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Cleveland, Ohio, United States of America - July 12, 1997 - 7:27 p.m.

Methos sat in Mel's Grill on East 9th street, just a few short blocks from Jacobs Field and Gund Arena. Methos could hear sports junkies everywhere discussing everything from baseball to whether boxers got athlete's foot. Methos took the liberty to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"They ain't get no athlete's foot, stupid. They ain't playing baseball or football or nothing," the first guy said.

"Shut up! They can too! They shower just like everyone else!" the second guy retorted.

"No they don't. They don't shower with othuh people like othuh athlete's do," replied the first.

"Both a ya, shaddup. Dey don't care about at-lete's foot when dey got morons bitin' off deir ears," a third chimed in.

The second one replied. "That was a one time incident. Now athlete's foot, however...."

Methos stopped listening. He wasn't really interested in foot fungus at the moment. He took a minute to listen to the music currently being played from hidden speakers somewhere in the bar. It was the Kinks. The Ray Davies' song 'Lola' was on. Methos took a second to listen to a verse.

"Well I'm not the world's most physical guy. The way she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine. Oh, my Lola. La la la la Lola. Well I'm not dumb but I can't understand how she walks like a woman but talks like a man. Oh, my Lola. La la la la Lola. La la la la Lola."

Then the guitar rang out a few heavy chords and the chorus was about to begin when the bartender interrupted Methos listening.

"Hey, that glass has been empty for 10 minutes, buddy. You buy some more or you head for the door."

Methos stood up and threw a five dollar bill on the counter to cover the cost of his drink. He headed for the exit, passing the three gentleman engaged in the lively boxing/fungus debate. When he got outside, the sun was still out, shining it's golden pall on the buildings. He'd been here a day and had not found out much. What he had found was mostly just news reports and speculation. He hailed a cab and took a ride down to Woodland Ave's red district. People told him if he wanted info, this was the spot. The cabbie let him out and sped away.

Methos began walking north along tattered and worn buildings. The place had an overall look of sadness. He noticed that even though it was still daylight the sunshine seemed to be missing here. He kicked an empty can and it went skittering along the curb and into a puddle of stale rain water. The scum on top of the puddle sifted around from the disturbance, like a grumpy old man stuck in an elevator with young, hyper-active children.

Methos continued along. The silence was suddenly broken by a voice from a body he hadn't seen.

"Spare change, man?"

Methos turned and saw a man in his early twenties. He fished in his pocket and tossed a quarter at him.

"Here you go."

"Thanks, dude. Now hand over the rest of your cash."

The young male pulled out a switch blade and popped it open. He was then surrounded by three other young males he hadn't seen before. They each had knives of their own.

Methos said, "Boy, you guys sure snuck up on me. I didn't even notice you. You guys must be pretty good at hiding. Do you take lessons from cockroaches?"

One of the guys stepped forward. "A wiseguy, huh? Maybe after we take your dough we slice you up somethin' fierce?"

Methos smiled and pulled out his sword. "Or maybe I just take this and see if I can do something about those ugly mugs of yours. I always did like Picasso."

The men's eyes opened wide and they ran out of their quicker than Frank Gifford from Kathy Lee. The man who asked Methos for a quarter went to turn but Methos thrust out his sword toward the man's feet and tripped him.

"I'll give you a choice. You tell me what I need or I'll do my impression of Lorena Bobbit. This blade can cut through spinal cords very easily, so it should have no problem on your...friend...down there. Now, are you going to help me?"

"Sh-sh-sure thing. I'll he-he-help ya."

"Good. I'm glad you're willing to help me out here. Now, tell me everything you know about a man named Tollinger."

The guy's eyes just went from dull to dim. Any hope he might have had about getting out of this mess unscathed seemed to ooze out of him. The guy obviously knew something. It looks like luck is on my side for a change, Methos thought.

"I ca-ca-can't, man. He-he-he'll ka-ka-ka-kill me."

"First off, STOP studdering or I'll slice of your tongue and you can tell me what you know using pen and paper, assuming you know how to write. Second of all, if you tell me what I want you won't have to worry about him. Trust me."

The guy took a deep breath and tried to talk. "The guy is psycho, man. If he finds out I said anything, he'll deep fry my face."

"When I find him, the only thing that will be frying is his ass in hell. Now, TELL me what I want NOW or you'll be there to greet him. UNDERSTAND, punk?"

"He's holed up in the railroad yard. That's all I know, I swear."

"Thank you, kind sir. You just saved me a lot of time. Oh, by the way, you can keep the quarter."

Methos kicked the guy in his most sensitive area, just to be sure he wouldn't try anything. The guy wriggled in pain and clutched his crotch as Methos turned and walked away.

Cleveland Railroad Yard - 8:26 p.m.

Methos decided to stop back at his motel room before heading over to the railroad yard. He wanted to get a shower and put on a fresh pair of clothes. He'd been wearing the same outfit from when he left the airplane, and Methos preferred to fight wearing clean underwear.

The taxi dropped him off a few minutes ago but Methos just stood and thought. He saw old tracks and train cars. It reminded him of a brawl he had back in the '20's. But now wasn't the time for remembrance. Methos scanned the warehouses for some kind of sign. The sun was nearly set and the place was a navy blue-ish color, except where pale overhead lamps were posted near buildings. He didn't see anything that would signal someone was around. He began to wonder if he would have to search every square inch, or even if the info was bogus, when he saw a small glimmering light by a maintenance shed. The light glittered and flickered and Methos thought it might just be a firefly or something like that. But then he looked closer and saw it was the light from a cigarette.

He strode in the man's direction. When he was close enough he got a buzzing type thing in his head, which happened everytime he was near another immortal. He couldn't see his face, but he could be pretty sure it was Tollinger. And he could also bet Tollinger sensed Methos as well. The man straightened up and pulled out a sword, which glimmered in the pale light. Methos removed his own. The time for vengeance was quickly approaching.

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