The rest of the two weeks went by surprisingly quickly. Richie healed remarkably well, and by the time he moved back into his own apartment the scar had faded into a thin reddish line. With the new prescription (that Richie insisted on working towards), the scarring was expected to be minimal. Hopefully nothing but a pale line of slightly raised scar tissue would be all that remained. Richie claimed to not mind having such a scar, believing that the 'chicks' would find it sexy.
Richie was also not exactly idle, once he was up and moving around like a normal human being. The lack of decent television, while giving him the chance to bond with Tessa over her favorite movies, also served to motivate him to do more than just laze around. He worked in the store when it was open for as long as MacLeod would permit. Despite his progress, the Highlander constantly had to remind Richie that his body was still healing.
Even still, Richie was more often than not found in the store attending to some chore or other. When the store was closed, or when there really wasn't anything for him to do there, he would beg for the chance to do something else. He helped with laundry, dusted the loft, did the dishes, ran errands with MacLeod, and gave an extra pair of hands to Tessa when she was working on her sculpture.
Of course he specified that he was only helping out to help work off his debts to them. The window and alarm system were expensive enough as it was, two prescriptions and two hospital stays on top of that was outrageous. Duncan had talked him into not worrying too much about the medical expenses; after all, as an employee, he was entitled to some medical coverage by the antique store.
When Richie moved back into his own apartment, he and Duncan decided that all debts he owed were paid off by the extensive amount of work he put in around the loft and in the store. Then he handed Richie his first official paycheck (having taken the time to create an account for him). Richie protested mildly for the sake of appearances before Duncan reminded him that he had worked for nearly a week prior to moving in with them.
The highlander embellished this check slightly, of course, and Richie's first order of business after Duncan dropped him off in front of his apartment was to walk down the street to the supermarket and cash his 250-dollar check. The sight of that much money in his hands nearly made him dizzy. However, the temporary euphoria only lasted for as long as it took him to remember his responsibilities. Two hundred of that was going in an envelope for his landlord: the first part of the month's rent. That left him fifty for expenses for the week, and Richie imagined that he would need just about all of it.
Thirty he took grocery shopping. Buying economy size and store brand products, he figured that he had enough food for two weeks of two meals a day (since Tessa had assured him that she would provide his lunches). Out of the twenty that remained, Richie did all his laundry and bought some replacement light bulbs for his apartment, along with the tools to fix the light fixture in his stairwell since such things were deemed his responsibility in the terms of his lease. The money left over he stashed in a coffee tin in his kitchen cabinet. This was the 'make peace with Romeo' fund.
Richie returned to the routine of working six days a week. He would take the bus in the morning, but would accept rides home from MacLeod if he was available to offer them. The times that the Highlander was otherwise occupied Richie decided to stick to public transportation rather than have Tessa drive him. It wasn't that he was ashamed of where he lived. Well, not of his apartment anyway. That he was quite proud of. His neighborhood on the other hand… Somehow he just didn't feel comfortable having Tessa drive him there in her white Mercedes convertible.
However, even though he was working, not all of Richie's time was actually spent in the antique store. He was still helping Tessa with her sculpture (since she forbade MacLeod from lying eyes on it) and running errands for or with Duncan. When Tessa remarked that she had no time to do laundry Richie offered to take care of it for her provided that she would let him run a few loads of his own free of charge. Tessa agreed and now Richie didn't have to worry about paying for laundry. He found himself heading to the loft on Sundays (the day the antique store was closed) and doing their laundry as well as his own. Duncan or Tessa (whoever was around at the time) would feed him for his troubles.
Pretty soon Richie got his expenses in order. He was able to rescind his deal with the landlord and pay the three hundred up front the next month. Rent only cost one and a fifth of his four monthly checks. In this fashion two months flew by and Richie was able to use his extra spending money to buy necessities for his apartment, such as dishes, cookware, towels, and cleaning supplies. He even found the money for things like a walkman and a thirteen inch television, though sadly cable still eluded him.
One of the biggest perks thus far, however, was that Duncan eventually took him to get his driver's license. Due to his long and colorful juvenile record, Richie wasn't allowed to get his driver's license until he turned eighteen. Of course, that didn't stop Richie from learning how to drive. Actually, Duncan deemed he was quite good at it when Richie broached the subject to the Highlander, who let him demonstrate on a few country back roads north of the city… in the thunderbird! So they made an appointment at the RMV and Richie, driving the T-bird with MacLeod as his sponsor, earned his driver's license at last.
