbery in a yard overlooking the Blue Coconut's entrance. Mosquitoes
started dive bombing him in swarms. He clenched his teeth and willed himself
to be calm.

< Patience. >

< Wait. >

It was good to be the watcher, instead of the watched.

The police came, their blue flashing lights adding a surreal glow to the
scene, as the noisy crowd in the lot dispersed, car by car. Jonathan yawned,
and waited. Dawn was streaking the edge of the horizon, when a slim figure,
in the same swim trunks and sneakers, slipped out the door.

< Jari. >

The figure sidled around the edge of the parking area, and melted into the
gray morning dusk beyond.

< But who was he with? >   Jonathan strained, willing himself to see through
the walls. No one with a familiar profile had come in or out. It would take
Jari an hour to get back to the house, on foot. Jonathan waited. No one else
emerged except the manager, locking the door and turning out the lights. The
Blue Coconut's neon  faded to gray.

< Time to go home. >

The last cars had left.  Jonathan stood, disappointed. No one had been part
of a pattern, no one was familiar. He walked to the Jeep.

< Time for a shower, and a long talk with the boy. >

    * * * * *

Duncan watched the sun  creeping through the blinds, the soft light
illuminating the golden down that frosted Yomo's cheeks. He sighed.

It was too easy, after 400 years. Too easy to pick the right words to say,
the right tone to take with almost any woman, just like he could tell from
the slightest, subtlest hints of body language if  a man was going to help
him or betray him. Most of the time, anyhow.

Those few rare exceptions, like Joe Dawson, like Tessa, those were the ones
who intrigued him,  puzzled and drew him to them, their elusiveness, their
enigmatic nature part of their basic attraction. Tessa had loved him, but she
had never been predictable. She truly had an old soul, far wiser in the world
than her years alone could let her be. She had constantly fascinated him,
 revealing new depths and facets to her character under every different
circumstance, and always remaining a loving, charming woman.

< Stop it. You've done mourning her. It's time to move on. Remember? >
  Absently, he caressed Yomo's hair, feeling the soft dark silk slipping
though his fingers. So like Ko in some ways, so very different in others. She
murmured and snuggled closer, still asleep. But she wasn't Ko. Never would
be. Grief turned to iIrritation surged through him and pushed him out of the
bed.
< Let's check out that luggage. >

Duncan eased himself from the bed and padded to the bags. < Locked .>  He
knelt in front of them, weighing whether or not to pick the lock.

< Patience is still a virtue, I can wait. >  He turned, and found Yomoko
staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

"You're interested in what's inside my bags, Duncan MacLeod? Is that why
you're here? Why you offered me your room? Your  bed?"

He rose and smiled at her.

< Calm, calm now. >

 "C'mon Yomo. I never expected this to happen. It was an unexpected delight,
not something I planned."  < Sure, sure. >  " Why, we didn't even know each
other before yesterday. And yes, I'm interested in them. Are you selling
something at the auction today?"

She sat back on the bed, pulling the sheets around her. She tilted her head,
clearly trying to decide whether or not to answer him. He smiled again,
playing the silly  innocent, and prattled on.

 "Of course that's not why I invited you here." He sat beside her, and ran
his hand slowly up her still bare leg,  to where the sheet covered her
thigh.She tensed and moved infinitesimally away.

< Bad sign. >

*Work harder, boy.*

"I was just hoping for a quick look, in advance of the sale." He eased his
hand under the sheet and followed the line of her leg higher, tracing the
delicate skin of her inner thigh with his fingertips.

 "But I'd much rather look at you." He eased the sheet loose from her breasts
with his other hand, and delicately kissed her, between the two soft mounds,
then moved his lips to the right and left, tickling her breasts with his
tongue.  This time she relaxed. He snuck a quick glance at her face. She
smiled down at him, and played with his hair, coiling and smoothing it
between her fingers, as he continued ministering to her breasts.

Duncan opened his eyes again, savoring the luxuriance of awakening late. The
sun was fully up now, and daylight flooded through the open windows. Someone
had raised the blinds. He was alone on the bed.

"Duncan?"  Yomo inquired lazily, her voice coming from across the room.

"Mmmm?" He leisurely rolled his head and glanced towards her. His eyes
widened and he came fully, abruptly awake.

< Oh shit. >

She stood, naked, holding an equally naked blade pointed directly at him.

