Date: Mon, 24 Oct 1994 02:51:33 -0400 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: The Hunter and the Hunted (p 7-10) c 1994 N.L. Cleveland * * * * * * Police Lieutanant Dutch Dixon slammed down the phone trap in disgust. "We almost had him. We've got his number, all he had to do was stay on for another 30 seconds and we would have had the location. Damn it! It's almost like he was warned." He shot an angry glance at the local dispatcher, a sun faded pudgy blonde in her 40's. She glared back at him, cracking a wad of gum in her mouth as she did. "I don't give a hoot who you are, bud. I've been here twenty years and there's never been a complaint about how I handle these phones." Her tone was belligerent and a flush stained her cheeks. She stood and advanced on him, shaking with rage. The rest of the staff in the cluttered district police station watched with interest. He could even see a few sly grins being exchanged, when they thought he wasn't looking. "If you want to accuse me of being on the take and tipping off a fugitive, you just come out and say it. Don't namby pamby around and imply things about me you wouldn't be willing to stand up and swear to in court. Because that's exactly where you'll be going, if you keep this up." He backed away, totally unprepared for the ferocity of her response. He'd dealt with these back country hicks before and they were usually awed by his big city connections. Why was she so different? It was too late to call back the initial miscalculated comment, but he could at least try to smooth down this tempest, before she refused to work with him at all, again. He worked up a smile, knowing it was shaky, and pasted it in place with sheer willpower and grim determination. "Now Officer...uh....Carlson..." He almost went crosseyed trying to read the name on her desk. "Officer, I never meant to imply any kind of impropriety on your part. Certainly not. WIthout your able assistance, we wouldn't even have known Raines was out here." Well that was true enough. She was the one who'd picked up the initial transmission between Sixkiller and Raines about a wanted fugitive that had tipped off the police that a bounty hunter was in the area, and then he'd been notified based on the alert thinking of this same woman, who'd remembered his APB request that any Sixkiller operation be tagged and his office be informed. She was sharp, he needed her...and the blarney was working. Carlson paused for breath, to continue her tirade, and instead walked back to her desk and sat down. "Fine, Mister Dixon." The drawled insult was more than implied, and he felt his face redden in turn as a snicker reached his ears from somewhere behind him. The woman smiled at him, triumph in her expression. She was on home turf. She was the expert here. And he had to acknowledge that without her continued, and willing, help he would get absolutely no where. "Perhaps I could take you to lunch, Officer, and we could discuss our next moves...in private?" He let the invitation hang in the air. He would crawl as much as he had to, in public, to get what he wanted. But after he'd closed in on Raines, he'd make sure this dispatcher's career was over. For good. Noone ever crossed Dutch Dixon. Not for long. She nodded, gracious now in victory. "That would be fine. We have a nice little steakhouse in town." She stood, glanced at her watch and waved an airy goodbye to her fellow officers. " Let's go, Dutch. It's time for my lunch break just about now. By the way, Triple A gives it a 5 star rating. You can tell me how it compares with the places you're used to in L.A." There was honeyed venom in her tone now. He grimaced, and turned it into a grin, as she put her arm through his and steered him out the door. He had a sinking feeling this was going to be a very expensive lunch. But any price was worth it if it brought him closer to ending the run of Reno Raines. Every day that man walked the earth, Dixon lived on the edge of purgatory. One slip and the tables might be turned again, he might be the fugitive, and Raines might be the pursuer. The only way to guarantee that never happened, was to make sure Raines was silenced. Forever. And now that he had the number to Raines mobile phone, he was closer than he'd been in months to closing in for the kill. He could almost see the look of shock in Reno's eyes, when he realized the chase was over. That vision alone was enough to give Dixon back his appetite, which had fled briefly as he'd glanced at the menu prices in the "little steakhouse." Hah. He'd enjoy ending Officer Carlson's career, too. It would be justice. * * * * * "Duncan. I'm sorry to wake you..." Duncan MacLeod glanced at the luminous dials of his alarm clock. It was just after 2. On a Tuesday morning. He gathered his scattered wits and found a dollop of humor as well. "No problem Joe. I was just about to call you." He grinned into the phone as he imagined the confusion on the other end. "How did you know? I just go tthe call from Arizona 5 minutes ago. They just found the body..." Duncan regretted the jest, immediately. He should have remembered how formal and correct Dawson was about the Watcher's affairs. He could have guessed it would only be the death of an Immortal, or a murder by an Immortal, that would spur Joe to call him at this hour. And it couldn't be an ordinary death, either. The Watchers, even