Of course, what good is a license without something to drive? Richie then began taking motorcycle lessons from his friend Larry. As soon as he had paid off what he owed Romeo, Richie was planning on saving up for a bike and taking the motorcycle test. Duncan was supportive, but oddly enough Tessa was against the idea, believing that it was too dangerous. However, Richie was fascinated with bikes and wouldn't be dissuaded.
Richie also found himself being invited to stay for dinner on more and more occasions. Pretty soon it was to the tune of three and four nights a week. Every once and a while he even offered to cook. He could grill some mean cheeseburgers after all.
And so it was that these weeks passed incredibly quickly for all involved. Richie had managed to scrape and save nearly seven hundred dollars from his paychecks with which he aimed to appease Romeo. He just needed two more weeks and the last burden he was carrying would be released from his shoulders. Two more weeks and he would be beholden to no one, with two legs underneath him and a plan on how to get by in the world. This was the most hopeful outlook on life Richie had ever had thus far. Two more weeks and he was free!
Fate, it seems, is a cruel, cruel, being.
A young kid in ripped and faded jeans and a Chicago Bulls jacket with matching baseball cap—turned backwards—was stomping his feet absently at the pavement beneath his feet. Another drag of his cigarette did nothing to make him feel better. He hated this neighborhood: the heights, the rich people's neighborhood. Home of the people whose tax dollars paid for his mother's crack before a cent went to cover his little brother's lunch money. These people were always complaining about the people in his neighborhood, living like leaches off their good graces and doing nothing but fester away in lives of sex, gangs, drugs, and all the other things that the white middle to upper class should fear in the eyes of the poorer minorities.
Julio hated this neighborhood. He hated the rich, with their shiny new cars and designer clothes. He hated how being Latino made him stand out like a sore thumb, and how it was only a matter of time before the cops circled back again. They only cared about the rich whose taxes paid their salaries. His father's murderer still hadn't been caught, and Julio knew it was because the shooting took place on the wrong portion of the city map.
He scraped and stamped his feet and flicked his cigarette butt away, muttering Hispanic curses absently at the types of people who lived in this neighborhood, and peppering those with some Portuguese ones Romeo had taught him, and one or two Polish ones that Ed taught him. When he fumbled for more cigarettes he discovered that his pack was now empty. An English curse escaped his lips as he threw the empty carton on the ground.
Julio hated this neighborhood. All it was good for were expensive car stereos and maybe the occasional smash and grab job. He hated that he had to reach into his pocket to find his orange bandanna because wearing it would attract even more unwanted attention. He felt naked without it, unprotected. Wearing it meant that he had Romeo's protection. Walking down the streets of his neighborhood with his gang, he felt no fear. That orange bandanna made him ten feet tall and bulletproof. Here… here it was the opposite. Here he was in distinct danger of catching a bullet from a cop suspecting him of loitering, or something worse, only to have dope planted on him and his death explained away as resisting arrest for intent to sell.
Julio hated this neighborhood. It was dangerous for him to be here. But still, he had to do what he was told. Romeo wanted him to stake out the places that Richie was hiding, and the antique store across the street and down a little ways that Julio was watching out of the corner of his eye appeared to be the place. His hatred of this neighborhood wasn't strong enough for him to say no to Romeo in this task. Besides, he and his brother needed the money.
Then suddenly Julio was rewarded for the patience of his efforts. He saw a man with a ponytail bring a sweet black T-bird around to the front of the store. The car stopped and then Richie came out. He jumped over the door into the passenger side and the T-bird drove away. Julio smiled as the car passed him. He'd seen Richie, but Richie hadn't seen him, and he'd finally found where Richie had been hiding these past weeks. That man with the ponytail was the same one he'd seen at the burger joint. Romeo would be quite pleased with this knowledge. Quite pleased indeed.
The house was warm tonight, lit by the blessed glow of space heaters and incense. Romeo liked to leave the incense burning. It covered the other smells in the room. Julio was met with the sicky-sweet aroma of marijuana when he entered one of the bedrooms through the open door. Ricardo smiled up at him through half-glazed eyes. He was reclining against the wall, half sprawled on the mattress that lay on the floor. Some blonde was passed out at the foot of the mattress, half on it and half on the floor. Julio grimaced when he saw the needle still in her arm and felt slightly embarrassed that he didn't remember her name.
"You here for the party?" Ricardo asked, his speech very slurred. "You're late if you are."
Julio smiled and shook his head. "I'm lookin' for Romeo," he answered. "You seen him?"
Ricardo answered by reaching over to the ash tray and grabbing a half-smoked joint which he then handed up to Julio.