< Not another of those fanatic Watchers?  No. The hate isn't there.  >  He
sat up, prepared to run, to fight, or to admire, waiting for a more tangible
clue to her intent.

Yomo stepped delicately towards the bed, flashing the katana's blade almost
faster than his eyes could follow in an intricate series of twirls, thrusts
and counterthrusts.

< She's good. Very good. But is she after me? Or just showing off the
merchandise? >

She  ended her approach with a final twist that brought the sword to a
quivering  stop within an inch of Duncan's throat. She held it there for a
long moment, her eyes locked with his. Searching his.

< For what? >

He reached up and pushed the tip down with a finger. She let the blade sink
to the carpet.

"Very impressive," he said, in neutral tone. He held out his hand, palm up.

"This is what you are selling? May I see it?"

Yomo tossed her hair back and shrugged. With her empty hand she pulled a soft
golden cloth from the chair behind her, lifted the blade's point from the rug
and presented the katana to him, holding it lightly across both her hands,
nestled in the golden silk.

Duncan took it and hefted the balance. It was like a feather, quivering to
fly. He'd never felt such a live, eager blade. The hilt was odd. He looked
more closely. Some kind of stylized dragon worked around it, the design
echoed in black etched tracery along the blade.

"It is lovely work." He ran his fingertip along the back and then carefully
tested the edge. Razor sharp indeed. A few nicks, but no major flaws or
cracks in the metal.  He tilted the blade so the sunlight played along its
flat side, revealing clearly the hundreds of tiny lines parallelling the
curved edge that showed where the metal had been folded and refolded and
hammered into shape. A labor of love, and the product of rare skill.  It
Iooked functional. Lethal. Old. The handle was polished by use, not wax, and
almost seemed to flow into the shape of his hand. There was no maker's mark.

"May I see the sheath?" She silently walked across the room to the leather
case and lifted out a black, intricately knotted sheath.

He got to his feet and followed her, still carrying the sword. The sheath
betrayed its age far more than the blade. If it was the original. He studied
it carefully,  the style of knotting, the crumbling, stiff leather and
fabric. Very old. Maybe 11th century. He'd not seen one of those since he'd
been in Japan, almost two centuries ago. A dedicated blade. They never left
the families of the owners. Never.

< Why was it here?  Surely it couldn't be for sale?  Especially not to
gaijin. >

He stepped away from Yomo. He knew it was foolish, heard all the host of
voices and 400 years of hard won instinct all rise up in unison.

*Don't do this.*

He ignored it. Ignored them. He thirsted to feel the blade move in his hand.
It was almost like a drug. He'd never held a blade like this. Probably never
would again.

*Certainly never will if you don't sit down right now.*

< Shut up. >

 He moved through a basic opening. Five steps, thrust and twirl. The blade
floated in his hands, almost pulling him into  each move.

< This is how it is meant to be. My own blade will never feel the same, now.
>

He glanced at Yomo. She was learning towards him, intent,  watching, a  frown
quirking her brows. The warning chorus rose up again. Regretfully, Duncan
stepped back to her side. He wiped the blade clean of dust and oil with a
soft black cloth she handed him, then carefully slid the katana back into its
sheath, as she held it for him. The blade almost sighed as it disappeared,
and settled with a comforting rightness into the worn leather. Duncan rested
his hand on the hilt for a moment longer, then let it go.

< A sword to die for. Indeed. >

Yomo wrapped the gold cloth back around the sword, and slipped the bundle
into her leather case. She turned back to Duncan, inquiring with her eyes.

"You know how to handle a katana. Not many do. Where did you learn?"

"I studied with a Japanese master."  < How much can I push this? How much
does she know? >

"Who?" There was a charged undercurrent to her voice.

 < This question means a lot more than it should. Is there a right answer? >

"He was very obscure. Myota Sensei. He's been dead a while. He was very old,
when he taught me."

< It also happened to be 200 years ago, but does she know that? >

She relaxed. "I've never heard of him. He must have been very  obscure."

< Well at least he wasn't the wrong answer. I wonder what I just passed. >

"This sword is very old?" He made it a question, not a statement.

< Lets see what she's willing to tell me. >

Yomo walked to the window, looked out on the patio and pool below. "Old, yes,
that's why it's here to be sold." She turned and grinned at him. "I could
hardly bring something made last week, now could I?"

< So she's going to be flip. She doesn't think I can afford it. She's
probably right. Damn, I'd love to hold it again. >   Duncan joined her at the
window, watching the bustling activity below. The tingling started, the
unmistakable warning that another Immortal was nearby.

