The Student
All I could do was catch him-Methos practically fell when I opened the door. He was a sight; all dried blood and slashes in his clothes where he'd been cut.. I could feel my guts twisting sickly as I checked to see how badly he'd been used-there are things, short of death, that can be done to us. Throats slashed. Fingers cut off. Hands. When I saw that he was all there, I asked the only thing I could. I thought it was part of the Game.
"What does the other guy look like? Foot shorter, I hope."
"Alive. He's still alive. He wanted me to deliver a message," he managed.His face was damp with sweat and his voice came out choked. I held him for a minute trying to think how or why, and then realized it hardly mattered. Whatever had happened, he had been dumped on my doorstep. A message. He pulled away from me, as if my hands were an insult he couldn't take.
"Son of a bitch," I breathed out, slowly. I knew that I had received only a temporary respite from the calls and had been wondering when I'd receive another message. I never expected it to be delivered this way, however. "Come in. You're a wreck."
"Really? I hadn't noticed," he responded sarcastically, but then I realized he was leaning heavily against the doorframe, and the look in his eyes was one of fear-and something else. Something I didn't like. And then he looked away. But I couldn't very well leave him leaning there trying to figure out what he wanted to do next.Whatever had happened, he had been dumped on my doorstep. A message. I dragged him in, and he followed me, more or less willingly. He was too worn down to put up much of a fight--and that had me more concerned than anything else.
"Come on. You should get those things off. You can't go around in that condition." And then it dawned on me what I was saying. But at least I got the beginnings of a grin from that. "I have a robe in the closet-terry cloth, not some kind of silky thing. I just don't want you getting dried blood everywhere," I added.
He wandered, just looking around the room as if he had no intention of doing anything but leave. And then he did look at me. I felt shaken. Whoever did this to him had a message for me-I was to blame. I went to him without even thinking, and put my hands on his shoulders.
"Who the hell did this to you? What did he want?" I asked, softly. I wanted to find out so I could rip the guy's guts out, but more than that I wanted him to talk to me.
He looked away from me again, as if he couldn't stand meeting my eyes. "It's insane. It's something insane."
I brushed my hand against his face. I was beginning to wonder what kind of a sicko I was-I was starting to feel too damn close to him. "Try me. I can believe insane," I said. "You're here-I'm afraid you have to tell me, now."
"It's another Immortal."
"No shit," I said, looking down at a mess that could only be made by a sword.
"His name is Akkasur. He's nearly as old as I am."
Now that sounded a bit insane. How many of these ancient characters are there, anyway? The Game isn't doing a hell of a lot to keep the population under control at this rate.
"Okay. I'll take that. He's almost as old as you. And what the hell can he want with me?"
He shrugged out of my grasp, and began to pace. I watched him, helplessly. He seemed to be struggling with how to tell me.
"He thinks you're someone else, all right? "He thinks…" He looked at me-stared actually. I began to feel uncomfortable. "He thinks you're someone who has been dead a long time. At least-four thousand years."
I couldn't help myself then-I laughed. Now, that was insane. Me-four thousand or better.
"You told him I wasn't her, right?"
"He wouldn't believe me."
"But you said she was dead."
"Yes. Because he killed her, himself."
I found the sofa, an act which I usually don't find to have that high of a difficulty rating. I sat down. I still found it very amusing, if unsettling.
"Let me get this straight. A lunatic over four thousand years old has an interest in me?"
"Yes," Methos answered. "I know that must sound…"
"No, really," I said, cutting him off. "I get that a lot. You know-the over-four-thousand-year-old-lunatic thing." And then I gave him a look that I hoped let him know I wasn't freaking out. Because I wasn't. It was actually a very good thing.
I knew who was behind my little trouble, now. And knowing is, as they say, half the battle.
Methos simply stood there, slack-jawed.Him, I was freaking out over. Not that I could imagine what he went through over something insane-just knowing he did was enough. And seeing that he could still stomach the sight of me. I wanted to do something, anything, but didn't know where to start. I knew one thing though-I sure as hell can't treat him like a kid. But you know how it is-wounded thing, heart bleeds, girl goes soft.
"Fine. Deep shit happens. Look, you're the one who's been--I think I may even have some sweats for you. They don't fit me. Look," I said, beginning to feel a bit-well, protective-"I can't stand seeing you all messed up like this. This bastard, whoever he is, did this to you to send a message to me. Even knowing how…I mean, he knew, didn't he?"
