Date: Mon, 9 Oct 1995 09:59:58 EDT Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: DL&J, Part 3/5 Death, Lies, and Jewelry, Part 3 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu Macleod's black Thunderbird was parked right over the spot where Matt had died. Richie wondered if there would be a bloodstain there, but he didn't go to look. Instead he crept around the side of the imposing house. No one was in sight. The back yard was laid out in the same generous proportions as the house itself, with flower plots and low walls and little decorative hedges dividing it into more intimate sections. Richie could see Macleod standing near one of the trees, talking to someone who was out of his line of sight. He moved closer. " . . . rumor that you were involved in the theft of the Sanford jewels," Macleod was saying. "And what concern is that of yours?" asked another voice, with a slight Spanish accent. "None at all. But I also heard that you killed one of your accomplices." "I killed a young man who tried to steal from me." "So you don't deny it?" "Of course not. The boy knew what he was risking when he decided to rob me. If I had been caught stealing the necklace, I would have expected lethal force. He should have anticipated no less." "A knife in the back or a bullet in the heart is a little different for you and me, Perez, than it was for this boy." "But the principle is the same. He should not have tried to steal from me." Macleod shifted his weight uneasily. Richie crawled sideways a little, peering between two bushes to get a look at the man Macleod had called "Perez." He was a short, wiry fellow, with a thin mustache and a face slightly pocked from some long-ago illness. He had the same fluid grace in his movements as Macleod, and Richie remembered the way the man had moved with a sword. "Man, I hope you know what you're doing here," he breathed. "Now tell me, Macleod. I have been candid with you. Where did you hear these . . . rumors? Was it from a young red-headed man?" Richie mouthed a curse. He could see it coming. Pock-face was going to tell Macleod that Richie had the necklace, and then Macleod would think Richie was in the wrong and let the bastard go. "As a matter of fact, it was," said Macleod. "He is under your protection?" "That's right. I hope you weren't planning any sort of retribution." "Oh, come now, Macleod. You must realize what the boy is. Have you asked him about his family?" Maddeningly, the two of them moved a few steps away from Richie's hiding place, just out of earshot. He crept closer on hands and knees. He had to know what kind of lies this jerk was telling about him! " . . . would be doing him a favor to kill him now, instead of later," Perez' voice floated faintly back to Richie. Richie rolled his eyes. What kind of a snob was this asshole, anyway? Was he talking about euthanasia for the unwashed masses? Put all the homeless and the street punks and the unemployed into a chamber and gas 'em? His fists clenched against his thighs. Between this and his memory of the man casually pulling a knife from Matt's back, Richie was ready to tackle Perez bare-handed right now. But as he shifted his weight another figure came into view that he hadn't seen before, a hired-muscle type with a bad haircut, a loud tie -- and a gun. "I want you to stay away from Richie," Macleod said in a chilling voice. "I'm afraid I can't do that," said Perez. "And since you've made your position quite clear . . . " He snapped his fingers. The man lurking in the background raised his gun and shot Macleod. Richie sprang to his feet involuntarily. Macleod twisted around, one hand curling to the bloody wound in his back. He saw the shooter and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He fell to his knees. Perez produced his huge sword from thin air, as far as Richie could tell, and poised it above his head. "Sorry, Macleod," he said, "but there can be only one." And he struck. Incredibly, Macleod's sword was out too, and he blocked the blow. He stopped the next one as well, sprawling back on the grass but keeping his weapon at the ready. The man with the gun took aim again. "Hey!" Richie yelled. "Over here!" The gunman's head whipped around. "Get the boy!" Perez snapped. "I'll take care of this." Richie ran. Something buzzed past his ear. "Oh, shit!" he muttered. "Why the hell did I do that?" He hadn't had much time to learn the layout of the garden, but he dodged around as well as he could, trying to confuse the gunman. Branches plucked at his sleeves as he dived through a flowering hedge. He rolled on the other side and ran along the hedge toward the driveway. Macleod's convertible had the top down. Richie piled inside and got his head below the dash right away. He had always thought the threat of police arrest made a good incentive for speed in stealing a car, but he had never considered the effect of armed pursuit. He had the car hotwired almost before he knew he had planned it. He was already hitting the gas by the time he raised his head. There was the gunman, directly in front of him. Richie could see straight down the barrel of the gun, and it looked the size of a cannon. Then the man dived out of the car's path without getting off his shot. The T-bird lurched through flowerbeds and over a terrace. Richie spun the wheel frantically to avoid the trees. He wasn't even sure he was heading for the right part of the garden until Perez looked up in surprise and rolled over the hood. "Get in, Mac!" Richie yelled, amazed to find him on his feet. Macleod fell into the back seat as Richie gunned the engine again, circling back toward the driveway. He