But where?

Duncan's senses fixed on a large fringed beach umbrella, near the pool. A
man's hand in a dark suit jacket was all that showed. He was holding a drink.
A heavy gold signet ring gleamed dully on one finger.

< This time I'm going to find out who it is. >

Duncan reached for his swim trunks and tossed a robe over his shoulder. "I'm
heading out for a swim, care to come along?" Yomo looked surprised, but shook
her head.

< She wonders why I'm not asking more about the sword. Let her wonder.  >

She locked the case again and began setting out her clothes for the coming
day. Duncan brushed his lips across the crown of her shining hair, and headed
out the door. He heard the latch click shut behind him.

Out of her sight, he dropped all pretense of casual ease and moved quickly
down the hallway. He took the fire stairs two steps at a time, and only
slowed when he reached the exit door. He eased it open and sauntered across
the patio, trying not to pant to audibly.

< I shouldn't even be sweating. I must be really out of shape. And now I'm
running after another Immortal. Idiot. >

The buzz was gone. So was the Immortal. An empty glass and a half smoked
cigar were all that remained.

 < Well maybe I can track him down by smell. That's pretty pungent stuff.  >
Duncan wrinkled his nose in distaste. A pool attendant came over to the
table, and began clearing the debris onto a tray.

"Excuse me, did you happen to see where the man went who was sitting here?"
The attendant looked at him blankly.

 "I dunno, man. I didn't see nobody. I just got on."

"Well, who would have seen him?" Duncan tried to smooth the irritation out of
his voice. This was getting ridiculous. The other Immortal should have
declared his intentions long ago. They both knew the other was here.

< Why is he avoiding me? What's going on? >

"The shift just changed. I dunno who had this table. Sorry, mister." Duncan
pressed a bill into his hand. The attendant brightened immediately.

"Hey, thanks. Say, you could always ask the shift manager. She's still around
in the bar."

"I will. Thank you." Duncan headed back into the cool, dark opening with its
imitation palm thatch roof. He paused at the door to let his eyes adjust to
the lower light. There, in the corner. A woman was frowning at a pile of
invoices, and entering numbers rapidly into a small calculator. That must be
her. Time to be charming again.

He switched on a broad grin and approached her table.

"Hello."

She glanced up, clearly annoyed at the interruption. Duncan slid smoothly
into the leather seat across from her.

"I can see you're busy, I won't be a minute. I was just trying to catch up to
an acquaintance of mine. I spotted him on the patio, from my room. But by the
time I got to the pool, he was gone. I wondered if you could tell me who
served his table, and if he put the bill on his room charge. I'd love to see
him again, but this place is so huge, and I'm leaving this afternoon. I don't
think I'll just bump into him again."

She stared at him, flat and level. "Why don't you check with the registration
desk. If he's here, they'll know." She turned back to her figures, ignoring
him.

< Damn.  Why do I keep running into smart women at the wrong time. >

"Um, actually my friend travels under different names. He likes to avoid
publicity. The press. You know. I'd really like to invite him up to my suite,
its the presidential, for a drink." He smiled, hopefully. < Well I tried,
anyhow. >

She looked up again. Sighed, exasperated. "It is not our policy to identify
guests who wish to remain anonymous, to anyone, even to other guests. Not
even those in the Presidential Suite." She spoke slowly, emphasizing each
word. "If you have a problem with that, you can speak with the manager." She
reached over and picked up an in-house phone, and looked at him, her eyebrows
raised.

Duncan smiled, shook his head regretfully, and rose to his feet. "Thank you,
ma'am. I do understand about policy. Well, I just hope I'll bump into him
again, before I go. Have a good day." He spoke to the top of her head. She
had already replaced the phone and was back at work on her figures. She
nodded without looking up and continued her calculations.

He sighed. < Whatever happened to my  glib charm? It's not doing me much
good, these days. Am I losing the touch? >

*What do you want, every woman you meet to hop into bed with you? Looks like
you're doing pretty good, to me.*

**How would you know? You never even had a girlfriend**

< Ok, fellows, enough already. >

Duncan wandered back to the pool. He lay his robe on a chair and dove in,
swam a length in the tepid water, then climbed out and headed back to his
rooms. < Time for a shower. Then on to the auction. Then home, at this rate.
The Island women just weren't welcoming anymore. >
=========================================================================