"Naw, I ain't seen 'im," Ricardo drawled as Julio took the joint from his hands. He then fumbled in his pockets until hi found his matches.
"You know where he is?" Julio asked once he'd lit up. "I gots some info for him, and I wanna get paid."
Ricardo shook his head lazily. "Peace, man," said Ricardo, holding up his hands weakly. Then he kicked the unconscious girl in front of him. She moaned and half rolled over, coming slowly back into consciousness. Julio saw her half sit up and with another moan, remove the needle from her arm.
"First get laid, then get paid."
"You'd let me stick your woman, man?" Julio asked incredulously after he exhaled a long stream of smoke.
"Hells no," said Ricardo with a stoned smile. "But she ain't mine." Then he stood, with monumental effort, and shook his head at Julio as he left. He shut the door behind him as Julio began undoing his fly.
Later that night, six boys sat on the floor around a broken coffee table, splitting a six pack. The table was round, but if it were to have a head, Romeo would be seated at it. On his right sat Edward, the only Caucasian present and Romeo's right hand. Then going around the circle was Julio, followed by Ricardo, and then Snake, the disgustingly tattooed enforcer who everybody except Romeo seemed to slightly fear. On Romeo's left, last around the circle, sat his younger brother Teo. Julio had told Romeo what he'd learned, and now it was decision-making time.
"So what we do about him?" Asked Teo, all too eager to earn his brother's approval.
"Waste him?" Ricardo asked, but only in the sense of asking a question. It held no emotional attachment for him in any way.
"I wouldn't feel right about wasting him," Edward informed them.
"Have soft spot for those of your color?" Romeo asked, but there was no real malice in it. More of a mocking joke.
"I don't really want to waste him, either," said Julio. "He ain't never been an enemy."
"He ain't never been no friend, neither," Snake reminded them, his deep voice scratchy.
"And he stole from us," Teo added. At fifteen, he was at least two years younger than the rest of them, and still rather naïve about the goings on of this gang.
"How you figure?" Edward snapped. He was rather opposed to including Romeo's younger brother. Especially not at fifteen. "He paid back what he took."
"But he didn't pay the interest," Romeo added. His eyes were dark and his expression unreadable.
"He's working in that antique store," Julio reminded them. "He's prolly got the money for it now."
"With added interest," said Ricardo.
Romeo smiled devilishly.
"So we take what he owes us," Snake pronounced, his tone mimicking Romeo's smile.
"Then what?" Asked Teo.
Snake had to physically restrain himself from slapping the kid.
"You remember watching them old mob movies late at night?" Romeo asked, his tone immediately shifting into one of brotherly banter.
Teo's brow furrowed in thought. Already the small amount of beer he'd had was clouding his memory. Romeo and the others just laughed with varying degrees of cruelty.
"Break his legs," Ricardo blurted with satisfaction.
Romeo nodded. "We take back what's ours, and make sure he knows he can't get away with what he done to us," he said with an air of finality, and the others nodded.
"Who?" Edward asked, sounding tough but fearing to be named.
"Please let me do it, Romeo," Teo practically begged. His plea was answered with a quick cuff to the ear from his impatient older brother.
"Quit your whining or you'll stay here," said Romeo in an almost paternal tone.
"What about how, when, and where?" Julio asked. He desperately wanted to avoid breaking any laws in that neighborhood.
"If he's got money he sure as hell won't have it on him," said Edward. The others nodded.
"He'd prolly keep it at home," said Ricardo. Nods and mumbles of assent all around.
"Then where is home?" Romeo asked. Snake grinned devilishly once again.
Richie bounded up the stairs of his apartment without a care in the world. He had just completed yet another full day at work. He was tired, but content. He wanted to quickly fix something for dinner and sit down and watch the rest of the Seahawks game.
He was unaware of the six sets of eyes that followed him as he entered his apartment.
Richie had a can of tomato soup in a small saucepan on the stove, but the burner wasn't lit. In fact, the burner was refusing to light. With a groan, Richie realized that the pilot light must have gone out, again. MacLeod promised to take a look at it on Sunday, but this was only Thursday, and Richie was hungry. Another groan and a few curses later, Richie was on his knees in front of the stove, making ready to investigate the pilot light.
Suddenly he heard what sounded like lots of hurried footfalls on the stairs. He turned around just in time to see the door burst open, and his eyes flew wide in surprise as a form he only belatedly recognized as Snake raised a baseball bat above his head. There was a woosh of air and then all was darkness.
