Richie Ryan pulled up in front of Café Diem, hopped off his bike and gave the town a skeptical once-over. It fairly sparkled in the noonday sun. Eureka had to be the cleanest burg he'd ever seen. He stretched 'til his back popped. Better mind his p's and q's while he was here. A town this anal had to have rules up the wazoo.
His bike ticked as it cooled, dripping oil on the pristine pavement. High time for a tune-up, he figured. He sidestepped some kid's toy car as it zipped under his engine. He looked around casually, but he didn't see anyone holding a remote control. He shrugged. No skin off his nose if it got spattered with grease.
He pushed through the cafe door and the most amazing smells assaulted his nose. Suddenly he was ravenous. A stool opened up at the counter and he plopped down next to a cute blonde with pink-streaked hair. She looked to be about his age, but of course he was older than his apparent 17 years.
"I'll have what my charming seat mate is having," he told the cheerful guy behind the counter. Richie favored Blondie with his best smile. "The name's Ryan. Richie Ryan," he camped, sketching a bow.
She rolled her eyes, but cracked a smile. "Zoë Carter," she said. "You're sonot from around here."
"What gave me away? The stylish dusty leathers?" He flicked an imaginary mote from his shoulder.
"Eureka doesn't get many strangers." She tilted her head to one side. "Been on the road long?"
His smile faltered, but he caught himself. Funny. He could go days without thinking of Mac. "A while," he said airily. "I'm a world traveler."
"You don't look old enough to drive." From her sour expression, it must be a sore spot with her. Of course, she suffered from the teen angst for wheels.
"I've got a bike," he said, jerking his head toward the door. "Give you a spin around town if you like."
"Oh my dad would love that." Another sore spot - or maybe the same one. But her eyes flashed wickedly with teen defiance at the idea.
"Old man giving you grief?" He knew that one. Mac had given him enough grief for a lifetime. A nearly short and sweet one. A spectral sword came flying at his neck and he flinched before the vision evaporated.
The food arrived and he tucked into it with gusto. It reminded him more of Paris bistro fare than small town diner grub, and he did the plate justice.
"My dad's such a control freak," Zoë confided, sensing a kindred spirit. "Just because I ran away a couple times and boosted some stuff off the internet, he thinks he can't trust me."
"Imagine." Richie grinned crookedly around a forkful. It took Mac ages to trust him – and even longer for him to deserve it. But trust was a two-way street. He'd trusted Mac with his life, which was why the betrayal of the Dark Quickening, when it came, was all the more visceral.
Zoë's cell phone beeped, or rather it…squealed."Speak of the devil," she sighed, flicking it on. A tiny pink pig hovered at eye level fluttering its tiny wings. "Yeah, Dad?"
Richie gaped. He thought he was hallucinating again until Zoë absently batted the thing away from her face as she chattered. Obviously some kind of hologram then. He looked around, but no one seemed to be paying it any mind. In fact, now that he noticed, two more people had flying pigs flapping about their faces. When pigs flycame oddly to mind. Just what kind of place had he stumbled into?
Zoë stopped talking and the pigasusevaporated. "Prototype," she mumbled, at his quizzical look.
When in Rome, or Eureka, Richie supposed. "This is a weird town." He waved his fork around vaguely.
"You don't know the half of it," she agreed. "And I'm stuck here without wheels!"
"The road's not all it's cracked up to be," Richie offered in a rare flash of clarity. It had felt good belonging somewhere once, however short-lived it had turned out to be.
"Guess I'm not the only one with parental issues," she ventured.
He let her assumption stand and found he didn't mind so much when she smiled his way. A sweet respite to his bitter journey.
They were making small talk when the town sheriff strode in, making a bee line for Richie. He stiffened, but there was no telltale buzz from a fellow Immortal. Only the usual Johnny Law radar.
"Afternoon, Sheriff." Richie slipped into his best solid citizen persona. He wasn't looking for any trouble.
"Planning to be in town long?" The fellow was direct, in a low key way. He wore a goofy smile, but his eyes were sharp.
"Dad!" Zoë cried, mortified.
Dad? Oh shit. She didn't say Daddy Dearest was the sheriff.
"Just passing through," Richie smiled, one predator to another. "Stopped for a bite."
The sheriff nodded and the tension eased. They understood one another. Riff raff got the bum's rush in sleepy towns like this. Especially where daughters were concerned.
"Is there a garage I can get my engine looked at?" he asked casually.
"Henry's," the sheriff offered, flashing that goofy grin. "It's right on your way out of town."
Zoë roller her eyes.
"Much obliged, sheriff." What was this, a Western? Richie fought down the urge to hawk. No spittoons in view.
"I'm so sorry," Zoë said when her dad had gone. "He's like that with every guy I talk to lately."
Richie shrugged. "Dads are like that." Dads with jailbait daughters.
"It was nice meeting you, Richie Ryan," she smiled ruefully, rising. "I hope you find what you're looking for."
Just what was he looking for, Richie wondered fleetingly.
He returned to his meal but he'd lost his appetite. Too bad. This was the best food he'd had in a long time.
Since the Highlander had tried to take his head and his life turned inside out. Blame it on the Dark Quickening perhaps, but Richie felt he had gotten a glimpse of the true Highlander, minus the two hundred year old civilized veneer.
Richie tossed a handful of coins on the counter. With luck and a good grease monkey, he'd put a couple hundred miles between himself and this burg by nightfall.
His bike roared to life and the stupid toy car shot out from under his engine. The spattered pavement was pristine once again.
"Figures." Richie shook his head. "Eureka is weirder than my world."