'I'm safe here. Yeah. Sure. I'm just supposed to trust her. But why would she wait for me to . . . wake up? She could've just as easily left me in - That would not have been a pleasant experience. Then again, neither was being shot to death like that.'
Vince rinsed the last of the suds from his hair.
'What if all she wants is to toy with me? Make me all comfortable and trusting and - And what? What would she get from screwing with me? Damn, I've been in the business too long, thinking everyone's out to get me. Maybe I could take some time, stay out of sight, figure stuff out . . . I can't keep in touch with my old life; she said as much. No, no, I'll find some nice quiet spot, lay low until I know what I want to do next. I wonder if I can get to my stash of money?'
Vince reached for the towel hanging by the shower. Out of the places he imagined he could have revived, this had to be one of the nicest. Granted, it didn't have all the amenities that a suite at the Plaza might have, but it was comfortable and clean and there was food waiting for him in the other room.
Big Kahuna. Jules had just recommended their burgers to him. When was that? This morning? Yesterday?
He ran a comb through his hair and examined his face in the mirror. For a guy who'd been dead an hour earlier, he looked pretty good.
Laura had been right; the clothes she'd left for him were a little big. Nothing a decent belt couldn't fix. 'Ah, good. She made sure to leave me one. Jacket feels nice, though. I'll have to ask where they got this suit.'
At last feeling himself presentable, he made his way down the corridor. That buzzing in his head was growing louder.
"No, I think a nice deep colour for the living room," Laura's voice drifted to him.
"Maybe navy blue?" a male voice responded. "With some pale trim. Or a nice cream?"
"Hey, an ice cream'd be nice right about now," Vince interjected with a smile.
Laura straightened from her perch on the edge of the desk. "Lucky for you, we keep a few pints of Ben & Jerry's down here. Vince Vega, this is Lucas Wahl."
"Hey, man, thanks for picking up this suit for me. I owe you one."
Lucas held up a hand. "Think nothing of it. How are you, you know . . ."
"Dealing with all this? I gotta tell ya, it's a lot to digest. But I'm glad I got to wake up here and not, I don't know, in some funeral parlour or the graveyard or something." He was rambling, he knew, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Maybe I should eat something before I have dessert, hm?"
Lucas pushed his chair away from the desk and headed to a side table where a large, insulated, soft sided lunch box sat. "Yeah. We've got some burgers, but, if you want something else, I could head up to the cafeteria -"
"Burger sounds great. I've just got to get something in me." He reached for a wrapped sandwich labelled "chicken" and tore into it. "Oh, man, that is good!"
"We've got soda and juice, if you're thirsty," Laura offered as she opened the refrigerator.
"Ginger ale?"
She handed him the can. "Eat. Take your time. We won't do anything else until you're ready."
They ate in silence for several minutes.
"There's one thing I've got to know," Vince finally said. "Why're you being so nice to me?"
Laura nodded. She had been expecting him to ask that. "As I was taught, I will teach you. There are rules we live by; they don't exist merely as a matter of politeness. Our rules are as much about survival as they are, seemingly, about fairness."
"Oh." He pried the lid off a pint of ice cream. "I don't want to sound rude, but . . . How old are you, anyway?"
Lucas snickered.
"I'm . . . a lot older than I appear," she admitted vaguely.
"Yeah, but how much? What? 50? 100 years old? How long do, uh, our kind live?"
"Oh. That's what you're curious about. Life expectancy. Well, let's see . . . I know quite a few who are between three hundred and five hundred years old . . . some a little older than that . . . several who, like you, are new to the Game . . . and there are some who are beyond a thousand years old."
"A thousand," he said in a ghost of a whisper.
"If you train hard and keep your head, who knows how long you might live? You could even -"
"You said game. What game?"
She exchanged a glance with Lucas. "We . . . We call it the Game, but it's a deadly business. You will need to learn to use a sword. It's nigh impossible to stay out of the Game; eventually, some unscrupulous Immortal will come along and . . ." She shut her eyes at the thought.
"Learn to use a sword. What? Am I gonna be chopping off limbs or - Oh. Do - Will my arm regrow if it gets hacked off?"
She tilted her head. "If you can reattach it quickly enough, it might heal. If your head - If you lose your head, that's it."
"That - Game over?"
She nodded grimly.
"Hence the sword," he surmised.
"Right. I've called up someone about a sword you can practice with. It's only a loan until we know what kind of blade will be most suitable for you. Have you ever used a sword before?"
"Uh, no. No, not really. Just, you know, goofing around with my brother with toy swords when we were kids."
"How about fighting?" Lucas asked. "Any martial arts training?"
"Yeah, a little bit. Just enough to be able to hold my own if I get jumped in a dark alley."
"We should start with that, then," Laura decided. "Get your strength up before you wield a blade." She glanced up at the clock. "Another hour and we can head out."
PFPFPF
Two hours later, they were on their way. Vince's head was still swimming with the Rules Laura had told him. Only fight one on one. No interfering once a challenge has been accepted. No fighting on Holy Ground - any Holy Ground; this includes graveyards. No beheading one who fell dead by other than your hand.
Whether that last one was a Rule all followed or simply her own, he wasn't sure, but he would follow it. He did have some honour, after all.
She turned the car onto a dimly lit country road. Part of her wondered if this was worth the trouble she was going to. Vincent Vega. She had heard of him, but she hadn't told Lucas. No, it would not do for Lucas to be aware of Vince's past when what the new Immortal needed was a clean slate.