Date: Mon, 9 Oct 1995 10:00:27 EDT Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: DL&J, Part 4/5 Death, Lies, and Jewelry, Part 4 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu When Duncan walked into the People's National Bank, there was no sign of his quarry. He began to putter innocently with some forms. Unfortunately, the service was excellent, and after he had been loitering for a few minutes a young woman came up and asked brightly, "May I help you?" "Er -- yes," Duncan said. "I was thinking about a --" a sign on the wall caught his attention "-- a home improvement loan. Do you have any, er, literature or anything I could read while I'm thinking about it?" "Certainly. Here are some informational pamphlets. You would have to fill out an application form like this one. Our policy is explained on the back. But it might be easier if I could help you. How large a loan were you considering?" "That depends," Duncan said lamely. "How about if I just sit down and look these over?" He planted himself firmly on a bench in the middle of the bank. "Oh. All right. But if you'd like some more privacy, you could come back --" "This is fine, thanks." Duncan smiled at her and bent his head over the material. He had flipped through the pamphlets three times, and the young clerk was beginning to give him strange looks from her desk, when Angie entered the bank with two men flanking her. She walked directly in front of him, her eyes passing expressionlessly across his face. There was fear in the set of her mouth and shoulders. Duncan followed the three of them with his gaze to an area at the back of the bank. After some murmuring and a show of identification, Angie and the larger of the two men continued further back toward the vaults. The other man stood against the wall to wait, darting suspicious looks at everyone who passed near. Duncan moved to one of the writing tables and pretended to fill out the loan application form. After a few minutes, Angie and her keeper reappeared from the back of the bank. The large man was carrying a small white box, and he had a hand on Angie's shoulder. The other man fell in as they headed for the front door. "So, you did decide to apply for that loan?" asked the clerk, materializing at Duncan's elbow. "Er . . . " Duncan watched the two men hustle Angie out the door. "Excuse me," he said, handed the papers back to the clerk, and half-ran after them. They circled around to the back of the building and crossed the street to a municipal parking lot. Duncan paused at the edge of the lot as he felt the beginning of another Immortal's buzz, then set his jaw and forged ahead. Across the lot, the door of a silver Mercedes opened, and Domingo Perez stepped out. One of Angie's guards, hurrying toward him, started to say something, but Perez cut him off with a sharp gesture. His eyes traveled past Angie and the men to Duncan. "Duncan Macleod," he said. "Why am I not surprised?" The two guards turned around and took up defensive postures as they saw Duncan. The shorter one pulled out a gun. Angie hesitated, bracketed between them, ready for flight. "Because you knew I wouldn't just stand by and let you threaten the girl," Duncan replied. "The girl?" Perez laughed. "Is that really why you're involved? It has nothing to do with a fortune in antique jewelry?" "Nothing at all. As far as I'm concerned, the necklace is yours. Now that you've got it, you don't need Angie. Let her go." "Oh, I think I still have some use for her." Perez pulled a gun from his pocket and waved it at Angie. "Get in the car," he ordered her. "With the box." She glanced at Duncan. "It's okay, Angie," Duncan said. "Do what he says." Angie climbed into the back of the Mercedes with the bakery box tucked under her elbow. "Now, which of these cars is yours?" Perez mused, looking around the lot. "Ah, yes, that one." He pointed to Duncan's T-bird. "You had it the last time we met. I never forget a fender, especially when it breaks both my knees." He pointed his gun and fired twice, deliberately. The T-bird sank down on deflated tires. Duncan didn't react when the first shot was fired, but with the second he took one step forward and kicked the gun out of the shorter guard's hand. Then he grabbed the taller one and swung him around to smash his face into the doorstrut of a Chevy. He turned back in time to block a couple of punches from the shorter one, and dropped him with a fist in the solar plexus. Perez had already scrambled into the Mercedes. He fired through the open door as it leaped forward. Duncan ignored the burn of pain in his shoulder and sprinted across a concrete island to cut him off. His fingers fell inches short of the back door handle, and the Mercedes pulled away. Duncan thudded a few more steps into the street, watching the disappearing car. He turned his head as he heard a motorcycle engine start up and yelled, "Richie! Wait!" as the young Immortal took off after the car. Richie passed by without even turning his helmeted head. Duncan pounded his thigh in frustration. Struck by a new idea, Duncan searched the street eagerly. He rarely caught sight of anyone Watching him these days; he doubted that Joe was respecting his privacy, and assumed instead that the Watchers were hiding more carefully. But there had been three Immortals