My voice broke. I'm too sensitive, sometimes.
"He did. He knew who I was."
I lost it. I buried my face against the arm of the sofa and just completely lost it. There we have it, folks-my biggest fear. Someone goes after Methos and is good enough to win. Maybe that comes as something of a shock-my attitude towards him was sort of ambivalent, at best. But see it through my eyes. If, after five thousand years, someone like him bites it? If someone who lasted that long, and figured out as much of it as he has, finally loses-what the hell are my odds? I don't have a case of hero-worship-I don't.
Okay. I do. And no matter what my attitude is, I love him. There. I've accepted my irrational need to confess things, particularly the rough ones.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Genevieve-don't."
"You're the one who got carved up today, okay? The guy just-used you. To get to me. Forgive me if it does, okay? Get to me. What the hell does he want?"
"A meeting. A challenge."
"For my head? Swell. He can have it. If that means he'll leave you alone."
"You think it would stop there?" He knelt down, and we were eye-to-eye. They're gray, actually. It's strange that I hadn't been quite able to figure them out-but then, they do seem to change.
"He'd go after you afterwards?" I whispered.
"I'm her last," Methos said then, very sadly. "And I was her favorite. I think he would."
"Her last?"
"Student. Anath-Sin's last student. The last one left alive."
I sighed. So, the woman has a name. Anath-Sin. I gave it some thought. I'm not a deep thinker-I tend to make my decisions fairly quickly. This was no exception.
"I can't run, Methos. You know what I'm going to do."
"But it's insane. You aren't her-even though…"
"I am not her…but what do you think she would do? You being the last one. And her favorite?"
He didn't have an answer for that. I brushed a bit of something out of his hair. I wasn't sure why the notion of killing this person came naturally. I wasn't sure why I should be so certain of what Anath-Sin would want-hell, it's not like I owe anything to someone who's been dead four thousand years-or maybe I do. I took a look at my fingers. Rust colored dust-dried blood. I felt sick and outraged.
"Go. Take a shower, for God's sake. And then, I want you to tell me about her, and why he thinks I might be her. It might help if I know."
He looked resigned as he rose. I watched him find his way to the bathroom, and then after thinking some truly dismal thoughts, I went to look for something for him to wear.
Despite any lecherous tendencies I may have, I couldn't very well have him hanging around naked.
*****
"You know-this is Paris. I think there is a limit on how much hot water you can get at any one time," I said through the door. I could see steam escaping. Lots of it. If I wanted a nice, warm shower before bed (and I like some real hot showers, actually) he was going to have used up my hot water.
I got no reply. I banged on the door. I had the sweats-the only things I had that I thought he would fit and wouldn't look, you know-like women's clothing. Banging on the door got me nowhere. I shrugged, and then laid them right by the door, and then made my way down the hall. The water shut off.
The urge to turn when you hear a sudden noise is-well, it's a part of the battle-instinct. Especially when there's another Immortal about. Sure. So, when I heard the door knob turn-
The towel did not cover much. No, it did not. I resisted the urge to gape. Damn, the man is not put together badly.
"Clothes are on the floor," I said, turning back around.
If you listen hard enough-you can hear someone blush. This is a little-known medical fact, but I have studied human anatomy extensively and can assure you that it's true.
*****
"Well, I suppose we can save the boxers-damn you must be the oldest."
"Can we not talk about my underwear?"
"I guess." I leered. "Here I am volunteering to do laundry…for someone who uses all the hot water. And, by the way, I don't actually cook for just anyone."
"Stewed tomatoes."
"My mother would have a heart attack. Like I should peel and seed plum tomatoes when it's just me. At least I don't get my gravy from a jar."
"Traditional, your mother?"
"You could say." I let that one go. I never really talked about my family, and had no intention of starting. I hummed as I got everything going. "I worry about your diet. The last time I had you around…"
"Whatever happened to cold pizza?"
I shrugged. "Paris. Can't get real pizza in Paris. Or cheese steaks. And hoagies-forget about it. But enough about me. I wanted to talk about Anath-Sin."
He had been looking over my shoulder as if the notion that I engaged in anything approaching domesticity was new. At the mention of Anath-Sin, though, he stepped back. I looked over my shoulder to get a read of his face. I got nothing. He had sat down at the table, and was pretending to inspect the silverware.
