Bigger

Occasionally, Seacouver reminds me of home. I mean, I've been calling it home, lately, thanks to certain problems I'd rather not get into back in Philadelphia, but I don't know if it will ever really be * home * to me, in the sense of my feeling that kind of familiarity where even certain street corners have memories for me, and the back streets and alleyways get to feeling like the lines of my palm. It might happen, but I don't know. It might be that you develop that kind of thing only once, and then spend the rest of your life idealizing a place you can't return to except in memory. Oh, heck, I'm just waxing nostalgic over here. There's just been a handful of things that reminded me of home lately. A few indictments mentioned in the newspapers. That damp chill in the air that reminds me I'm going to miss the high school football rivalries come Thanksgiving, and the bets that go with them. And running into an old friend.

I have a habit of doing most of my errands on foot-I never could see getting into a car just to pick up milk; that's why the suburbs never really held an appeal for me. So I was walking to the corner store when I heard a little racket going on-the voices of kids getting into a fight. Now, it's not like I picked an apartment in the Zone or something-don't get me wrong, this is not something that happens a lot in my new neighborhood, and I guess that's the reason I went to investigate. The voices were coming from the driveway behind the store.

What I saw when I turned the corner ticked me off-four bigger kids roughing up a smaller one. If there's one thing I really don't like to see, it's that kind of unfairness-after all, I've been the younger and smaller one in most of the fights I've ever been in, so siding with the underdog is my natural reaction. So I mustered up my best "adult in authority" voice, and shouted down the drive,

"Hey, youse guys-break it up or I'm calling the cops." Basically, it was my best impersonation of Mrs. McLaughlin who lived seven doors down from me while I was growing up-she said that, like, an average of four times a day, so she really got good at it. Of course, she probably also slept sitting by the window with a baseball bat and she always seemed to be wearing these running shoes and once she actually did chase down a kid-but I'm digressing. Anyway, she was my old neighborhood's unofficial enforcer, so I tried to sound like that. It sounds more effective, though, than I actually * look *, and all my yell did was make the punks turn around. And I don't exactly impress people with my everyday appearance. I look like a college kid. So I shouldn't have really been surprised when it was suggested that I do a thing both impolite and anatomically impossible for most…except for a few species of bivalves. I decided, quickly, that I'd best change my tactic.

"Look, I'm just giving you fair warning. Leave the kid alone," I said, trying to look a little tougher.

"What are you--his sister?" I was asked, along with an epithet which actually has described me on occasion. I blinked, but smiled. They were approaching me, which basically meant that the smaller kid wasn't getting his rear kicked. But one of the toughs still had him by the collar, and he was struggling. And then it occurred to me-one of these guys was an Immortal! Now that-that ticked me off. Somebody in this driveway certainly should know better. And then the kid looked up at me, pleading. I was taken aback-the kid was the Immortal-and I had seen him before. But it was too late to stop at this point. I answered-"Yeah-could be." And then I got in the face of the one who directed the question to me-and who called me the unfriendly epithet.

I hadn't actually properly stomped a fresh pile of tough, young, dumb punk-meat in a very long time. Most of my fights in the last seven years actually resulted in someone older than me getting decapitated in a grueling battle of skill, and it even felt a little blasphemous for me to be seriously thinking of taking these snotnoses to school. I mean, I felt like I should be wearing some kind of disclaimer on me, you know? "Caution-has fifteen previous kills and should be regarded as pretty dangerous, especially before her first cup of coffee." But the guy laid a hand on me, and that started it. And finished it.

You may not be accustomed to brawls in alleyways and back streets, so I'm just going to give you an overview. These guys were young-fifteen to twenty, my guess. The one who talked to me was the one who I took for the initiator-there always has to be the one guy who starts stuff. Usually, the others either just follow or whatever. So when he laid a hand on me, I smacked him off. Instant disrespect. He had to do another grab at me for that-what-like he isn't going to swing at me because I'm a girl? That makes it * worse *, believe me. One of the other ones goes to grab my arm, and that's when I pretty much had it. I had very little interest in this thing going the limit, so I made a partial fist with my free arm and went for the * leader's* eye-right along the orbital bone-cage rattler, leaves him with blurry vision. Step back, onto the instep of the one grabbing my arm, pull back with an elbow to the sternum. Crude, but disorients him enough for me to follow through-partial fist, this one to the nose. He went down.

