========================================================================= Date: Sun, 21 Apr 1996 22:33:02 -0400 Reply-To: Sandra1012@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Sandra McDonald Subject: You Break It . . . 3/7 Part Three "The guy is back," said Sam the bartender, as Joe scrolled through a screen full of figures on his computer screen. Richie had owned the bar through T.G. Enterprises for decades, freeing Joe for his music and family and light managerial duties. Sometimes, though, he liked to take a look at the electronic books. "Which guy?" Joe asked, glancing up. "The one who keeps asking about Richie Ryan," Sam said. She had never met Richie Ryan, who was fifty years old or so and lived overseas. She'd met his kid, Richie Junior, who dropped by occasionally and was dating Dawson's daughter. Sam snapped her gum. "He's come in maybe four or five times these past two weeks. You want me to tell him to leave?" "He'll just come back again," Joe predicted. "I'll be out in a minute." Part of his job as an employee of T.G. Enterprises was reporting and dealing with any general inquiries about the owner. His long time friendship with Richie would have demanded that anyway. Joe went out to the bar and slid behind the old, polished wood to pour himself a tall glass of water. The place was half-full, beginning to thicken with the lunch crowd of business types looking for a little atmosphere with their lunches. The man that Sam indicated with a nod of her head was sitting on a stool, his thick bare arms on the wood, his blue cotton shirt stretched tight over corded muscles. Blond, with curly hair not unlike Richie's, he was about thirty years old, with dark eyes and a dark expression. He had a half-drained glass of beer in front of him - the cheap stuff. His nails were dirty from mechanical work. "Are you the manager?" he asked, sounding edgy, no warmth at all in his expression. . "That would be me," Joe acknowledged. "I'm looking for the owner, but no one will tell me where to find him." "The owner is a busy man," Joe said mildly. "I resolve problems for him. Joe Dawson's my name. What can I help you with?" "Jeremy Greven," the man answered. "And you can't help with this. It's personal. For Richie Ryan only." "What kind of personal?" Joe asked. A lifetime's worth of experience with Immortals told him this man wasn't one of them. The scrapes and cuts on his hands from long hours of manual labor said that much. On the other hand, he could be working for an Immortal. Or he could be someone from Richie's murky past, although Richie's street pals from his days in the welfare and juvenile justice system would all be older than Jeremy. "You going to give me his phone number?" Jeremy asked. "I might take yours," Joe allowed, "if you've got a good story." Jeremy leveled a stare at him. For a moment he seemed undecided, but then he said, "I've got a good story. He's my father." Joe took a sip of his water. "Richie Ryan is a wealthy man," he said. "People claim to be old friends or cousins or kids every day." Jeremy stood up with a flush in his face. The stool scraped on the wooden floor, threatening to topple. "You think I'm lying?" "Calm down," Joe ordered. He didn't have the strength to toss the man out, but he still had the tone of a man who'd worked in a bar for a long, long time. "This isn't the place to cause a scene, mister. There's no need for trouble." Jeremy's face grew even more red. "Maybe it is, pal. Maybe then I could get Richie Ryan's attention. The man is my father, damn it, whether he likes it or not." "He's not your father," a voice said firmly from off to the side, and Joe realized Richie and Methos had come in during the last minute or so and overheard the end of the conversation. Richie gazed flatly at the man as Jeremy swung to him. "Richie Ryan only has one kid, and that's me." Jeremy's face twisted into a scowl. "You're Richie Ryan, Junior?" "Yes," Richie said calmly. Methos, beside him, said nothing. Looking at them, Joe realized, it was impossible to tell that one Immortal was only fifty years old, the other fifty centuries. Some of Jeremy's anger drained as he took in what he must have assumed was his half-brother. "I want to talk to your dad." "He's out of the country," Richie said. "Then you call him," Jeremy said. "My mother - his ex-girlfriend - needs him." "Who's your mother?" Richie asked. "Donna Greven. Her last name was Cole when he knew her. He got her pregnant and then left her when they were eighteen years old." Joe watched the expression on Richie's face soften unexpectedly. "Oh," Richie said. "You know about her?" Jeremy demanded. "So you know it's true." "It's not true," Richie said. As he came closer, Joe could see that Methos' concern was not unwarranted. The young Immortal seemed tired, from the circles under his eyes to the way he was standing as if he'd been beaten. But his voice was strong and steady as he said, "My dad knew Donna Cole. She told him she wanted her little boy Jeremy to be his, but she wasn't sure who the father was." Jeremy lunged for Richie with a curse. It was Methos who stepped in between them and with a practiced twist and application of pressure dropped Jeremy to the floor, his arm pinned behind his back. "It's not nice to fight," Methos said into the larger man's ear. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that?" "Let him go," Richie said. Methos released his hold. Jeremy climbed to his feet rubbing his shoulder, expression murderous, but sufficiently warned. Joe had been surprised that it was Methos who stepped in - Richie was certainly capable of defending himself - but it was good to be reminded sometimes of how dangerous Methos himself could be, and how protective of his friends. "I'm sorry if you took that as an insult," Richie said. "It wasn't. My dad loved your mom, but not the way you think. And they might have slept together, but he wasn't your father. She knows that." "That's not what she's saying," Jeremy growled. "It's the truth," Richie said. "I'm sorry." Richie took a seat at the bar. Methos stared down Jeremy until the mortal left, slamming the door behind him. "What's the lunch special?" Richie asked as Sam handed him the menu. "Veggie burgers or veggie salad," she said. "The world was much more interesting when there was meat in it," Methos sighed. Joe shook his head at Richie. "You didn't have to do that. Tell him about yourself, I mean." Richie shrugged. "It's not a big deal." "Did your father really know his mother?" Methos asked curiously, keeping up the charade for Sam's sake and anyone else who might be eavesdropping. He slid onto a stool beside Richie. Joe automatically poured a draft for the oldest living Immortal. Some things never changed. Richie nodded. "Everything I said was true." To Sam he said, "Veggie burger. Zucchini fries, please." "You think he'll be back?" Methos asked Joe. "Looks like he might be the type," Joe said. "But we'll handle him. What are you two up to today?" "Shopping for the belated birthday gift I owe Richie," Methos announced. "A 1995 Star Trek pinball machine." Sam returned with a plate of zucchini fries. "Another year older, huh, kid?" she asked Richie. "What are you? Twenty? Twenty one?" "Older than you think," Richie said, with a flash of pain in his eyes that Joe didn't miss. It was ironic, the mortal thought, that while that very morning he'd been regretting his old looks, Richie Ryan was regretting his young ones. He sent Sam away to check on the kitchen, then settled on his own stool behind the bar to talk with Methos and Richie. The prospect of acquiring a Star Trek pinball machine did seem to brighten Richie's mood, but as the conversation moved through mutual friends, world news, sports and blues music, they were all careful to not mention Jeremy Greven or Donna Cole. And Richie didn't mention the most important thing until last. "How's Andrea?" he finally asked. "She's okay," Joe allowed truthfully. "She wants to talk to you." Richie looked down at his plate. He hadn't finished half of the burger, and more than a few fries were left. Methos watched the young Immortal but didn't prod him. "I don't know why," Richie said. "Of course you do," Joe answered. "You both have things you need to say to each other." Richie stood and pulled out his wallet, determined to pay even if he was the owner. "It's not that easy, Joe," he said as he flashed a debit card. He wouldn't meet the older man's gaze. "Believe me." Joe cocked his head quizzically. "So who said it was ever going to be easy? Believe *me.* She's a lot like her mother." Richie almost smiled. He'd been one of Joe's ushers, loved Janet as if she were his mother, and had bounced Andrea and her siblings on his knees as babies. He'd stayed away from the children for a few decades to establish himself as Richie Ryan Junior, and falling in love with Andrea had been entirely unexpected. Joe had told him once that falling in love was like diving off a cliff. "That's a compliment to Janet," Richie said. "It's a compliment to them both," Joe returned. "Call her, will you?" Richie slid his debit card into the bar, then retrieved it. He didn't answer as he headed for the door. Methos shrugged and said, "Whatever happens, happens. I'll talk to you later, Joe." "Yeah," Joe said. Then, using Methos' preferred identity, he said, "Adam?" "Yes?" "Take care of him." "And you take care of her," Methos said, of Andrea. Joe smiled. "That's my job." *** Richie dove into the bright blue water, wincing slightly as its coldness drove the breath from his chest, and swam half the length of the pool before he surfaced for air. He did ten laps, swimming strongly and methodically, and when he finally stopped he found David watching him from a deck chair. "What did you find out?" the Immortal asked as he hauled himself out of the water. David handed him a towel. "Donna Greven is listed as an indigent patient at South General Hospital. No insurance. She's fifty years old, suffering from late stage AIRIS, and the prognosis is for only a few more months at best." Richie eased down into a deck chair. David was wearing a hat, as most mortals did these days. The ozone depletion problem had led to soaring rates of skin cancer. As an Immortal Richie could sit outside unprotected as much as he wanted to. He stretched his legs out now, glad for the sunshine on his cold skin. "What about her husband?" "Skipped out awhile ago. Greven was actually husband number two. Husband one died in a gun accident, probably a suicide. Number three is the current one, but hasn't been seen in years." Donna never had made good decisions when it came to men, Richie thought ruefully. "And Jeremy?" "Jeremy Greven is a wanted felon."