Part Three: Richie, Shut Up
The man clamped his hand around the back of Richie's neck. "You come with me," he said, "The rest of you are free to go. I'd like to thank you for your cooperation, and I invite you to re-claim your wallets and credit cards once we leave." The women snapped out of the daze and pulled her daughter to her. The man squeezed Richie's neck. "Ready?"
"No," Richie answered.
"Get moving!" The man ordered pulling Richie up. He scrambled to get his feet under him as the man pushed him toward the back exit. The man thrust a bag into Richie's hands when the entered the alley. Richie threw it to the ground at his feet.
"You stole it, you carry it."
"I don't care about that now," the man growled. In one swift movement his hand moved from the back of Richie's neck to his throat. "How do you know about us?" He demanded.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I heard what you were telling those people." He pushed Richie against the wall and tightened his grip.
"It's just a story," Richie insisted.
"Bull shit." The man drew his sword. "I could kill you right now. Run you through and take your head. How does that sound?"
"Sounds like suicide. You kill me, Mac's going to be all over you," he sneered.
"Mac? So your friend has a name."
'Damn!' Richie cursed himself 'Calm down and shut up, Ryan. Don't go blabbing to this guy.'
"Mac from Scotland." A wicked smile spread across the man's face. "This couldn't be the famed Connor MacLeod, could it?"
"No." Richie promptly answered.
"True, he lives in New York, doesn't he?"
"Yes." Richie cringed at the sound of his answer. 'Damn!'
"You know Connor?"
'Shut up, Ryan. Just don't talk.' Richie set his jaw and glared at the man.
"If you know Connor, you must know Duncan."
'Shut up, not a word.' He instructed himself.
"Pitiful swordsmen, I hear. It's amazing he lasted this long."
'Don't listen.'
"He owns his own Holy Ground, and he's always hiding there. So pathetic."
'He's just trying to get to you.'
"Last I heard he lived here. Have you ever met the poor bastard? He's so weak, I bet even you could take his head in battle. Not that you'll get a chance to try, that pleasure is mine." Richie bit his tongue to keep from answering. "The only way he could have lasted this long is if he cheats. And we can't have people cheating can we?" Richie looked away, barley containing his anger. "Honestly, the man has no honor, he preaches about it, but lacks it himself. He's such a hypocrite."
"Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about." Richie growled softly.
"And I suppose you do?"
"Damn right I do. Mac's no hypocrite. He's got more honor than anybody, especially you. He would never stoop to this crap. And he can kick your ass in a heart beat."
The man laughed. "You have a rather romantic view of your friend."
"What?" Richie demanded, appalled by what he thought this man way implying.
"You mortals and your one track minds. I meant; before you idolize a man, know his entire story."
"I know Mac."
. . . . . .
"MacLeod." Duncan answered the phone on the third ring.
"Mac! This guy is crazy!" Richie's frantic voice responded.
"Richie?"
"Yeah."
"What's going on?"
"There's this guy, who robbed the bank, and I slipped about immortals, and then he- - -"
"What?"
Richie took a deep breath and dove back into his high-mileage rambling. "This little girl was freaking out, Rylan's stories were the only thing I could think of to calm her down."
"No, the bank, what happened?"
"This guy- - -" Richie was cut off.
"Richie? Richie!"
"MacLeod?" A new voice answered.
"Where are you?" Duncan demanded.
"St. Zeta's Cathedral." The line went dead.
The man clamped his hand around the back of Richie's neck. "You come with me," he said, "The rest of you are free to go. I'd like to thank you for your cooperation, and I invite you to re-claim your wallets and credit cards once we leave." The women snapped out of the daze and pulled her daughter to her. The man squeezed Richie's neck. "Ready?"
"No," Richie answered.
"Get moving!" The man ordered pulling Richie up. He scrambled to get his feet under him as the man pushed him toward the back exit. The man thrust a bag into Richie's hands when the entered the alley. Richie threw it to the ground at his feet.
"You stole it, you carry it."
"I don't care about that now," the man growled. In one swift movement his hand moved from the back of Richie's neck to his throat. "How do you know about us?" He demanded.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I heard what you were telling those people." He pushed Richie against the wall and tightened his grip.
"It's just a story," Richie insisted.
"Bull shit." The man drew his sword. "I could kill you right now. Run you through and take your head. How does that sound?"
"Sounds like suicide. You kill me, Mac's going to be all over you," he sneered.
"Mac? So your friend has a name."
'Damn!' Richie cursed himself 'Calm down and shut up, Ryan. Don't go blabbing to this guy.'
"Mac from Scotland." A wicked smile spread across the man's face. "This couldn't be the famed Connor MacLeod, could it?"
"No." Richie promptly answered.
"True, he lives in New York, doesn't he?"
"Yes." Richie cringed at the sound of his answer. 'Damn!'
"You know Connor?"
'Shut up, Ryan. Just don't talk.' Richie set his jaw and glared at the man.
"If you know Connor, you must know Duncan."
'Shut up, not a word.' He instructed himself.
"Pitiful swordsmen, I hear. It's amazing he lasted this long."
'Don't listen.'
"He owns his own Holy Ground, and he's always hiding there. So pathetic."
'He's just trying to get to you.'
"Last I heard he lived here. Have you ever met the poor bastard? He's so weak, I bet even you could take his head in battle. Not that you'll get a chance to try, that pleasure is mine." Richie bit his tongue to keep from answering. "The only way he could have lasted this long is if he cheats. And we can't have people cheating can we?" Richie looked away, barley containing his anger. "Honestly, the man has no honor, he preaches about it, but lacks it himself. He's such a hypocrite."
"Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about." Richie growled softly.
"And I suppose you do?"
"Damn right I do. Mac's no hypocrite. He's got more honor than anybody, especially you. He would never stoop to this crap. And he can kick your ass in a heart beat."
The man laughed. "You have a rather romantic view of your friend."
"What?" Richie demanded, appalled by what he thought this man way implying.
"You mortals and your one track minds. I meant; before you idolize a man, know his entire story."
"I know Mac."
. . . . . .
"MacLeod." Duncan answered the phone on the third ring.
"Mac! This guy is crazy!" Richie's frantic voice responded.
"Richie?"
"Yeah."
"What's going on?"
"There's this guy, who robbed the bank, and I slipped about immortals, and then he- - -"
"What?"
Richie took a deep breath and dove back into his high-mileage rambling. "This little girl was freaking out, Rylan's stories were the only thing I could think of to calm her down."
"No, the bank, what happened?"
"This guy- - -" Richie was cut off.
"Richie? Richie!"
"MacLeod?" A new voice answered.
"Where are you?" Duncan demanded.
"St. Zeta's Cathedral." The line went dead.