Duncan was cleaning out the office when suddenly he unearthed an envelope. It had arrived last week but the Highlander had shuffled it aside and then it became buried under magazines and junk mail and other less important things. He had meant to give it to Richie, but then he realized the implications of doing so, and then decided to sit down with his 'employee' and talk about what they were going to do. And now, alas, Duncan plainly saw that he had forgotten to do so, and groaned.
"Something the matter?"
Duncan looked up to see Tessa standing in the doorway. She was dressed in scrub clothes, having stopped by the office on her way to her workshop.
"I forgot to give Richie his W2 form," said Duncan, holding up the official IRS envelope for all to see.
Tessa nodded. "Americans and their taxes," she said dismissively.
Duncan grinned evilly. "Do I have to remind you about the history of your country and its taxes?"
"No," Tessa said, returning his tone. Then her expression changed as she was struck by a sudden thought. "Why don't you run it over to him?" She asked.
"Now?" He asked in return.
"Why not? You can introduce him to the joys of income tax preparation and then take him out to dinner. I'll be in my workshop all night so you were on your own to eat anyway."
Duncan arched an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
Tessa smiled innocently. "That's what I stopped by to tell you," she said matter-of-factly. "Now you have a better option."
Duncan nodded, smiling slightly. "What could it hurt?"
Richie awoke. Or at least, he thought he was awake. Since the blissful nothingness from whence he came was just replaced by a searing, painful, slightly nauseating nothingness he could only assume that he was awake.
Then why is everything so dark? Oh. Perhaps if I opened my eyes…
Richie opened his eyes slightly and was suddenly met by blinding light. It was too bright and only made his head scream in protest so he shut his eyes again. While pondering this disastrous revelation he suddenly realized that he could still hear things. Although he couldn't make out what was said, he definitely heard several voices talking. With a frown he realized that he couldn't remember where he'd heard those voices before, but they were distinctly familiar somehow. The frown deepened when he discovered that he was too disoriented to even discern where those voices were coming from.
These depressing thoughts were suddenly silenced as feeling returned to the rest of his body. Indeed, his head felt like elephants were dancing on his brain and his stomach was trying to muster the courage to empty its contents, but Richie became aware that his legs felt rather uncomfortable and that, for some reason, he couldn't feel his arms. Well, no, that wasn't quite right. He could feel them. The sensations he was getting from them, however…
Not knowing what was wrong with him, Richie realized ruefully that he would need to be able to see if he was going to get any answers. That meant opening his eyes, so he grit his teeth and opened them eyes again. Once again the pain returned, but Richie did not relent and soon the intensity of the pain faded. With the fading of the pain came the fading of the light, and soon his vision began returning. It was blurry at first, but soon Richie recognized his apartment. Or rather, he realized that he was sitting on his kitchen floor. As his vision continued to correct itself, Richie tried to remember what had happened that would have caused him to now be sitting on his kitchen floor. He remembered trying to cook some soup…
The cramps in his legs would not be silenced, however. Richie let out an involuntary groan as he straightened his legs out.
"Looks like he's awake."
A voice cut clearly through Richie's void of pain. He knew that voice…
"Edward?" His voice was raspy and confused. He had stretched his legs out and they lessened their protesting. He tried to move his head so that he could try and find the source of the voice, but that was a very bad idea. The world swam and Richie screwed his eyes shut for the pain and nausea.
"It does indeed," came another voice. One that filled Richie with dread.
Romeo.
"You are awake, aren't you?" The voice asked maliciously. He kicked Richie's foot a few times considerably harder than necessary to test that theory.
Richie could only groan in answer. Then he opened his eyes.
"Thought so."
Then, as if by unspoken command, four more figures appeared flanking their leader. Richie's eyes widened in first shock and then fear when he saw Edward, Ricardo, Julio, and Snake, all smiling down on him malevolently.
"Uh… Hi?"
Duncan turned down Pauling Avenue headed towards Richie's apartment. By some trick of either luck or fate, he discovered no parking spots in front of Richie's building, or past it. Since this was a one way street, Duncan had no choice but to circle back. With a groan he turned the corner and backtracked down a parallel street.
He didn't notice the figure standing in the alley between Richie's townhouse and the neighboring one. The boy stayed far enough in the shadows to not be seen, but he clearly saw the man with the ponytail driving the black T-bird slow down in front of Richie's apartment and then speed up to turn the corner. This wasn't good. Teo recognized him from Julio's description and proceeded to bang on the drainpipe with the handle of his switchblade, as Romeo bade him to do if he noticed 'company' stopping by.
Any comments the five gang members might have made were suddenly cut off by the distinct ringing of a drainpipe.