nearly ran into one of the walls and had to reverse to get out of a tight spot. The gunman reappeared, shooting from behind a tree, and Richie could only duck his head and keep driving. Then there was asphalt under the tires again and the car picked up speed. He fishtailed out of the driveway and drove away at a very illegal pace. Macleod looked pretty bad in the first glances Richie threw at the back seat, but by the time he got out of the neighborhood and stopped the car for a better look, the man was sitting up. "You followed me," he said dully. "Yeah. Are you all right, man? You got shot." "It's nothing. I'll have to buy a new coat." Macleod looked up suddenly. "What the hell were you doing back there? You could have been killed!" "It looked like you could use a little help." "Help is against the rules. Fights between Immortals are supposed to be one-on-one. No outside involvement." "Then he broke the rules first. I was just kind of -- evening the odds." "Next time, stay out of it, okay?" "Fine. You're welcome. Geeze!" Richie thumped his fist on the steering wheel. Macleod sighed. "You're right. Perez cheated, and he would have killed me. Thanks for barging in." "Yeah, well, I probably wouldn't have done it if I'd thought about it. I wasn't exactly planning to get shot at." Macleod climbed out of the car. "Move over. I'll drive the rest of the way. How bad is your arm?" "Huh?" Macleod pointed to a tear in Richie's shirtsleeve. "Oh, that's nothing. I scratched it on a branch." Richie touched the spot and winced. "Ow!" Macleod grabbed the sleeve in both hands and ripped the tear open further. "Hey, man, that's a good shirt!" "_Was_ a good shirt." Macleod inspected the wound. "That was a bullet, not a branch. Now will you promise to keep a safe distance next time? What am I saying -- there better not _be_ a next time. You hear?" Richie just stared at the blood trickling down his arm. "I think you can get away without stitches, though. We don't want to have to explain this to the police. We'll get you home and clean it up, all right?" Richie blinked. The arm was really beginning to hurt now that he was aware of it. But Macleod had been shot squarely in the back, and now he looked fine. "So are you really . . . Immortal?" he ventured as the car began moving again. "That's right." Macleod seemed willing enough to explain. "A gunshot can kill one of us, but it would only be temporary. There's only one way to kill us permanently, and that's by beheading." Richie flinched at the memory of Macleod chopping a man's head off on Soldier's Bridge. "Yeah, I knew that. So, uh . . . how old are you?" "About four hundred." "About?" Richie gasped. "Three hundred and ninety-nine and . . . ten months. But after a while you start rounding off." "I can see that, I guess." Richie sat silently through the rest of the drive, realizing that he was sitting next to a piece of history. This man was older than some of the antiques in his shop -- older than the state of Washington -- he was older than the priceless Sanford necklace! Macleod pulled the car up behind the shop. "Any more questions?" "Yeah, lots. How did you get this way? How come you guys always carry swords? What's the deal with the fights and the rules you were talking about?" Macleod grinned. "Come in and let's get you patched up, and I'll tell you all about it." ============================== Richie swallowed the last of his beer. "So, after Perez got away from you and skipped town, I thought I'd hang on to the necklace as a backup. Just to be safe." "I see," Duncan returned. "And how long were you planning to wait before returning it?" "I . . . guess I didn't really think about that. In fact, with all the wild stuff that was going on after I met you, I have to admit -- I kinda forgot about it." "But now you think Perez is after Angie." "Him, or some of his men. It's the only thing that makes sense. They must have checked out all my friends and found out she took out that box right after Matt died. They didn't come after me either because they couldn't find me, or they were afraid of you." "Or because the box is in Angie's name." "Yeah." Richie massaged his temples. "Oh, hell. How could I have let Angie get mixed up in all this?" Duncan just gave him his I-hope-you've-learned-your-lesson look. Richie hated that look, mostly because he only saw it when he had done something really stupid. "When did you give her the key?" he asked. "Yesterday evening." "Oh, no! Then she must have gotten the necklace out today. Those bastards got away with it again!" "Nope. Today was a bank holiday, remember?" A slow grin spread across Richie's face. "Then we still have time. They'll go to the bank tomorrow, and we can catch them then!" "If we want to." "What do you mean? Of course we want to catch them." "No, what we want is for Angie to be safe. She's less likely to get hurt if they get what they're after." "You really believe that, Mac? You think these slimeballs are just gonna let her go, when they know she can ID them?" "Maybe, maybe not. That's why I'm going to be in the bank tomorrow watching out for her. You --" he pointed an accusing finger at Richie "-- are going to stay out of this, because you can't let Angie know you're alive." Protest flickered across Richie's face. "All right," he said at last. "Just -- watch out for her, okay, Mac? You take care of Angie, and I swear, I'll never argue with you again." Duncan laughed. "Don't make promises you don't intend to keep. Now let's get these dishes cleaned up and go to bed. We've got a big day tomorrow." =========================================================================