Date: Sat, 6 Jan 1996 02:20:28 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: The Kid (part 1) c 1996 by N. L. Cleveland I slumped down in the Buick's front seat, hoping the mark wouldn't notice I'd been sitting there when he went in to the apartment two hours ago. Of course, he'd been pretty distracted then...his arms wound around the sultry Mrs. Johansen as she'd smiled up at him and unlocked the front door to the lobby. She was soon to be the ex-Mrs. Johansen, when I developed the goods in the little Minolta sitting snugly in my coat pocket and delivered them to her not quite so loving husband. That would mean a nice fat bonus, too. One I was looking forward to almost as eagerly as the mark had been to his afternoon in the sack. I had a few very pressing debts to clear up, and this would make a nice dent in the principal. I'd been stringing out this surveillance for as long as possible to get the daily rate, but the husband was getting restless, and it was time to wrap it up. This one would be as good as any of the others to give the proof the divorce attorneys needed, and she'd been a bit less restrained with him in the lobby than with any of the previous gentleman callers I'd photographed her with. The mark...he was just a kid, really, looked bushed. He should. The sweet Mrs. J usually sent them out after a half hour. He'd lasted over two. Young blood, I guess. I hadn't seen him among her usuals before. They'd tended towards the predatory gigolo type. This one, on the other hand, seemed relatively normal. Not bad looking, but in a wholesome sort of way. Maybe her taste was changing. Not that it mattered to me. It was just another job. I didn't give a damn about the psyches of the sad, desperate men and women I followed around town, didn't give a damn about what motivated them to cheat on their wives and husbands. Didn't give a damn. Right. I watched the kid heading down the block. He was trying to look cocky, but the grin kept slipping in exhaustion. I felt a touch of sympathy. He'd probably never met anyone quite like Mrs. J. before. Me, I'd been married to one. But dwelling on that was a real dead end route to take. One I had no reason to, anymore. I was fumbling idly for the keys, still watching the young stud heading home, wondering if I should follow him and find out who he was. Mrs. J might not have gotten that minor detail herself, and he might be needed for court. Suddenly the kid's whole posture changed. His shoulders stiffened and he spun, searching the street urgently with his gaze. I leaned back into the shadowed interior of the car, wondering if he'd spotted me. Cursing at the idle curiosity that kept getting in the way of the work I was supposed to be doing. The kid's eyes passed over me without recognition, and fixed instead on a big nasty looking bruiser coming at him from the cross street. I hadn't noticed the fellow before, but he was hard to forget once you'd seen him. I ticked off the standard identification marks, age about 40, height about 6'2", weight maybe 200 and none of it looked like fat, long ears, short coarse dark hair, dark deep set eyes, a pitted, lined face marked by the sun, a hooked beak of a nose that looked like it had been broken in a barroom brawl, and a smooth oddly gliding walk that was far more controlled and graceful than I would have expected in a man his size. There was also what I can only call an air of menace about this newcomer that I have rarely encountered but always regretted crossing in those who had it. It was like a visible aura around the man, a big blinking sign telling all and sundry "mad dog, bites without provocation." I saw the kid sensed it too, and I wondered just what he'd done to get this gorilla on his tail. Maybe there had been a Mrs.Gorilla he'd gone home with as well? Whatever it had been, it looked serious. The kid and the bruiser locked eyes and stared at one another as the big fellow moved closer. The youngster didn't flinch, I gave him credit for that, nor did he look like he was about to run, although he seemed to swallow nervously and then consciously straightened his posture and stood still, waiting for the other to come to him. I pulled out my cellular phone and watched, ready to call for some official assistance and to discreetly vanish, if that was the appropriate move. I had my .38 in the dash compartment, but had no interest in moving in and playing hero. And sometimes my instincts could be wrong. Maybe this was just a family reunion. Sure. The two stood within a few feet of one another, halfway down the block from where I sat and watched. I had the side window open but they were too far away for me to make out the conversation between them distinctly although I could hear the rumble of the man's deep voice and the kid's higher pitched response. It seemed the big guy was making some sort of challenge. And the kid was accepting. Unwillingly, but resigned, from the set of his neck and the grim expression on his face. There was a small alley just a few steps away from where they stood. I was quite familiar with this block by now from the time I'd been tailing Mrs. J. I knew it turned at an angle away from the street and ended in a blank walled cul de sac. Useless for surveillance because you couldn't see out. Fine for a private grudge match because no one would hear or see them in there. The bruiser turned toward the alley and waited. The kid frowned, glanced up and down the street once more, then stepped down its narrow path and disappeared from my sight, the bruiser moving fast behind him and reaching for something hidden under his jacket as he did. I felt a jolt of alarm. This was not a bare knuckles matter of honor to be settled, then. Bad as it might have been for the kid, he would probably have survived a beating. But the big guy had a weapon and treachery and death were suddenly in the air. I eased open the door, pulling the .38 from its compartment and dropping it into my jacket pocket. It pulled the coat sideways, and it bumped uncomfortably on my hip as I headed towards the alley, the phone abandoned on the seat, far too late to use now. Not if what I suspected was taking place. I certainly didn't want to be the second victim, so I moved cautiously, easing around the corner of the alley, expecting the worst. And