Disclaimers in Part 1 It had been a long time since Joe had been to Las Vegas, and he was amazed by how the city had changed. The old gambling halls were hard to find - replaced by castles, pyramids, and pirate ships. Families with kids were everywhere, even where the street hawkers handed out garish flyers advertising call girls. Disneyland for adults it might be, but it was still Sin City, and Joe was glad. He loved to play poker. One thing hadn't changed - musicians still entered by the rear, where they wouldn't bother paying customers. Joe and Tommy were introduced to the maze of service corridors and back stairwells which honeycombed the Treasure Island. The Blues Lagoon in the Treasure Island Hotel/Casino was actually a general music venue - it had seldom had any association with real Blues. As an experiment, Rick, the music manager, had put together a solid week of true Blues performances, to test how well it drew the crowds. Joe was extremely flattered and slightly awed to be performing on the same stage with some of the names Rick had booked for All Blues Week. Of course, they didn't have to audition like Joe and Tommy did. They had one week for rehearsals. In the changeable world of music bookings, Joe ended up playing first backup in a cobbled together band, instead of performing solo as he was originally invited to do. He didn't mind. The group was outstanding, and jamming with them was heady and invigorating. This was the life! He even found that sometimes a whole day went by when he didn't grieve for Richie or fear for MacLeod. By the end of the week, Joe was more than ready for opening night. Rehearsals had gone 12 to 14 hours every day, and Joe found himself in his hotel room both exhausted and enervated. At least it would only be six hours a day once All Blues Week began. He hadn't played a single hand of poker, he reflected. He wondered if Treasure Island even had poker. Looking down the fourteen stories to the Strip, he saw the crowd gathering for the Pirate Show. Every other hour, this hotel staged an almost life-sized ship to ship pirate battle out in the front, and Joe hadn't even seen that, yet, though he had been wakened from dreams of 'Nam by the muted sound of faux cannon fire which drifted up to his window. He decided to go see the show. Tommy was off doing Tommy things, so Joe was alone in the crowd, when his worlds chose to collide. The crowd cheered when the pirates took their places on their ship - some on deck, others climbing the riggings. Joe gathered from the talk around him that there had been some concern that the show would be canceled for wind. Canned piratey music blared from a loud but wretched sound system and the pirates began their posturing. The children in the crowd pointed, and Joe saw the other ship, flying a Union Jack, approaching sedately around the corner of the building. The crowd booed. "So, Dawson," spoke a disturbingly familiar voice beside him, "who do you think will win? The pirates or the English pirates?" Joe snapped his head around to see - Goddamn it all to Hell!- Connor MacLeod of the God Damned Clan MacLeod. The first words that came to Joe's mind were not appropriate for a family crowd. He bit them back, but that left him with nothing to say. He looked back at the new ship which was now firing its cannons at the pirates. The actors on the British ship wore uniforms. Joe knew the words were inane before he spoke them. "The English aren't pirates." Connor smiled. Even his eyes smiled. "Depends on who you ask, I'd say." Joe leaned heavily on his cane, so he could lean into the Highlander's face. "What in bloody blue blazes are you doing here?" he hissed. "Sightseeing." "I thought you were off hunting for ... you know." "I am." "And you think he's in Vegas?!" "I don't know. But I know you are." Joe blinked and looked back at the show. The ships were within boarding distance and the actors were swinging from ship to ship and clanking cutlasses at each other. Contained fireworks explosions simulated gunfire. A man cried out and fell from the rigging into the water below. Two more followed him. Connor looked at the men in the water. "That's gotta be cold, in the winter." "You asshole! You followed me here, too? I told you, I don't know where Duncan or ..." Joe lowered his voice from habit, "Methos is. I'm here because I have a gig." "I know," Connor replied. He removed a blue and gold pamphlet from his pocket, and turned it over to the list of names on the back. "I have tickets to opening night. Should be a good time." "You found me from that?" "I found you because you didn't keep it a secret where you were going. Oh, your manager asked me to bring you your mail. He said transatlantic postage was too steep. I hope that man does your purchasing. He's as tight as a Scot." "You read my mail?!" Connor smiled. "Your business license expires in 30 days, but because the French are gentlemen, you have 45 days to renew before you incur a penalty." "Is that all?" Joe was sarcastic. "Your niece, Lynn, writes to say the body of your brother-in-law was reinterred in a simple but elegant ceremony, and everyone was sorry you couldn't make it. Shame, shame." "You asshole!" Joe repeated, this time, loudly. Fortunately, his voice was drowned out by a loud explosion from the pirates' cannon. The English ship listed, and more men fell from its riggings. "So I guess you missed the postcard from Duncan saying 'Having a wonderful time in Bora Bora; wish you were here'?!" Connor's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I missed that one." Shit. What had Joe just done? He looked blindly at the show, trying to keep his expression impassive, or at least, to preserve the angry look which should have been there. "I will see you around, Joseph Dawson," Connor spoke near Joe's ear. "And you will tell me who killed Richard Ryan." Joe felt Connor move away. The British ship descended into the water, her remaining crew abandoning her like so many rats. The crowd cheered the pirates. The forces of chaos were victorious again.