here until a moment ago. Surely he should see someone -- The rasp of another ignition spurred him into motion. He hurled himself onto the hood of the car before it had even pulled out of its parking space. The startled driver hit the gas, rolling Duncan up against the windshield. He climbed to the roof and tried to open the passenger door from above. It was locked. He smashed the window with his elbow, reached in and pulled up the knob, opened the door and swung himself inside. "Hi there!" he gasped at the driver with a grin. "Mike, isn't it? I've seen you at Joe's. Mind giving me a lift?" "I -- I can't --" Mike stuttered. "Pretend I'm not here. Go where you were going anyway. You wouldn't want to miss the fight, would you?" Mike stared woodenly at the road and didn't reply, but it was clear that he was following Richie. Satisfied, Duncan began to pick the slivers of glass from his arm. Angie yelped involuntarily when Perez fired his gun through the door, but since Macleod stayed on his feet and ran after the car, she assumed he was all right. Which was more than she could say for herself; she was in serious trouble now. For the first few blocks she could delude herself that Perez was heading toward her neighborhood, but she wasn't really surprised when he sped past the last turn that would have taken her home. He was probably taking her somewhere he could hide a body. She thought about bailing out, but the car was moving awfully fast, and Perez controlled the locks from the front seat. Her hand moved to the window control as she considered throwing the box out. Then she thought better of it and opened the box, keeping it well below Perez' line of sight. She worked quickly and quietly, keeping her shoulders bowed as if she were terrified. Better to let him think she was too afraid to take any action at all. When the right moment came, she would make her move. The moment arrived when they had gotten well into the suburbs, away from the heavier traffic. Perez tucked the gun under his left thigh and waved his hand at Angie. "Give me the box," he commanded. Angie passed the box forward, using the movement as an excuse to place herself in the middle of the back seat. Driving with one hand and less than half of his attention, Perez fumbled the box open. He pulled out the lump of tissues inside and unwrapped them eagerly. From behind him and to one side, Angie watched his confusion and mounting anger as the tissues pulled away to reveal a Swiss Army knife and a stick of lip balm. They were on an empty road, passing by a ballpark. She would have no better opportunity than this. Angie launched herself forward and caught Perez in a choke hold. The driver's headrest got in her way, but she contorted herself around it, tucked her right forearm under his chin, and pulled back with all the weight of her body. Perez let go of the wheel and clawed at her with both hands. The car leaped forward as his legs stiffened. They lurched up over the curb and into the empty baseball diamond. Perez put his left hand down to fumble for the gun. Angie wrenched at his head, pulling him aside and trying to disorient him. She saw him raise the gun, then something loomed in front of the car and there was a loud crunching noise. Angie was flung forward onto the dash, banging her elbow and head. She had room to hope dimly that she had broken Perez' neck, but by the time her head cleared enough to look around, he was pushing himself upright with a furious expression. He began searching for something on the floor; he had lost the gun. Angie twisted around to kick him in the head while she fumbled with the controls for the passenger door. At last she got it open and tumbled awkwardly into the dirt. They had crashed into a set of wooden bleachers. Angie ducked under them, holding her aching head with one hand, and started to run. Before she had gone ten yards, a motorcycle skidded up in front of her, blocking her path. She cursed herself for forgetting that Perez might have men following them, but before she could decide whether to run back to the bleachers or try to dodge the bike, the rider dismounted and pulled off his helmet. Angie's hand dropped from her bloody forehead. "Richie!" she cried. Richie was staring past her. "Give it up, Perez," he said, with a dangerous tone Angie had never heard him use before -- not successfully, anyway. "Just let her go." Angie turned. Perez had gotten out of the car and was moving toward them, a smile twisting his mouth under the thin Spanish mustache. "So! Macleod's little protege has grown up." "That's right," said Richie, his stance wary but not alarmed. "And you don't want to mess with me. So let Angie go." "I'm afraid I can't do that," said Perez, reaching into his coat. "You see, she still has something I want." He pulled out a long sword. "Richie! Oh, my god." Angie backed away from the madman. Richie stepped back also, staying just out of reach of the blade. For the first time, the glances he threw at Angie began to look uncertain, but he was still not afraid. Angie couldn't quite define the change in him. Perez' left hand flickered, and something flew toward Richie's chest. Richie dodged it. "You're not going to kill me the way you killed Matt Garner," he growled. "It was worth a try," Perez shrugged. He took two steps