If It's Death He Want's

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

Warning:Graphic: when the detectives return to the interrogation room, beware of brief, but gory sight. Language. Watcher guy's bandaged injury.

"We searched your motel room." Detective Schanke limped around the table in the interrogation room. His left leg, thigh to ankle, was in a cast. His left arm in sling. Schanke continued. "We found a lot of pictures of your girlfriend- and some creepy memorabilia." He slapped down various photos. They were all candid shots of Katrina Nagarelli. Lastly, Schanke tossed a small handwritten notebook on the pile. On the cover of the notebook it showed the all too familiar tattoo design of curvy "V" within a circle.

The man sneered with clinched teeth as, no doubt, he was in pain. The gray haired man looked haggard. By name he was Dill Diffendefer, and had as much charm as a peeled potato. Schanke brought him over from a Lutheran hospital. Diffendefer was one of the three tattooed attackers from the Heights Club incident; the one who was able to speak. He said, "She's not my girlfriend, Mr. Skanky!" His voice sounded nasally and crusty.

"Just someone you've targeted to kill." Detective Nicholas Knight intercepted. "Isn't that what 'The Watchers' do?"

"That's what you call yourselves." Schanke said, daring Diffendefer to say otherwise.

Diffendefer stuck out his chin in witless defiance. "I'm a Sagittarius."

Knight whipped around the table. He jerked Diffendefer by the knot of his tie, who reacted by staggered to his feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" Schanke yelled at his partner.

Nicholas Knight glanced at Schanke then pushed the man back into his chair. He warned Diffendefer, "Pay attention! We have you on file." Nicholas snatched up the notebook and continues. "This belongs to me now. We'll find everyone with this symbol and this time you'll be history!"

The gray haired Diffendefer grimaced. "You're out of you damn mind!"

Knight witnessed a condescending smirk in his partner. "Reporters outside want to know about this corporate tattooed cult as much as we do." Schanke was bating Diffendefer. "They could match my pay check, but I'm above bribes. So what do you say? We can keep your secret."

Diffendefer was not so dense when he answered, "Give'r this." He held up the bandaged stump that was his right forearm.

"What's that?" Nicholas Knight frowned.

"This is me flipping off you smucks /and/ that Katrina MacLeod."

Schanke shrugged, "You're no fun."

Just before the detectives walked out of the interrogation room, Knight ordered an officer to take Diffendefer down to the cell floor.

Nicholas joined his partner in the corridor a few doors down. "Why haven't we run into these guys before?"

Schanke used his Hawaiian tie to wipe the perspiration from his brow. In the hallway, Schanke's face was careworn and fatigued. His eyes were dry. "We gotta wrap this up. I got two names, Palin Wolf and James Horton, both honchos affiliated with 'The Watchers'— You remember those men in black that followed us around since the case opened? Look! I swear to gawd they broke into my house. Only my den was trashed. And I'll bet my colon those punks that shot me, had the same tattoo!"

"This is too big Nick. They believe in some immortal fairytale crap enough to kill for it. And from the dates I've pulled up, they've been around for a long time, but-"

"But why now, if they'd been around for so long?" Nicholas asked if only to quell Schanke's sequence of thought.

Schanke slapped at Nicholas arm as he suddenly remembered something. "Did he say MacLeod? Let me show you something I read about the MacLeods."

The detectives shuffled back to the interrogation room to retrieve the notebook. Diffendefer was still there, hunched over the table. Pink fragments of his skull spread out in a bloody spray. The note book was gone. In its place, Knight found a police baton with a matted handle.

Both detectives scattered in to the office, but there was nothing out of context. Their co-workers proceeded without any idea of what just happened.

Schanke exclaimed at his partner. "The officer!" That said; he limped off to the cell floor not caring if Nicholas had followed.

'Secret societies,' Nicholas stood alone and concluded. 'These tattooed mongrels could be anywhere/or anyone./ They won't stop hunting, not after two hundred years, not inside a police station—or in a policeman's home! Damn them!'

Knight's '62 Cadillac started without a cough and arrived at his garage within clocking speed. At his loft, Nicholas practically slid the entrance door off its wheel track. "Katrina!" He was ready to fight-if he had to.

His living space was undisturbed.

"Nick!" Dr. Natalie Lambert stumbled out for the bathroom beyond the alcove under the stairs. "You just took ten years off my life! What the hell's going on?" She glowered at him.

"Where's Katrina?" Nicholas demanded to know.

Natalie, in casual cloths, raised a wet towel-ett to her forehead. "She's bringing me ice cream and a movie? Did I miss something?"

Nicholas made a second overview of his loft. "Has any one else been here?"

Natalie winced as she walked to the kitchen sink. "No, Nick. What's going on?"

Nicholas gave Natalie a look over. "Did you have this headache before or /after/ Katrina left?"

Natalie huffed. The wet towel-ett hid her gaze. "Does it matter?"

"I think it does." Nicholas hinted on Katrina's dubious behavior, but his voice was more endearing.

Natalie responded to it. Her face softened with flattery. The towel-ett sank away, now a hindrance to her. She stepped closer, searching him deeply for more hope to reflect her own.

Nicholas paused. The sigh of emotion in his chest pitched with regret. His eyes fell away from hers. He stepped back glancing around once again.

"No! Wait." Natalie wrenched a defeated plea.

"I wonder." Nicholas muttered to himself. Something caught his eye on his workman's table. It was out of place amidst the brushes, paints and sketches. Discarded plastic wraps sparked his memory.

Katrina's katana from "evidence" had arrived for closer examination. "Pour quoi Amje /non/ e'tonnant!" The katana was gone.

On the case claims label, a message was scribbled in black charcoal. 'If it's death he wants, then I'll assist him!'

Nicholas groaned. Gradually, as his case unfolded, he had lost control over it. Katrina had just added one more vexing gambit. He turned to Natalie. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and focused hard into her tired face. "Go home Natalie, and lock your door. Trust no one. I'll call you."

Nicholas left his loft and went back to his Cadillac.