in their post-Horton skeletal reduced numbers, were not given to sounding alerts over a simple fatal duel and Quickening. Something unusual had to be up...or someone he personally knew was involved.... Arizona...he flipped rapidly through his mental list. Did he know anyone in Arizona? He hoped he didn't...Immortals were such secretive folk, it was easy to lose track of one another, for years, for decades...he had a sinking feeling in his chest, and gripped the phone tighter..... "Hold on a sec, Joe. What body? I was just kidding, before. You woke me up and I was a bit punchy...sorry...is it anyone I know?" He heard the dull flat tones of despair in his voice, almost as if he sensed before Joe spoke whose name would be coming across the soulless wires...wanting to be wrong. Knowing he was right. "Cornwall Llwellyn. You knew him?" There was rough sympathy in Dawson's voice now. As if he knew MacLeod and Llwellyn had crossed paths before, and he had guessed they had been friends. Just based on what the Watchers had known about Llwellyn, it would have been a reasonable guess. What they hadn't known, of course, was how close the two Immortals had once been. How very close. Duncan closed his eyes. Wanting to go back to sleep. To pretend the call hadn't come. Wishing for a moment that he'd taken Amanda up on her offer to travel with her rock star's band on their world tour. Wishing he hadn't been alone, tonight. The phone was silent. Joe waited, giving him time to hear, to understand, and to begin to grieve. That was one thing about Dawson. He was a sensitive man. He understood when people needed time. Needed space. Needed silence. Duncan listened to the hiss of electricity over the line, the faint sound of breathing at the other end. This was not something he wanted to face alone. Not in the night. Not for this man. He asked, almost hesitantly, not wanting to intrude, but wanting to be with someone, wanting, needing to talk, to listen, to know more... "Are you up now? Could we meet somewhere....and talk?" Duncan listened, wondering if this lifeline he'd thrown out into the night would connect, would pull him back to shore, to life...or if he'd sit alone in this dark loft and stare at the demons flickering on the walls until the sun came up. "Yes." The voice on the other end didn't have the artificiat stress of someone doing an unwanted favor. It.....Joe...sounded sincere. To Duncan's practised ear, that meant a lot. He relaxed a bit. As much as a man can relax, knowing one of his oldest, dearest friends had just been killed. Or had been killed a long time ago...and just been found. All the questions were trivial now, pointless, and asked far too late to do any good. "Good. Where. When." Duncan felt a lump rising in his throat, choking him, making it hard to talk. He swallowed. Felt tears gather, brimming in his eyes. Blinked them back, and listened intently to the quiet voice on the other end of the phone. Listened to that voice as if his life and his sanity depended on it. And perhaps they did. He felt so raw, so open and off balance, this news just poking at the open sore in his soul, nudging the edginess a bit furthur into the light....closer to the abyss.... He focused on Joe's voice, the calm even tones flowing across the wire, flowing into his heart and his mind, spreading calm.... "I'll come over there, if you want." Duncan flinched, shook his head in silent negation. He needed to get out, to move, to work off the nervous energy that would turn to dark melancholia if he stayed here. Joe picked up on the silence, and made another offer... "Or we can meet at the bar." That would work. "Fine. I'll see you there in 10 minutes, ok?" Duncan stood, waiting for the answer, flinging off the bedding and pacing towards the dresser, looking for his black turtleneck sweater, the black jeans, the black leather boots. He was dressing for a funeral, he knew. But he had to show his feelings in some way. And he was damned if he was going to break down in front of Joe...or any mortal....none of them could understand what it was like. Sure, they buried their friends, their families, their lovers. But they knew they were going to die. It was the price you paid for life. The other side of the ticket. Death. There was no choice. It was tragic. But inevitable. Even Tessa's death..as untimely as it had been, as much as it had hurt him, deeply, in his heart and spirit...even that could never have been averted, just delayed. And he was dealing with that fine, now. He was...fine. But Llewellyn.....Llewellyn didn't have to die. Could have lived forever. Would have been a great choice to be the final one. Duncan had always known in his secret inner self that he would have let the man win, if it had come down to that..if only the two of them had been left....Duncan knew his own strengths, and his weaknesses, too well, these days, it seemed...and he knew that Llwellyn outshone him in so many ways....except, it was painfully obvious now, in the only one that really mattered. The ability to stay alive. He concentrated on the phone again. Dawson's voice....warm, reassuring...reeling in that lifeline he had cast out into the dark. Pulling him in, reeling him towards the light. "Sure, MacLeod. I'll see you in 10 minutes. Drive carefully. It's raining out, you know." =========================================================================