"She was your teacher, right?"
"You could say."
I turned down the heat on the sauce, and then broke the pasta into the pot. Cooking? Yes. I cook. When I'm on edge. It's something I can lose myself in. It's a very normal activity. I put the lid on the pot, turned the heat down on that burner, and then realized he hadn't told me a thing.
"You could say?" I repeated, since a natural thing just occurred to me. Her favorite. "There was more to it than that, wasn't there?" I could see he wasn't going to touch that one, so I tried a different tack. "What was she like?"
His face took on a faraway look, and he said, in a hushed voice, "A flame. She was-deadly. Maybe she was-insane? But…no one was like her. I can't talk about her. She told me herself-I wouldn't even be able to mention her name without feeling pain."
I left the stove and sat beside him. "And I resemble her?"
"Yes."
I didn't know what to do with that. "I look like her, and that's it, right? He wants to kill me because I physically resemble this woman? And where does the virus fit in? The phone calls? And calling me…"
"A whore? The Whore. That was her nickname. The word didn't always mean 'prostitute.' It used to be...holy. Even if she wasn't, always."
"Holy?"
He made a disgusted look. "You don't understand. She was the oldest one…at the time. And she didn't follow any rules. She didn't believe in the Game. She didn't believe in any religion or…"
I wasn't listening--I was freaking.
"The Whore. The virus was called Mysterium. The whore of Babylon…Methos, are you telling me this woman was the Whore of fucking Babylon, because I will not put up with a sick joke like that."
"She was actually from a small village in the Taurean mountains…unless she lied." He looked very sincere when he said it. "She died centuries before the Bible was written."
"And the Four Horsemen…" I mused. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"She died before the Four Horsemen, too. But," he started, and then, trailed off. I could see he didn't want to talk about it anymore.
I leaned in, and put my hand over his. "I don't need to know everything. It doesn't matter. But, I look like her? If she meant something to you, and the resemblance is that striking-and this whole thing, I mean…the virus, the truth about…what I used to do…" I began to feel a bit scared. "When you look at me…"
"Her. When you swear. When you drink. Your warped sense of humor. Your-brutality when you fight. Her."
"But I'm not. That's the worst, isn't it? Just a reminder. Oh, god."
My head was swimming. I couldn't feel the chair underneath me; that's how dizzy everything became. I couldn't do anything but repeat it again. "Oh, god. Oh my god. So this must be…"
"Excruciating. I loved her, and I don't even always like you."
The way he said it made me laugh. I didn't exactly always like him either. The phrase "cold, calculating son of a bitch" and "betraying bastard" spring to mind. "But you do, sometimes?" I asked, hopefully, but uncertain why I felt that way.
"In spite of yourself."
"Such a compliment," I commented. "Methos, I…"
I never got the words out. His lips and mine met, and I felt a strange fluttery sensation in my guts. Butterflies. The man gave me butterflies. Oh, shit. I shouldn't be allowed around men. I need a convent or something.
"Don't go to meet Akkasur. Just don't."
"Methos…convince me. Convince me that I don't have to."
I wanted to be convinced, or at the very least, I wanted him to try. If he cared for me, I desperately needed to hear it, because touching his lips made me know what I felt. I felt stirred up.
"You told me you were too young to die. That was why you wouldn't face me or MacLeod."
"And then, I offered both of you the opportunity to end it for me. You remember, don't you? Don't try to convince me that way." I sighed. "Unless I'm seriously wrong about what just happened."
He deliberated that for too damn long. I got up to check on the pasta. The lids made too much noise as I lowered them. I fiddled with the heat, and then I burned myself, and turned off the heat altogether. I didn't yelp because I knew it would heal. I just stood there, angry, full of emotion, and absolutely unsure of what to do. And then I felt him behind me, holding me, and his lips touched my hair.
"It shouldn't be this way. You're supposed to be learning from me."
"I never needed a teacher. I can't learn. I never do. I can't live running. I can't. The phone calls-those two people we fought-the ones who never said a word?"
"More than likely, his students. Or he paid them. Why can't you run?"
"It just isn't my way. It stops when he's dead. It's my problem. He wants to meet with me-and I hope you told him I would. You did, didn't you?" I turned to see his face. I knew how it would have gone down-I know him.