"Go see," Romeo directed to no one, and Julio bolted from the room and down the stairs. The remaining four looked about uneasily and Richie knew better than to break the uneasy silence. By now he had regained all five senses… and discovered to his dismay that he was tied to his own stove with garbage bags. That explains how my arms feel.
The moment was broken when Julio returned, another, younger boy in tow that Richie didn't recognize.
"I thought I told you to wait outside!" Romeo roared at the newest arrival, making him cower.
"Romeo," Julio interrupted, "the guy from the antique store is here!"
Richie looked up sharply and stiffened at the news. MacLeod, here? Why? He was torn between confusion, gratitude, and sudden worry. MacLeod had no idea what he was about to walk into!
"Take care of him!" Romeo ordered to no one in particular, and Ricardo, Julio, and Edward immediately ran down the stairs. Teo moved to join them but Romeo grabbed him fiercely by the back jacket.
"You're staying right here," Romeo said tightly and Teo whipped around to face his brother. The two of them then began arguing in a language Richie didn't understand, with Snake looking on in equal confusion. Richie hoped that the three of them would forget that he was there until MacLeod could rescue him, and with that thought in mind, began to struggle against his bonds.
Duncan had parked the T-bird and was making his way towards Richie's apartment. As he approached, he saw three boys leave the building and, after fanning out slightly, march decidedly towards him. Duncan groaned in frustration because doing so would distract him from his sudden worry for Richie.
That groan was met by three knives that clicked open in three young hands.
"Is this really necessary?" Duncan asked, affecting tired annoyance in his voice.
One of the boys uttered a Spanish colloquialism that was rather insulting to Duncan's parentage, but the Highlander's only response was to sigh and then repeat his question, in Spanish. This caused a gasp from two of the three attackers. The third obviously didn't speak Spanish.
Then one of the boys attacked, clumsily slashing out with his knife. Duncan twisted aside, dodging easily, and caught the boy's forearm. He squeezed slightly and shook the arm and the knife clanged to the pavement. Duncan then pivoted, using centripetal force to fling the boy forcibly into the side of the building, where he dropped like a stone.
The Highlander barely had time to consider the fate of the boy whose head had just violently impacted the wall when the second boy attacked. Duncan couldn't help but smile at the fact that they chose to attack him one on one, in turn, instead of all at once.
The three gang members still in Richie's apartment had ceased their arguments. Two of them were now watching the fight from the living room window while the third, the youngest, sat on the couch smoking a cigarette. Richie was elated that they'd left him relatively unguarded and had almost succeeded in escaping his bonds when suddenly one of the boy at the window let out a shout:
"Ricardo!"
The voice was Snake's. It became apparent to Richie that MacLeod was winning the fight. He couldn't help but laugh at the thought of three rough-and-tumble gang members fighting a martial arts savvy murderer.
Another few seconds ticked by and then Romeo this time let out an exclamation of surprise. A wordless agreement was reached and the two boys withdrew their knives and ran back through the kitchen. Richie's heart leapt to his throat, fearing that they were going to kill him. Instead they ran past him without sparing him as much as a glance.
"Stay here!" Romeo shouted without turning around. Teo stopped in his tracks, and with a defeated sigh, returned to the window to watch the fight.
After disarming and thoroughly incapacitating the first assailant, Duncan ducked just in time for another awkward knife slash to arc ungracefully over his head. Using his lowered position, the Highlander swept out a leg and tripped the boy, sending him toppling over backwards.
The third boy then came at him. He brought his knife down in an awkward overhand strike and Duncan caught the boy's forearm, bracing with his all his strength as the boy sought with all of his to bring the steel home. Of course, the Highlander possessed far more brute strength than a scrawny eighteen year old and soon he'd overpowered the boy. Duncan shoved the boy's hand high over his head and then brought a fist in cleanly to the unfortunate youth's unprotected abdomen. When the boy doubled over, the Highlander proceeded to pound down hard on his back, sending him gasping to the pavement. Though not unconscious, he was obviously in too much pain to move.
The second boy, who had since pulled himself up, had waited for Duncan to finish pummeling his friend before moving in for a second attack. Perceiving MacLeod to be off balance and unprepared for a sudden attack, the boy launched himself at the Highlander. Of course, in his rage and, rather gross stupidity, he had forgotten his knife.
When Duncan felt the sudden impact of the boy jumping forward to impact his upper body, he ducked and rolled underneath it. The boy went toppling over him rather ungraciously and Duncan stood up again, reclaiming the proper battle stance. The boy rolled a few more feet and then moaned as he forced himself onto his hands and knees.
"Be a bright boy for once and stay down," Duncan directed, his tone authoritative and slightly mocking.
