Richie paused, water glass half way to his mouth. "Say what?" he finally asked.
"I enrolled you in a university for the spring. It's all set up. All you have to do is pick your classes."
"You did what?"
"Don't get all excited about this," Connor warned him in a hushed, harsh tone. "You're going to make a scene."
"I'm not going to make anything. Especially not a class schedule."
"Richie," Rachel cut in. "He didn't mean anything by it. There's no reason to react like this. He did it for all the right reasons."
"Right reasons?" Richie repeated thought clinched teeth. "You did it behind my back. You knew I didn't want to go to college and so you're trying to corner me into it!"
"I did it because it's what's best for you," Connor told him. "You need to do this."
Slowly Richie shook his head, his eyes narrow and burning with anger, jaw clinched tightly. "Mac would'a never done this he-"
"Duncan spoiled you as his son. You're my student first," Connor cut him off.
"I didn't ask to be that, either," he shot back bitterly. "You're supposed to teach me how to fight, so I can go hunt down and kill that son of a bitch. You don't want to do that--fine! I'm 19 years old--you don't own me. I'll just go find someone who will."
"That's not your choice. Duncan wanted me to train you. You can either honor his memory, or strike out on your own. But this is what he wanted."
"That's bullshit. If Mac wanted me to go to school he would have said so, so don't go guilt-tripping me. It won't work"
"He never asked you? He never offered to pay?" Connor asked knowingly.
"That's completely different. All I had to do was so no once and he let it go. He got it. You think I wanted another handout? Something I hadn't earned? He understood I wanted to do it on my own. I was going to go to college when I was good and ready. And Mac was fine with letting me wait, letting me do it my way."
"You don't have time to wait now. You want to go after Sladkie? You have to know more than how to swing a blade. You need to be ready to go on your own. Stand on your own two feet. This is how you're going to do that"
"Oh and I'll bet YOUR teacher shipped you down to oxford before he let you face Kurgan--yeah, Mac told me about that. Since when does a college education make someone a better fighter?"
"This is a different time. And this discussion is over." Connor pointedly looked away and turned his attention to the food.
Richie couldn't let it drop. "And you think MAC treated me like a kid?"
"Richie, please," Rachel cut it.
"You get what I'm saying, don't you?" Richie asked her.
She put her hands up in surrender. "I'm staying out of it."
"I never said you weren't a kid," Connor retorted, ignoring the aside.
"Connor, leave him alone," Rachel warned.
"No, you're right," Richie leapt back into the ring. "You said you weren't Mac, and you know something? You're right about that."
"That's why I said it."
"Please, you two. We can talk about this later. Not now, not in public."
"Look," Connor ignored her and focused on Richie. "A few hours of class a day isn't going to hurt you. It'll be a lot more beneficial than annoying."
"No, you look!" Richie shot back.
"This isn't your decision, it's mine."
"Says who?"
"I don't have to ask permission."
"This discussion is over." Richie imitated. He pushed up from his seat and stalked out of the restaurant. Surprisingly, the heated debate had not attracted the attention of anyone but the wait staff.
Rachel forced a smile over her iced tea. "That went well."
"He'll be back." Connor seemed unfazed by the outburst of emotion.
"What makes you so sure? How do you know he's not going straight for JFK?"
"He has no wallet and no idea where he is." He calmly ate his dinner.
He felt like an idiot, storming off like he did. But he knew it was about to get a lot uglier. Richie knew his temper well enough to know that all control had been minutes, even seconds from crumbling. So really, it had been an act of maturity to remove himself from the situation. Yeah, that was it. It wasn't childish at all.
He shook his head at his own pathetic face-saving logic and followed the herd of New Yorkers and tourists across the street. What was he kidding? He had acted like a child. A toddler that pouted and threw a fit when he didn't get his way. What was a little bit of schooling going to hurt anyway?
But it was the principle of the matter. Connor hadn't even asked him about it, made him fill out the application, or anything. He'd been shanghaied. Connor chose the school, applied, accepted and paid for him. All behind his back.