"I…had to promise that I'd be sure you came," he said, looking guilty. "But I never intended on keeping the promise."
"You had to promise-or he would have killed you?"
"Or worse," Methos said, darkly. "He fought like a madman. He hated her-and you. I don't pretend that I understand. He's deranged." And then he thought about it. He was about to defend himself, but I kissed him.
"I don't need you to be brave for me. I'm glad you aren't. What's the saying about-better a live ass than a dead lion?"
"Live ass?"
I smiled. "Or something like that. You know what I mean."
"Yes, I think I do. That's the part I object to."
"Methos-I'm too mean to die easily. You don't know the half of it."
"I thought that about Anath-Sin."
"She didn't bring a tank to a knife fight like I usually do. Stop worrying. Find something better to do. Eat. You're too skinny."
"Hm?"
"Well, no. You're not-actually, you're just right." I poked him. Muscle. Very nice muscle. And then, my hand…lingered. It dawned on me with crystal-clarity that we were going to make love. Maybe it would be the stupidest thing to do-which made it make perfect sense.
"Genevieve, did you know Anath-Sin was beautiful? You do look just like her."
I took the strange compliment in stride-and then it occurred to me that he did see her face when he looked at me. If he hadn't done it before, he was certainly doing it, now that Akkasur had brought it up.
"Lay you odds I don't make love the way she did," I said, angrily. I was hating the idea of being compared to someone else-someone who was dead, and therefore perfect. Someone who could stir him after four thousand years. Someone who left such an impact that I might die because I look like her.
A flicker of hurt. I might as well have slapped him. "Of course, you wouldn't," he snapped.
"Get out of here. I have something to do in the morning," I responded. We stared at each other. Two huge idiots. Love sucks.
"You don't make it easy," he said, finally.
"Easiness has never been a problem of mine, before," I said, feeling my anger diffuse. "I usually am-too easy. Damn. I'm such a wreck. I don't want to be a bitch about things."
"I don't want to hurt you." He took me in his arms, and I rested my head on his shoulder.
"You will, though. Or I'll hurt you. That's how it works, I guess. Can you live with that?"
"I've lived with a lot of things."
"I guess you have. Methos, in case things don't go the way I expect them to…I want…"
Pointless to finish that sentence. Pointless. He gave me a look that made me catch my breath, and I shook my head. I was never going to ask for that. There was only one thing I wanted. I just wanted us to be together, just in case that was all we were going to get.
Sounds like the story of my life.
*****
We didn't rush anything. There was no real need to. I was almost surprised by the way we touched-the way he touched me. Underneath that reserve he puts up, he is a force of passion. He kissed me searchingly, probingly, like his lips were asking questions without words. And his hands-he has lovely hands. Long, well made, and he knows how to touch a woman with them. Or anyway, he sure as hell knew how to touch me. Tenderly. Too damn often I've been in bed with someone who made it feel like work-not love. But he felt right in my arms.
It felt beautiful all the way through. I guess I make no secret of finding him that way, but there's more to it than that. Maybe it's because the way he held me close made me feel like he didn't want to let go-and I didn't want him to. We stayed like that-joined, even after we both came.
I watched his face as I held him. I don't know why. I guess I just like looking at him. He has an old/young kind of face-ageless. Well, of course, that's what we are. It just turned out very well in his case. Me-I just get carded a lot.
It was while I was looking at him that way that I noticed the shadow. You know-sometimes you can even see a thought hit someone if it hits them hard enough. "Methos?" I started.
"What?" he murmured, softly.
I felt like the complete nosy woman asking. I know men are supposed to hate that, but you know I'm not one for dropping anything. "What're you thinking?"
No answer. I can handle being ignored. The important question is-how long can anyone ignore me when I'm being determined? "Oh. Well, I was just thinking," I said, lightly brushing my nails down his back. Very lightly. Okay, I was tickling. A little. He squirmed. I loved it. "It feels too damn good being close to you. I could get used to it."
"Could you?"
I heard something there-half an admission of part of a thought. I let my hand drift up and got a good look in his eyes. "What's not to like?" He didn't answer, and I didn't need him to. I remembered what I was supposed to be doing in the morning. "What do you think is going to happen? Hope for the best."
"Expect the worst."
I was going to lay into him and tell him how selfish it was of him to bring it up. I really, really was. And then I did the intuitive thing I always do.