These things are usually sloppy, you know? A lot of elbow grabbing and jacket pulling, and punches that whiff-usually, you don't see a lot of physical damage until somebody goes down, and then the real punches start. That's why it can take a long time-nobody has an organized idea of how to dismantle another person's fight. That's why the best thing to do is think "surgical" with the thing-draw blood, disable, disorient. Kids, they don't know these things. So at the sight of blood-their own-they get concerned. They begin to get the picture that this was more than they were interested in. The ones not physically engaged with me elect not to involve themselves. The smaller kid is pushed face down on the asphalt, and I pause to give the two bleeding sissies a chance to also put flight. They went, not a little reluctantly. I got the "look over the shoulder, your ass next time" faces from them. It was touching. And then I turned to help up the Immortal who was struggling to his feet. He flinched, as if expecting a smack, so I let him straighten himself out on his own, while I gathered my thoughts.

Kenny. He looked exactly the way he had when I saw him last-about seventeen years ago. But of course, I guess he would. It certainly confirmed my suspicions. He looked up at me once he was standing. Strange how eyes like those-huge, blue, can seem so young-but he had to be as old, if not older (possibly even much older-I didn't know at the time) than me. It freaked me out, but then, it dawned on me.

He didn't recognize me, at all! It almost puzzled me, but then I remembered-I got at least ten good years of maturing time in before my development was similarly arrested. *I * passed for an adult, and seventeen years is a relatively long time. There was no reason for him to recall the eleven year old pre-Immortal who tried to flatten him that long ago.

"Ma'am…thanks for…I mean," and then, he gasped. The little fake. "You aren't going to…?"

"What? Take your head?" I asked, not sure how to handle my feelings. "I don't go out of my way to pick on people who are smaller than me…or…younger?" I let the word come out of me like a question, and watched his face. He gave up nothing in the way of response, so I asked, "How old * are * you?"

He looked one way, then the other. "What's it to you?"

"You've got to admit, you don't exactly…look, I'm not interested in taking your head, all right? I just saved your butt-it would have made more sense for me to let those morons work you over before I wasted the effort. But if you want to get touchy about it, it's your call. Although…those guys probably live around here, and there's no telling if they'll be back. Now, if they ran into me, I have no problem with that. You, on the other hand…" I shrugged. Then, I smiled and offered my hand. "I'm Janice Falco." I might offer my hand, but I didn't feel like offering my right name at the moment.

"Well, I'm Kenny…Wilson," he said, throwing out a common-enough last name. He used a different last name back at Franklin Elementary. Grinning just slightly, he added, "How old are * you *?"

"Somewhere between eighteen and eight thousand. All right, you've got me. Rude question on my part, and I apologize. I was only asking because…it couldn't have happened that long ago, right? But you do know what we are."

"I died four years ago," he answered automatically. I guessed that was his usual lie. "A car accident. It killed my mom and dad…"

I nodded. "Took out your family? Rough going. How'd you manage this long?"

"Stayed with a guy-one of us. He told me what we were, but he got…" He let his voice trail off. Very freaking touching. A good story, though. If I didn't know better, I'd be feeling particularly sympathetic. I've always liked kids. He definitely had the act down-well, practice makes perfect, I guess.

"Well, isn't that just the way. It's the good guys who end up whacked, you know?" I thought about Mr. Matarazzo and how he got whacked. He probably never saw it coming. "You're not from around here-"

"I…"

I cut him off. Whatever he said would be a lie anyway. "What I meant to say was, you're kind of the…new kid in town. I've been the new kid, so to speak, once or twice. I had a teacher once who said everyone's an outsider at some point. That's why I try to be friendly." I started walking, and he walked alongside of me. I wondered if he decided I was a target. Feeling vicious, I turned, with a touch of concern. "Where are you staying? I mean…homeless shelter? Some place like that?"

"Well…"

"It's no good. Things happen to people in places like that. It's dangerous. Particularly for someone your size. But you know…you remind me of someone."

"Look…I can't stay anywhere…there's someone after me…"

Probably someone he ticked off, I thought, wryly. But I didn't let my face give me away. Instead, I bent down slightly, trying to sound a little outraged.

"What-you mean there's a headhunter-after a…a kid, like you? What kind of gutless punk is he?"

"His name's Duncan MacLeod."

People, did it ever seem to you that the world was getting * smaller *?