The boy complied, crumpling back in on himself with a moan that stretched into a whine.
It was at this point that Duncan's warrior instincts alerted him to the two not-so-silent assailants rushing towards him from behind. He turned just in time to see two boys throw themselves, knives drawn, at what would have been his back had he not moved.
Duncan jumped back and to the left just in time. The momentum of the first attacker carried him safely past Duncan, so the Highlander turned his attentions to the other. He didn't have time to worry about disarming this one without seriously injuring him as he was worried about the other knife behind his back. He grabbed the attacker's forearm and spun around away from the blade. This sent that boy staggering and Duncan came to rest directly in front of the boy who'd sailed past, but left his back opened to him. He then swiftly raised his free hand and landed a patented Bruce Lee-style blind punch over his shoulder, contacting securely with that boy's nose. The knife clanged to the pavement and Duncan swiftly moved away to bring both boys back into his field of vision. He saw the boy he'd just hit doubled over on his knees, his hands grasping at his nose as blood flowed freely.
He was now staring the last attacker to remain standing. The boy held his knife awkwardly, fear evident everywhere in his eyes and posture. Duncan had his back to the apartment complex and so for a fleeting moment had no idea what made the boy's eyes widen in surprise and sudden horror.
Richie was struggling to get out of the garbage bags-turned ropes that bound his hands to his stove. The young gang member was watching the fight from his living room window, obviously oblivious to what was going on behind him.
Finally Richie's struggles paid off: he was free! In his excitement and immense relief, he stood up all too quickly. His legs, still cramped from the uncomfortable seat on the floor, buckled beneath him at the same moment his head swam and red blotches tinged his vision. He'd almost forgotten about the probable concussion which now made its presence known. Richie grabbed out at the fading world to try and steady himself, and his hand contacted with the saucepan still on its burner, and sent it crashing to the floor, soup spilling everywhere.
The loud noise jarred Richie's senses back into functioning. He gripped the stove now for support as his legs regained some of their usefulness. His eyes snapped back into focus just in time to see the young gang member charging towards him.
Richie yelped and bolted for the door, practically throwing himself down the stairs and praying that MacLeod was winning the fight so that he wouldn't be greeted with knives when he made it to the street.
Teo gave chase, but realized that he couldn't run, wield a knife, and smoke a cigarette at the same time. He cast the still-smoldering half-smoked cigarette aside as he reached the kitchen.
The cigarette sailed through the air, dropping ashes and embers as it went. It landed on top of the stove, and part of its burning trail fell near the burner that, throughout these past events, still remained active. Richie had never bothered to shut it off when he crouched down to investigate the state of the pilot light. Gas was seeping out through the open burner even though it was not lit.
That was, of course, until it was lit by the glowing embers of the discarded cigarette. The gas outside the oven, which by that time had filled the entire apartment, but most strongly the kitchen, ignited into a fairly impressive fireball at the same time the embers that fell down into the burner itself ignited the gas still lingering within and the oven exploded violently.
Duncan saw the boys eyes widen as the windows of Richie's apartment were suddenly lit by a bright burst of flame in the millisecond before the glass panes shattered from the force of the exploding oven. The Highlander whirled around, detecting the flash behind him, in time to see the glass falling from the windows into the street. Smoke was now billowing out of the windows of the second floor apartment.
He didn't have time to worry over Richie's fate, however. In the instant that the glass had been blown from the windows Richie, who had been most of the way down the stairs at the time, was launched from the building by the force of the blast wave. He crashed through the door, which wasn't tightly closed in the first place, and sailed across the small slip of a sidewalk right into the side of a parked car. Since the car was a compact, and Richie had struck near the hood, his body was carried by its inertia right over the vehicle and deposited heavily and unceremoniously on the other side. The teen landed with a thud on his right side and rolled slightly before coming to a rest and laying disturbingly still.
Duncan turned quickly, not allowing himself to forget that there was still an armed assailant behind him. However, the gang members had picked themselves up and fled the scene, and Duncan had no clue as to where they had gone.
Not that he would have pursued them anyway. He quickly dismissed them from his mind as he ran over to—
"Richie!"
Duncan was quickly kneeling by the teen's side. Richie moaned and stirred slightly, rolling onto his side to find where this new voice was coming from.
"Easy lad," Duncan, directed gently, his brogue slipping in through his fatigue and concern. At first he was afraid to touch the teen, fearing of his injuries. Finally he settled on placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Just relax."
Richie moaned again at the touch but eventually he looked up and saw the highlander staring down at him. "M-Mac?" He stuttered, relief coursing through him.