It might not happen tomorrow. Or the next day-but by now-what the hell has he gotten used to? The worst. The oldest-good news, he outlived a lot of his problems. Bad news, he outlived a lot of people he loved. And then the worst of it hit; what if that's the kind of thing that never gets easier?
It makes losing out of winning. And pain out of joy. And the worst fucking pillow-talk imaginable.
"The worst has already happened," I sighed.
A concerned look.
"I've a reason to stick around. I'm not going anywhere. Think of something worse than that."
He changed the subject. Bright boy.
*****
"I didn't make the connection at first. I just…looked you over, wondering what it was about you. But then, you were just another Immortal."
"With an impossible story."
"You are impossible. Cute, but impossible."
"Thank you." I smiled up at the ceiling. I never realized what a nice ceiling my apartment has. "Of course, I thought you were…I mean…my first impression, honestly?"
"Am I going to like this?"
"Yes. A total stud."
He gasped. Although that probably had more to do with where I put my hand than with the compliment. And the fact that my hand wasn't that warm. But I imagined it would warm up with a little friction.
"Of course, then I realized who you were."
"And promptly fainted."
"I was overwhelmed."
"You were milking it."
"Maybe. A little." I rolled over so that I could get a good look at his face. Beautiful. "I have a tendency to...milk things."
"Bad. Very bad."
"I have to seem vulnerable at some point. Even though I'm not."
"You are," he said, thoughtfully. "You just don't believe it."
"The fragile flower, Genevieve," I said, playfully. "Venus fly-trap."
He rolled his eyes. "The toughness is an act with you."
"So's the weakness."
"Hmm…where did you learn that?"
"Learn what?" I grinned, enjoying his expressions.
"Hmm."
"Hmm?"
"You manipulate," he said, with emphasis on the word. It made me laugh.
"Manipulate. There's a word that could go either way." I gave a little squeeze to his cock-a very appropriately beautiful piece he has. "Manipulate. I do that?"
"You know what I mean."
"And I guess it comes naturally. Doesn't it with you?" I smiled, and then slithered down alongside him. I placed a kiss on the head-just a small, wet one. He was getting close. Lovely balls, thighs. A girl could get lost.
"Genevieve, stop it."
"Am I doing something wrong?" I left off stroking him, my heart pounding irrationally.
"Why can't we be honest with each other?"
I rolled onto my side and took a very good look at him. His face was almost plaintive. "Honest." The one thing I usually think I am being. But he was right-I was playing, and we didn't have time for that. Not really.
"Fear," I found myself answering. "I can't be honest with you all the time, because I'm afraid to be. I wonder if I could ever really…trust you. It isn't pretty, is it?"
"No, it isn't."
"It's the truth, though." I crawled back up until we were face-to-face, and I took his hand. "I learned not to trust men, Immortals, and you. In that order."
"Kronos."
"Life. But, okay, your turn. Are you really honest with me?" I placed his hand over my heart, so he could tell how much it was pounding.
"You knew who I was before ever seeing me. Why lie to you?"
"Really? Do you trust me?"
He spent an eternity in thinking over that one. It was a sneak-attack-a purely direct question that he could see coming from a mile away. Being that direct suggests a defect in my personality.
His eyes met mine. "No. You do know who I am. And what I was. You came out of nowhere." He brushed a hair out of my face. "And you're too much like me."
"That isn't necessarily a bad thing. I mean, you're still here."
He laughed. Almost a snort. "It justifies a lot."
"What do I know? You're being here is pretty good to me. In bed with me, I mean. Not that I have the world's best taste in men." I settled myself next to him. "How's that for honest?"
"It's a start. An awful start."
"Don't mention it. Let's try-I love you. I love myself first. And we really are too much alike. And you don't have to worry about me, because I'll be fine. And I'm being honest about that. Period."
"Do you want to know how he killed her? What the rumor was?"
"If you have to tell me."
"He got her while she didn't have a sword. It was the only way he could have beaten her. The only way. She was good."
"I'll keep it in mind. But what the hell did she do to him…that he hates her this much? That he's hallucinating that I could be her?"
"She…did something to him-hurt him in a vital way. And she…she was a superstitious type of person. She believed she would come back from beyond the grave."
"Kind of a Shirley MacLaine thing. Reincarnation." I thought on the weirdness of it. It made me more than a little uncomfortable. "You don't believe in that kind of thing?"