For those of you who don't know, I consider Duncan to be a friend, in the sense of, I have no immediate plans to kill him. I did * once *, actually, but that's a long story. I gave up on the idea for two reasons-the first being that he's a whole lot better at being a swordsman than most people, and the second being that he's a whole lot better at being a person than most people. I've decided the only way I'd ever consider whacking him is self-defense. He's what I'd call "homo sapiens honoribilus"-and that species is truly endangered. So I was practically rupturing an internal organ to keep from laughing at the notion of him actually hunting this termite. I elected to take Kenny to the local sub shop and buy him a sandwich so I could hear more about how he was on the run from the very dangerous and possibly insane Mr. MacLeod.

"You know-I'm a little new in town, myself," I confided to him. "I heard that guy lived around here, somewhere, but I've yet to run into him. How did you meet him?"

"Well…it started when I met his girlfriend, Amanda."

I quickly hid my face behind a napkin to keep from exploding over that one. I guessed that he and Amanda had a thing from time to time, but "girlfriend"? "Really?" I managed to ask.

"See, she was also…one of us, and she wanted me. You know, she wanted to look after me."

I try to look serious as I commented. "I can see that. I mean, we can't have kids, but I even have a little bit of a…maternal instinct."

Encouraged, he went on. "But he didn't want me around. He said I got in his way, so he tried to…he tried to take my head."

"What a louse," I exclaimed. "Jealous of a kid. So what did you do?"

"I ran! I'd get out of town but…"

And then we both turned as a familiar sensation swept through the restaurant. Kenny turned paper-white, and then slumped down in the booth. The guy who had just entered looked at me and Kenny, and then made a beeline for our table. He was, well, for starters, Immortal, tall, well-built, but not my type, dressed in a cheap suit (mall-bought, off the rack) and turtleneck, and bad shoes. He took a seat next to Kenny, and I realized at once what the deal was. I got a look from him as if he knew he was busted. If he was running from anyone, it was this character right here. The guy opened his mouth, and gave away a lot more than he knew.

"Kenny, who's the broad?"

"Broad?" I mouthed, silently. First, Kenny "ma'am's" me, and now, I get "broad-ed"? But this was getting interesting. I decided to worsen the situation. I offered my hand to the newcomer.

"I'm Genevieve Fowler, an associate of Kenny's. We kind of…went to school together." I grinned, shook his hand, which felt like a dead fish, and then removed my hand to let it fall in my lap, where I proceeded to wipe it against my jeans. Kenny's mouth fell open, and that made me feel positively pleased.

"Eric Peters." The guy turned to look at my "young" friend. "You didn't say nothing about any associates."

"I didn't?" And then, he must have recognized my name, since it's the same one I used back then. He looked stunned.

"Oh, well, I suppose there's a lot of things Kenny didn't tell you. But he was bringing me up to speed. The name Duncan MacLeod was mentioned?" I said it casually, and kicked Kenny in the shin. His eyes popped.

"You know where I can find him?" the fellow grinned.

"Sure. I've my own reasons. Kenny was right to bring you to me." I leaned forward. "So-what did MacLeod do to you?" I asked, conspiratorially.

"He got me put in jail."

I shook my head. "Damn him and his sense of right and wrong."

"What did he do to you?" Peters then whispered, mimicking my tone.

"Killed one of my former lovers. I made a blood oath that I have to see him dead-you know how it is," I shrugged. "But you see, I'm just a woman. You, on the other hand…" I looked at Kenny. "He'll do. I think he'll do."

"You got an address?" the man asked, cheerfully.

"You bet," I said, reaching into my purse. I wrote it on a slip of paper from my address book, and then handed it over to him. "Now if you don't mind, Kenny and I were reminiscing about our old school days."

"Really? You went to school together?"

"Yeah. Elementary," I said with a smile. The guy thought it was a fabulous joke. Kenny thought it sucked. Go figure. And then the guy was out of the seat and almost out the door before turning.

"I'll be back for you." He pointed his hand like a gun, fake-fired, and then turned around, leaving.

"He's going to come back and kill me," Kenny said, glumly.

"Don't be stupid. * I'm* going to kill you. Fries are getting cold. The fries they make here taste like crap when they're cold," I commented, picking up a french fry. Kenny was about to get up to run, but I pushed the table across the booth to pin him to the bench.

"I'm going to yell."