forward and made the sword whistle through the air. Angie turned and ran back to the car. Richie was retreating, surprisingly light on his feet, but it was clear that a four-foot blade had to win out over barehanded agility eventually. She threw herself across the front seat and fumbled around frantically for the gun, finding it at last wedged under the brake pedal. With a shaky breath, she checked that the safety was off, then ran back under the bleachers. Richie was still in one piece, circling back toward his bike, but in a moment he would be trapped with nowhere to retreat. Angie pointed the gun at the ground between the two men and fired. Perez stopped and stared at her. She leveled the barrel at his chest. "You fool," Perez sneered at her. "You can't kill me." "I don't want to shoot you," Angie said steadily, "but it's better than watching you carve Richie up. Now put down the sword." "Angie --" Richie began. Perez smiled. "What if I don't?" He took a step toward her. Clenching her jaw so hard it hurt, Angie tightened her finger on the trigger. "Stop!" called a new voice. Perez' head turned slowly, followed by the point of his sword. "So the party is complete," he said. "I did you a favor by leaving you behind, Macleod. Did you have to follow?" "Since you didn't do what I asked you, yes, I did have to follow." Macleod approached around the bleachers, his hands ready at his sides. Angie drifted sideways toward him. "Here, take the gun," she murmured, relieved to get the murderous instrument out of her grasp. "Er -- all right," said Macleod, but he held it loosely, pointed at the ground. "Richie, take Angie home. This is between me and Perez now." "No way," Richie objected. "I was here first. It's my fight." "It's been my fight since three years ago." Perez glanced between them with amusement. "Make up your minds," he said. "One or the other, I don't really care." "Get out of here, Richie. You owe Angie some explanations." Macleod's gaze darted sideways, fixing Richie for a moment. "Souviens-toi, t'es mort." Richie gave in reluctantly, although his jaw still jutted. "Fine, we're outa here." He turned to Angie. "How bad's your head?" he asked her in concern. "Think you can ride a little ways on the back of my bike?" "Richie, we can't just leave them here! We have to call the police!" "The police wouldn't be able to deal with this, Angie, trust me. Macleod can take care of it better than they can." Angie glanced over her shoulder as the bike started up. "He's not going to kill him, is he?" Richie gave a short, humorless laugh. "Believe me, Mac is not going to shoot that guy. Don't worry about it. Our part is over now." Angie put one hand to her pocket to make sure the necklace was safe as they sped away. When the motorcycle was out of sight, Duncan tossed the gun aside and brought out his katana. "Don't do this, Domingo," he warned. "You can still walk away from here. You got what you came for." "No, I didn't!" Perez snapped. "That bitch tricked me, and you know it. She had the necklace hidden someplace else!" Duncan frowned, not sure whether to believe him. "At least you still have your head," he reasoned. "Take your losses and get out." "Why should I take any losses, when I have a chance to take _your_ quickening? Are you so sure you can best me, Macleod? You barely escaped with your head when last we met." "I've changed a lot since then," said Duncan. He lifted his katana to curve forward beside his ear, his weight low and centered, his concentration absolute. Perez swung his saber in a showy preparatory move. "Well, so have I," he snarled, and lunged. Duncan waited until the other's momentum was fully committed, then stepped under the path of the sword and brought his own blade around and down. He finished behind Perez with his katana still at the ready -- and dripping blood. Perez spun around, his mouth open in surprise, his hand going to the gash across his midriff. He thudded to his knees in the dirt. Duncan lifted his sword for the final blow. Perez dropped his saber and began to scrabble in the dirt. He found the gun, snatched it up and pointed it at Duncan's face -- Duncan cut his head off. He took the quickening silently, with his arms held out on either side, the still eye of the storm that whirled around him. Pops and crashes came from the direction of the Mercedes, the abused bleachers groaned and shifted, a bank of lights for night games blew out explosively. Afterward, Duncan knelt in the dust, listening to the turmoil inside his own head and reaching for the sense of balance he needed to remain himself. When he opened his eyes, Joe Dawson was sitting on the lowest step of the bleachers. Duncan picked up Perez' sword and gun and walked wearily over to join his friend. He gave Joe a nod and a thin smile to let him know he was all right -- as right as he could be after being forced to kill an old, old acquaintance. "You gave Mike quite a shock back there," Joe said drily. Duncan blinked and shrugged. "I was desperate." "So I figured. You need a ride home?" A smile that was genuine, though battered, pulled at Duncan's mouth. "Yeah," he breathed. "Thanks, Joe." "You _will_ be paying for that car window, won't you?" Joe asked as they moved off. =========================================================================