"No," he said, a bit too suddenly. "But…she did. She could be very determined about something. Maybe she had mentioned it to him before she died. It was the sort of thing she would do."
"Determined. I'm pretty determined, myself."
"I never noticed."
We began kissing, and he made love to me. It was beautiful. A very sweet thing. I held him afterwards, and we just lay there, warm and tired. But before I slept, he whispered something that made me a little worried about him.
"The last time I saw her, she said she would come back to me."
*****
I'm a light sleeper. I haven't always been, but I guess the tension from fighting, running, late night phone calls, etc. eventually wear a person down. I noticed that it was early morning-the sun was just coming up. And Methos was getting dressed in the semi-dark.
"Going anywhere?" I asked.
"Home?"
"Try again."
"You can't do this."
"You don't even know what I'm going to do." I felt more than a little angry. It struck me that he was probably going to the meeting place.
"You don't know what you're going to do."
"Okay. You've got me there."
"You're going to get killed."
"Very supportive, Methos."
"He's a very dangerous person, and he's insane."
"What were you going to do, huh? Meet up with him? He's better than you are."
"I was going to…lie. Tell him I took your head because he pissed me off. Anything."
The old man was going to stick his neck out for me? Damn. I should get myself brass-plated. But of course it made me mad. And touched. But mostly mad. But I wasn't going to show him that.
"Sweetie, you would do that for me?" I reached out my hand and let my eyes get just a little misty.
Poor simple bastard. I said I would be honest with him. Not that he should really trust me. Besides-he started it. Going sneaking around trying to be noble or something. Must be a habit he learned off of Duncan. He took my hand, and I pulled him close. Very close. I pulled him back to the bed, kissing him the whole way.
"I didn't realize…" I said. I had him on his back. I keep a few odds and ends in my night stand. A gun. A TENS unit. A pair of really great leather gloves-they cost me a fortune, but they are sweet. And a pair of handcuffs, because I find them an indispensable accessory. I opened the nightstand drawer, and felt around.
"What are you doing?" He didn't really start to panic until I had my knee to his sternum. When he saw the handcuffs, he gulped. "Okay…this is getting kinky."
"Look, I can't have you leaving the bed. Sorry. You aren't going to fight my battle for me. You aren't going to follow me. You aren't going to watch. And…well, just think up stuff. You aren't really going to be doing any of it." Click. Click.
"And what if you get killed?"
"Please. Are you trying to say you've never been cuffed before? At your age, too?" I said, breezily. "I will return to let you loose. But I shouldn't have to."
"You are insane."
"You know, you're taking this much better than Kronos did when I first cuffed him. I do like you, Methos." I touched his face, and then kissed him but good. And then I reached for the gun. I held it up for him. "I'm a very modern type of girl. Bang, bang. Old scary psycho dude bites it. Good plan, yes?"
"Unless he has friends."
"Ha. I'm guessing he'll do this more or less by the rules. At the very least, no one will interfere. Do I have to gag you? It's usually very unpleasant."
"Please don't."
"Good. One thing-this woman, what did she do, I mean, when she wasn't like…temple-whoring or whatever?"
"She…rode. Like the Horsemen. She raided, and killed, and…"
"She roughed people up for money, long story short. Or whatever."
"Why?"
"Just a thought."
"Genevieve, I don't like the look on your face."
"I'm not Genevieve," I said, getting myself together. Jeans, boots, knives, and then tucked the gun into my waistband. He watched me, helplessly. I do have a kink in my cerebral make-up. I thought he looked very sexy when cuffed. "She was tough, right? Insane. And you were her favorite."
"Gen…what are you thinking?"
I shrugged. "You're my favorite."
He gave me a horrified look.
"She have any other students?"
"Caspian. Silas."
"Kronos." It made sense, finally. Why me. Why me, out of anyone. Why he would pick me up in that lounge-I reminded him of the dead woman. I can't even have my own fucking one-night stands.
"Wait."
"That's how it happened. That's how he thinks I'm her. I curse, I drink. I fuck Horsemen. I was a whore-and I do rough up people for money. Or I did. He's about to meet his worst nightmare."
"You've lost it."
"I've found it. The way I'm going to do this."
"I don't get it."
"He won't, either. Ciao, caro mio. I will return. I promise."
I don't always keep my promises. But this one I had to.