"I'll tell them that you're my younger brother. And, you're all mental and learning disabled. That's why you act the way you do." I smiled. It was fun, getting to see someone from back in the day. "I'm just going to tell them you need another Ritalin, and…you know." I rolled my eyes and made a disgusted face. "I really hate when mom makes me look after you, because you're such a stupid brat." I said it in perfect imitation of an annoyed teenager. Which I could very easily seem to be. "Go ahead, see if they'll believe the truth. That I'm going to pull you into a deserted alley, pull out a sword, and cut your head off. You *aren't * a kid-you know as well as I do what happens next." I took another french fry.

"You know MacLeod?" Kenny then asked, uncertainly.

"Yep. Friend of mine."

"He didn't kill an ex-lover of yours…."

"Oh yeah, he did. You killed Mr. Matarazzo-I'm a little more concerned about that. I liked him. You know. He was a good guy. My ex-lover, not so much. Say-how'd you meet that guy-Eric Whatisname? He…uh, have a girlfriend or whatever? Want to…get rid of you because you're in the way?"

"I promised him MacLeod so I…"

I smiled. He promised he'd lead the guy to a bigger fish. I began to get a picture of how old this * kid * might actually be.

"I delivered. So you aren't exactly useful to him. And, I will bet cash money Duncan has no use for you either." I went back into my purse. I pulled out two twenties-covered the meal and a fairly good-sized tip. Always be good to your servers, people-it's a useful policy. I had no use for waiting for the check. I put them under a glass, and then eased myself out of the booth before loosening my grip on the table. It only took one hand to hold the table and him flat against the seat. I gripped his shoulder, pretty much making it clear to him that he had no choice about leaving peacefully with me. And then we left.

I marched him a few blocks down, and then pointed. "Up that way-two more blocks, you hang a right, and there's a Greyhound station. You might want to leave Seacouver. People around here don't * like * you, man."

"Wait…"

I sighed, taking in all not quite five feet of him.

"You're not going to kill me?"

I shook my head. "Remember the last time I saw you?" I asked, gently.

His eyes got dark with a touch of rage. Oh, he remembered, all right.

"I was wailing the snot out of you. The only thing that stopped me was when Mr. M showed up…"

And then it occurred to me that he did it that very night. Maybe he killed Mr. M because he didn't want to show up the next day at school-he'd been tired of waiting. He'd been planning it all that time, but when I did that-he had a *reason *. And then I remember the way he pulled that wacko little machete out-

You know-I really was going to decide that Kenny was just a little too small to be of any interest to me. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like I couldn't just * leave * it like that.

"You know, I was a little bigger than you then, Kenny."

He nodded.

"I'm a lot bigger than you are now. Not just physically. A lot of ways. You know-you told the other kids that I stuffed my bra-that hurt. And you know-I didn't."

I struggle with my darker impulses all the time. Sometimes, I don't win. I grabbed him by the collar, and found myself dragging him down a nearby alleyway. There was a dumpster there, sealed with a chain. I pulled my sword from my trench coat, and used it to knock the lock open.

"What are you doing?" Kenny asked, semi-hysterically.

"How the hell did someone your size even get him into a dumpster?" I asked, angrily.

"I only threw his head and his hands in there…so it would take longer to identify the…"

I shut him up by putting the sword to his throat. "Consider today your lucky day. I'm feeling good today, Kenny. The sun is out. The birds are chirping. You know, I don't think you're going to die today."

I pushed the dumpster open. It smelled-you know, the way they do. I dropped my sword, and then picked Kenny up by his collar and the waistband of his Wranglers. He weighed a little more than I thought he would. But he went in easily-especially after I knocked him out with a heavy blow to the face. I felt a moment of guilt, but he * would * heal, after all. I closed the dumpster, and wound the chain back through the hooks to hold it closed. I rummaged through my purse. I carry handcuffs on a regular basis. You may wonder why I do that. It really isn't any of your business why I do that. I'm a little eccentric. I threaded them through the chain. It would take bolt-cutters to undo the job I did.

I picked my sword back up, dusted it off a little, and then sheathed it. And then I decided I might want to stop by Joe's. I felt thirsty. I wondered if I should mention that Duncan was going to be getting a little company shortly, but decided it really didn't matter. After all, Duncan is a big boy, bigger than me, anyway. And he can take care of himself. Not everybody is so lucky.

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