"Aye," said Duncan, relieved that Richie was now fully conscious, and that he had recognized him. Gently he eased the teen back down. Richie came to lie flat on his back with Duncan's strong arms bracing his neck. Duncan noticed with growing concern the blood now showing on his hands that had obviously come from Richie's head, but he said nothing. There were sirens in the distance.
"Romeo…" Richie groaned out, trying desperately to voice the muddled concerns lurking in his mind.
"They're all gone now," Duncan assured, assuming that Richie was referring to one of his attackers.
"No…" Richie protested. "Kitchen…"
"It blew up," Duncan told him, not entirely sure what Richie was getting at.
Richie's face only belatedly registered the words. Even in the face of this realization, Richie could feel himself slinking farther and farther away from consciousness.
"No…" he tried again, his voice fading. "Someone…" The rest of the that thought went unfinished as Richie lost his tentative hold on consciousness and slipped softly into darkness once more just as the police cruisers and fire trucks came to a halt in the street behind them.
Once again, Duncan found himself pacing in the ER waiting room. This was getting to be cruelly familiar, he mused, as he brought Richie in with potentially life-threatening injuries for the third time.
Richie had remained unconscious throughout the ambulance ride, and even though the paramedics assured him that this wasn't necessarily a bad thing… Duncan was now taking out his worries on the linoleum tiling of the waiting room floor.
"Would you stop your pacing?" Tessa asked from the seat closest to his trek. "You're making me seasick."
He had called her as soon as Richie was wheeled away on a gurney and she came straight away; her stained clothes and disheveled appearance attesting to that fact. Duncan had found her in the waiting room after he'd returned from that familiar little room where he once again had to give his statement to Powell. Now, Duncan was all for trying to see the good in people, but Powell… Duncan wondered idly if the sergeant ever knew how close he'd come to losing a few teeth.
"Sorry," he said distractedly in apology to Tessa. He fidgeted in place for a few seconds and then resumed his pacing. Before Tessa could react, however, a doctor came through the ER doors.
"Mr. MacLeod?" The doctor asked, addressing him. Duncan turned to face the man and Tessa stood to join him.
"How's Richie?" Duncan asked expectantly.
"Well he has a concussion from the head trauma, and the wound needed several stitches. We also had to set his left humerusbone, since he broke that, probably when he collided with the parked car. Other than that he sustained only minor cuts and bruises. We need to keep him overnight for observation, because of the head wound, but he should be fine."
Duncan and Tessa breathed a collective sigh of relief when the doctor finished his spiel. "Can we see him?" Tessa asked.
The doctor knew from experience that he wouldn't get far by denying them the privilege. "Sure," he said finally, with an almost exasperated air of defeat. "If you'll follow me?"
The doctor led them through the corridors of the ER until they came to the private rooms. Richie was in the third on the left, apparently resting comfortably, while he waited for an available room upstairs. The doctor indicated the room and then left the couple in privacy.
Duncan entered the room hesitantly, followed by Tessa. Richie's left arm was in a cast, supported by ties from the ceiling, and he had a large white bandage on his head wrapped with something akin to an Ace Bandage. He was asleep, but awoke suddenly when he heard people approaching. With a groan he rolled over and took stock of his surroundings as he noticed his visitors approaching.
"Don't say it," he said weakly, almost whining. "Please don't say it."
In spite of himself, Duncan quirked an evil grin betrayed only by the humor in his eyes.
"You're in the hospital again."
Richie moaned pitifully as Duncan laughed good-naturedly. Then, in a small and petulant voice, he said: "I asked you not to tell me that."
The laughter and camaraderie was suddenly broken up when the three heard an indignant cough behind them. Duncan and Tessa turned to see Powell standing in the doorway holding his trusty clipboard.
"Can't this wait?" Duncan asked, his obvious dislike of the man coloring his voice.
"'Fraid not," said Powell indifferently. "Now that this has become a homicide investigation." D
uncan's blood suddenly ran cold. Had he accidentally killed one of those boys? He could barely repress a shudder at thought. Meanwhile:
"Homicide?" Tessa asked in incredulous disbelief.
Powell nodded gravely.
"The kid in the kitchen," said Richie, almost absently. When three pairs of eyes finally returned their gaze to him they saw that all color had drained from his face.
Powell nodded again. "I'm going to need your statement."
Richie nodded dumbly. A pointed glance from Powell told Duncan and Tessa to wait outside and a near-threatening return glare from the Highlander warned Powell to behave himself. Powell then shut the door behind him.
