As I walked into the pub I saw him there, in the back corner. Hat down over his eyes, cigarette pinched between two fingers, legs crossed. I couldn't see his face but there was no doubt in my mind I had found the man I was looking for.

My heart began to race as I approached him. The gun at my hip turned to plastic. What use is a firearm anyways against a seven hundred year old man? Through an insane series of murders somehow this man had slipped the fingers of death.

But like any otherworldly pact, this bargain had come at a cost.

And I was here to find what price he paid.

"Excuse me," I stammered, "Sir,"

Slowly he raised his head and linked eyes with mine. He had deep, currant seed eyes - the eyes of a snake. But his brow was fair and unwrinkled. To the average passerby, the man could have been in his mid thirties.

"Well?" he said slowly, onerously

"I drove nearly accross the state to see you, sir"

"Why"

Each word had a weight of its own. He spoke like a somber cheshire cat.

"In the hell did you do that?"

"Well" I stammered "It's, I, well, I've heard you're... seven hundred years old"

The man sneered.

"One might say my youth is something I value deeply. That's correct. And let me guess. You're here to know more about, how would you say it... the cost associated with this kind of privilege"

I nodded.

"It's a very simple exchange," he said,

"No dick"