He'd meant well.
So why did he do it all in secret?
Probably because he knew how he'd react.
At least he hadn't let Connor down entirely. He had lived down to expectations. As usual, he was a disappointment and a let down.
Sighing and shaking his head again, Richie kept walking, trying to build up the nerve to go back. But he had meant what he said. He was planning on going to college when he was good ready. It wasn't as if he was running out of time. Or youth. He just wasn't ready yet. Especially now that he had a mission. How was he supposed to train if he had to write papers and do presentations? What good was a degree in a sword fight? He could read, write, and 'rithmetic later. Who was Connor anyway? What gave him the right to make those demands? To just assume he could order him around?
Richie fumed, his anger renewed, and stalked around the city, bumping into people, shouldering them out of his way. Tourists thought they were getting the true New York experience: New Yorkers thought he was rude. A couple tough guys tried to pick a fight with him.
"Watch it, bitch," a man roughly his age grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around.
"Whatever." Richie turned back around.
"I'm talking to you," the man grabbed at his arm again.
"Fine, my bad." Richie brushed him off again.
"I don't think you realize who you're dealing with."
Groaning, Richie turned around. "Seriously? Are you really trying to do this?"
"Yeah, man. You don't just walk into me and then run off like that. You pay your respects. This is my turf."
"You're turf?" Richie repeated. He could remember when he used to talk like that. Before he'd even met Duncan. "It's a public sidewalk, asshole."
The man and his buddy looked at each other with a twinkle in their eyes. "You must be new around here," the second guy said with a yellow smile.
"Never set foot here in my life," Richie told him.
"Then let me explain something to you, man. This here is our turf. No one walks here without our say so."
"Every single person on this street has permission?"
"It's not express," the first guy admitted. "But they all show the proper respect." He smiled at Richie warmly, two gold teeth glinting from the side of his mouth.
"Uh-huh. Well, I'm not really in the mood. Maybe I'll come by later." Richie turned to go.
The wannabe gangster grabbed his arm, yet again, pulling him around and swinging a fist.
Without hesitation, Richie ducked under the blow and popped up behind him, pushing the thug to the ground. He itched for a good all out brawl. But there was no way those two were going to last more than five minutes.
"Forget it." He shrugged them off and left.
"Yeah, you had better run, homey!" the second thug called after him. "We don't go easy the second time!"
Richie ignored them.
After another few blocks, turns, and alleys he was calmed down enough again to think clearly. He sat on a sidewalk bench and took a deep breath. His head was clearer now, most of his aggression spent on the two thugs. It was scary how close he had come to becoming one of them. The exact same make a model, west coast edition. Less than two years with Duncan separated him from the punks he just left. Duncan had given him the chance that all people in his position so desperately needed.
A pit opened in his stomach at the thought of his former mentor. Duncan had given everything for him. He saw something in Richie that others hadn't seen or refused to see. He'd taken a chance on the young thief, smartass, loudmouth, that had laughed in his face and disrespected him without a second thought. He saw who Richie really was: someone desperate for a chance out, a rescue rope thrown his way. He took a great chance on Richie. He trusted him.
Richie owed him the same trust.
If Duncan trusted the decisions Connor would make, so would he. No matter how much he hated them. Besides, if Richie was going to beat Sladkie he needed to learn the best moves and be in perfect condition. If anyone was better than Duncan, it had to be Connor, the man who taught him.
Richie made up his mind and reached a resolve. He was going to keep his head down, his mouth shut, and bide his time. Connor had already promised him Sladkie's head. Now all he needed was the ability to take it. He had to go back. He had to go home.
He got up and started back. Abruptly, he stopped. Nothing looked familiar, everything looked familiar. Everything looked the same and completely foreign. He wasn't even sure which vague direction he had come from.
Richie came to the sudden realization that he had to call "uncle"… literally. He was lost.
"God damn figures."