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Chapter Three
Richie had been wandering around for about half an hour, looking for Doyle. He'd been to all the local bars he could see and kept his mind alert for the presence of a pre-immortal. But, it was being to look like Doyle had vanished into thin air. And, that did not bode well. It was just as he was trying to convince himself that he really wasn't lost that he finally sensed something. He was standing at the end of a dead-end alley - not the sort of place to be hanging around at that time of night, and exactly the right sort of place for an Immortal challenge. About half-way down there was a faint, flickering light announcing a bar. A real dive by the looks of things. Nodding to himself, Richie went in. It was so dark and thick with smoke, that it took a few moments for him to see anything at all, let alone the short, dark man huddled over a glass of whisky at one end of the bar. Richie sighed in relief at the sight of Doyle.
"Doyle! Man, I've been looking everywhere for you. You have to come back."
"Richie? What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be getting all cozy with Cordel...Cordl...Cordy?"
"No, it's not like that. How much have you had?" Richie asked as Doyle dragged himself off the stool and tried to stand and face him. He had to grab the bar to stop swaying.
"Woah..."
"Come on, you've had enough".
Richie shook his head, and grabbed his new friend by the arm, steadying him and starting to lead him to the exit. His bad vibes were getting worse. They had just made it outside, where Doyle was now throwing up into the road, when Richie's fears were realised. There was another Immortal nearby. And, he wasn't countering on them being friendly. After all, this wasn't Seacouver!
"Shit! Come on, Doyle, we gotta get out of here. It's not safe." He really wasn't in the mood for a fight, especially with Doyle around.
"What?"
But it was too late. A man was approaching, and it was obvious that he didn't just want to ask directions. He was a short, dark man, wearing what Richie thought of as the 'evil immortal' standard uniform. Long back coat, black trousers and t-shirt, black boots, and a smug grin. His left hand was visually itching to pull his sword from inside his coat.
"Leaving so soon?" he inquired.
"Yeah. Got a problem with that?"
"No, but you won't get very far, you know".
"Really", Richie drawled. By this time, Doyle was just about aware of what was going on and was standing watching with a very puzzled look on his face.
"Consider yourself challenged, boy", the stranger stated.
"We don't have to do this. At least let my friend leave first..."
"I don't really care about your friend, but, maybe he should stay. I think he'll need to know about all this one day".
"Not today. You want me, you got me, but leave him out it".
The stranger shrugged, and drew his sword. It was a very quiet ally, so Richie decided it was as good a place for a fight as any.
"Get out of here, Doyle. I'll be back soon". Unfortunately, the Irishman had seen more than enough to warrant some awkward questions, but it was certainly better if he was safe.
"Paul Stenn", the man finally introduced himself.
Richie sighed to himself, focused, and drew his rapier.
"Richie Ryan". And so the fight began.
It was not anywhere near an equal challenge. Beneath all the posturing and bluster, Stenn proved to be a very average fighter. He attempted to put Richie off with distractions, but Richie, thankful as always for the teachings of Duncan MacLeod, just ignored him, focused and got on with the business of wining the fight. Soon Stenn was on the defensive, fighting hard to keep blocking Richie's blows. Richie just grinned ferally and kept advancing, blocking Stenn against the alley wall. Desperately trying to block the next swing, Stenn overextended, and Richie was able to knock the sword out his opponent's hand. Both men stared at the sword as it went sailing gracefully over to the opposite side of the alleyway.
"Do it", he told Richie. With a terse nod, Richie did.
"There can be only one", he declared, with a sigh.
As the full force of the Quickening began to hit him, stronger than he expected, he was dismayed to feel Doyle's pre-immortal buzzing again. He just had time to make eye-contact with the Irishman, who was standing at the entrance of the alleyway, wide-eyed and pale-faced, before he was swept away by the storm.
Regaining consciousness a short time later, he found himself face to face with a very shocked Doyle.
"What the Hell was that?!"
"Trust me, you don't wanna know". Still weak he grabbed the wall and pulled himself up.
"Not good enough", Doyle warned.
Richie chanced a look at his new friend. Obviously confused and distressed at what he had seen, Doyle seemed willing to give him a chance. There was no real fear in his eyes, not of Richie himself. He guessed he did deserve a decent explanation.
"Fine. But not now. We gotta get out of here".
"What...what about him?"
"No time. If anyone else saw or heard, you can bet that the cops are on their way".
"Maybe we should just let them".
"Doyle. Please, I will explain, but can we get back to the office first?"
Doyle stared at him for a long moment, and Richie began to wonder exactly what it was he was seeing. Or looking for.
"I hope you know what you're doing", Richie thought he heard Doyle mutter to himself, but thought it best to ignore it and await the other man's judgement.
"Fine. Let's go", Doyle finally replied, tersely and set off at a much faster pace than Richie, who was still not completely recovered, could keep up with. Doyle didn't seem too interested in waiting for him though, so he settled for trailing him back to the office.
"Angel is not gonna believe this one", Doyle muttered to himself, trying to find a logical reason to what he had just witnessed. How was he going to explain that their murder victim was a murderer himself? And what that strange light show all about? He knew that the powers often worked in mysterious ways, but this may take the biscuit. There was obviously something unusual about his friend. Still, it wouldn't be the first time he'd thought that.
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