stood amazed at what I did see. The kid and the bruiser were fighting. That the kid was still on his feet at all was part of the amazement I felt. He looked small and boyish against the hulking bulk of the other man, and he was barely holding his own, at that. But what was really astonishing was that they were fighting with swords. Long sharp metal swords, and none of that fancy schmansy fencing stuff they show on those late night Zorro movies. No, this was more like smashing at each other with sharp edged clubs, trying to break down one another's defenses along with breaking their arm if necessary. At least that was how the big guy was fighting. The kid was mostly just trying to stay alive, as far as I could tell. And blood. My god, there was blood splattered over both of them, and they both had some pretty ugly, red stained gashes in their clothes. They were silent, except for the ragged gasping breath and strained grunts of two men locked in mortal combat. Their swords clashed against one another and they heaved and shoved back and forth, their feet scuffling on the broken pavement, their necks straining. They had the death look in their eyes. I've seen that before, in eyes facing me over the barrel of a gun. One of them was going to die in here. And soon. I stood there. Feeling useless. I could hardly tell them to drop their weapons and expect either of them to listen. The first one who turned toward me would be dead. I couldn't shoot one of them, without being as likely to hit the other, and again whoever I hit would probably end up dead. And why should I take sides here, anyhow? The only thing I knew about the kid was that he went for older, married women. Not much of a recommendation in my book. I just plain didn't like the other guy, but was that any reason to shoot him? With a cry of pain, the kid slumped to the ground. It looked like it was all over for him. He lay curled in a ball, his sword half under him, clutching a broad red slash across his stomach with his free hand. The older man roared, an inarticulate noise of gloating triumph, and raised his sword over his head, aiming a lethal swing at the back of the kid's neck. I felt sick as the sword whistled down, almost feeling myself the sharp edged steel biting into the back of my neck. I grabbed for my gun, knowing it was too little, too late. In a blur of motion, the kid rolled away from the big man's attack, the falling sword striking rock instead of flesh, and left his own sword buried deep in the other man's gut. It was a move born of desperation and tremendous skill. I knew now there was more to this kid than appeared on the surface, far more. The bruiser stood, astonishment and pain mingling on his face, then fell to his knees and sighed softly, probably the only soft thing he'd ever done in his life, as he left it....then his body toppled to the alley floor. The kid was on his feet already, grabbing the sword his opponent had been using just a moment ago. He held it with both hands and slashed at the fallen man's throat, severing his head from his body. I watched, reduced to silent amazement once again as some kind of blue light rose up from the dead man's body and moved towards the kid. Just before it touched him, he looked up, staring straight into my eyes. It was the first time I'd seen his eyes, met their gaze directly, and I felt a chill strike to the bottom of my heart. This was no kid. He had the eyes of an ancient soul staring from his young, unlined face. The blue light was searing the kid's body, surrounding him with a crackling field of energy, as I backed away down the alley. No one was ever going to believe this. I remembered the camera in my jacket, and pulled it out, snapped a shot of the body on the alley floor, the crackling blue energy field outlining the living and the dead. Then it was over. Everything was silent. The kid slid into a huddled heap next to the headless corpse. I moved closer, and realized the kid was in bad shape. He was gasping for breath, the classic Reyes Stokes death rattle in his throat. The gash across his stomach was split wide open, showing his guts and spurting a slowing stream of blood and lymph, pulsing with the beat of his heart. Even as I watched, the flow stopped, along with his breathing. He was dead, too. A shame, really, for someone with that kind of talent. But it seemed he'd lived a lot for someone who looked so young. I knelt next to him and took one more picture, getting his face this time. Morbid curiosity, I suppose. I used the last frame to snap the ugly bruiser's face, or what was left of it. I ruffled through his clothes, trying to find some I.D. There was nothing, except a numbered key for what could have been any coin locker in the city. I took it, on the off chance I'd find its match. Then I checked the kid's pockets, trying to keep the blood off me. I still wanted to know who he was. There was a wallet, with a name and address. I noted it, and replaced it in his coat, wiping it clean of my prints before I did so. Maybe I'd take a look at his place. See what kind of a guy gets into sword fights and pyrotechnic fireworks displays in alleys. Maybe I'd find something out that was interesting. Or valuable. In my line of work, I've discovered that interesting information is usually valuable to someone. Eventually. I had plenty of patience. That's why I did so well on stake outs. And I could always use some extra money. It was really all that mattered in my life these days. Pay off the debts, go to the track. Pay it off, and play it off. Find that brief moment of relief from life and the memories, in the rush of the horses. And in prying into other people's lives. That was another distraction, but they all turned out the same. So depressingly the same. I glanced once more at the huddled forms in the alley. It seemed that they had been different somehow. Different in an interesting, and novel way. A mystery, a case to solve that promised something different and new at the end. Yes, I definitely would go and check out the kid's apartment, before some one else stumbled over these bodies and called the cops. Too bad, kid. Mrs. J will miss you. It was the best I could give him, as a send off. I turned and left them there. =========================================================================