To Duncan's immense relief, and slight surprise, Powell emerged from the room barely ten minutes later. Duncan and Tessa immediately came forward, and it became obvious that the policeman wasn't escaping without informing them of what had just transpired.
"Well his story matches yours," he said to Duncan, "and with what his doctors have said."
"Was there a doubt?" Duncan asked dangerously. Tessa grabbed his arm to steady him.
"Just doing my job," said Powell tiredly. "He claims that he was trying to heat some soup when his stove didn't light. He bent down to check the pilot light and was caught unawares when the gang broke in. Apparently they clubbed him with a baseball bat and tied him to that same stove using a few garbage bags." Powell nearly started laughing at this point, but one glance at Duncan sobered him again. "Then you showed up and three left. Then two more left, presumably to help their buddies. The kid—"
"Richie," Duncan corrected, his voice low and threatening.
"Richie," Powell acquiesced tiredly, "then claims that he got out of his bonds and made a break for it. He got most of the way down the stairs before the explosion sent him careening into the street, where he broke his arm." It seemed that Powell was finished, and Duncan nodded absently, processing what he had just told.
"And the murder victim?" Tessa inquired, throwing Powell's choice of words back in his face and rather enjoying the feel of it.
The policeman sighed. "He was apparently the one gang member left to guard Richie while the rest went to take down MacLeod here. He must have been standing near the stove at flashpoint. He suffered major burns and died en route. Richie has tentatively identified him as fifteen year old Teo Vasquez."
"Fifteen?" Tessa asked, shocked.
"They start young here, Ms. Noel," Powell said dismissively. "Right now it looks like the death was accidental, but we have to wait and see what CSI turns up. In the meantime, we still have five assault and B & E suspects at large."
"Does Richie know why they went after him?" Duncan asked.
Powell eyes the Highlander with scrutiny for a moment before answering.
"He claims that the gang thinks he owes them money and broke in to take it out of his hide," he explained at length. He then made to take his leave, but Duncan's stony voice stopped him.
"You'll let us know what the CSI team turns up," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Of course," Powell replied, once again dismissively, and then he walked away swiftly without looking back. The lovers waited until he was gone before attempting conversation.
"Fifteen…" said Tessa, shaking her head. "What a waste."
"It's like the man said," said Duncan sadly. "They start young."
"And Richie knew him."
Duncan sighed. "I'll bet he knew all of them."
Tessa just shook her head. "What do we do now?"
Duncan shrugged slightly. "There's not much we can do," he said. "At least not right now." Tessa nodded. "Come on." With that, he led her back into Richie's room.
They found Richie pretty much as they'd left him. He was still strikingly pale and his expression reminded Duncan of the one that kid wore after he'd punched him in the gut.
"Richie?" He spoke tentatively.
Richie was dragged from his private and rather morbid thoughts but gave no real outward sign that he had drifted. He tensed slightly, but then relaxed when he recognized the voice.
"Teo was fifteen, Mac," Richie said without so much as looking in their direction. "Fifteen."
"I know," said Duncan, encroaching further but making his movements slow and cautious, always keeping within Richie's line of sight. Tessa hung back, not knowing quite what to do.
"They were all smokin' cigs," he said, his voice still toneless. "I should have warned them."
Duncan's heart clenched at the words. Richie was blaming himself for the death.
"Well given that they knocked you out and tied you up," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "I think it's safe to say that you had other things on your mind at the time."
Richie snorted a laugh. "Teo was never fast enough to keep up with us," he said, his voice still an unreadable void. "We used to tease him mercilessly. His bike was broke and didn't ride right. It wasn't his fault. All he ever wanted was to be like his brother…"
"Richie…" Duncan reached forward and put a hand on the teen's shoulder.
Richie didn't even acknowledge the contact.
"I didn't recognize him at first, when he came in. He was all grown up."
"Did you know him well?" Tessa asked, finally moving forward to become part of the conversation.
Richie's lips twitched into a mirthless smile. "We all did," he said. "He was Romeo's kid brother."
All of a sudden that name struck chords within Duncan's mind. "Was he the one that stabbed you?"
Richie nodded. "Now his kid brother's dead."
For lack of something better to do or say, Duncan tightened his grip on the teen's shoulder.
"Powell said the rest of them escaped?" Richie asked, finally looking up at Duncan with wide and fearful eyes that barely contained also sorrow and guilt. Duncan nodded and Richie sighed in a quasi-defeated way.
"He's gonna blame me, you know. For Teo's death."
"What?" Tessa asked, even though she'd head exactly right.
"They'll regroup," said Richie, once again looking on Duncan with wide, fearful, and uncertain eyes. "And they'll come for me."