Clancy McClean couldn't believe his ears when the call had come in.

Of course he'd interviewed big stars before; it was a part of his job.  By rights, he shouldn't have been half as excited as he truly was.  McClean was a heavily sought-after man in his own right, but when applied to the man that'd called him not a half hour ago, that would be putting it lightly.  Very lightly.  On account of his popularity, Clancy simply had to have a half-dozen phone lines, each with its own level of importance.  It was the Seven's and Chris Cairns' that frequented the lower lines, with fewer and fewer even knowing that the higher ones existed.

You could probably imagine his surprise, then, when he got a call from John Taylor on the highest priority line.

John Taylor.  Lord John Taylor.  Clancy had had his interactions with the man in the past, but nothing nearly as formal as what Taylor had proposed on the phone, a one-to-one interview at the most private of Nagoya's hotels.  So private was this hotel that not even Clancy had heard of it, let alone could he pronounce it.

An opportunist, McClean had understandably jumped at the proposition.  Guilt at associating with the man that would face his client, Jay Jameson, at the upcoming Crimson event had presented itself but passed.  An interview like this with a man like Lord Taylor simply wasn't something you passed up.

Clancy had obliged right away, forgetting everything he'd learned about keeping up a poker face in business.  He was smart enough to knew that it wouldn't matter.

He was also smart enough not to tip off the press about the meeting.  This was set to be a worldwide exclusive.  He wasn't about to let a bunch of uneducated Japanese reporters and paparazzi dilute it.

Not knowing what to expect, he arrived at the hotel early.  Five minutes in advance was early enough for Clancy McClean, the man whose workday didn't start until noon.

He didn't even get to the reception area before realising that Taylor was already there.  There he was, The Lone Gunman - a blurry spot sitting alone at the far side of an expansive dining hall.  He acknowledged McClean with a subtle wave before getting up from his table and heading out of the pristinely decorated hall.

As Taylor grew closer and closer, Clancy noticed that he wasn't for a second trying to hide his presence.  He would've considered it strange had it not been for the clientele of this particular establishment; Japanese businessmen so rich and distinguished that they wouldn't have given a professional wrestler the time of day.  McClean got the feeling that it was the kind of place that would've turned its nose up on even he if they'd known what line of work he was in.  It was an unsettling thought.

Taylor obviously knew he was safe from the public eye.  The one that cared enough to look, at least.  Clancy admired the man's choice of setting.

***

John Taylor neared the main door of the dining hall.  

Clancy McClean - practically foaming at the mouth - was in his sights.  Taylor stepped out into the lobby and nodded a weak one at his chosen interviewer.

"John," McClean began, excruciatingly excited.

Taylor had none of it, promptly shushing him with a flick of the wrist.  "Come on, let's take a walk."

Knowing better than to verbally respond, McClean nodded.

Pleased with Clancy's cop-on, Taylor started for the elevator.  McClean followed quietly, containing his excitement and anticipation a lot better than Taylor would've expected from him.  Taylor almost admired it.  Almost.  The pair stepped into the empty elevator and Taylor directed it the basement floor; the underground parking lot.

"I thought we were going to..." Clancy began but trailed off, probably at the sight of Taylor's sullen expression.  By now McClean must've sensed that Taylor was deliberately holding back, but Taylor didn't care.  It wouldn't be for too much longer, anyway.

***

The ping of the elevator rang in the end of the most awkward ten seconds of Clancy McClean's life.

He couldn't figure out what was up Taylor's ass, but the Gunman certainly wasn't saying a thing.  He contemplated trying to spark up conversation one last time, but that look on Taylor's face told him it wasn't such a great idea.

Maybe this whole interview thing wasn't such a great idea.

They stepped out of the elevator, Taylor clearly the leader.  The Gunman paused in the silent car park, visually deep in thought.  He might've been contemplating his next move, but he might've been just trying to convince Clancy that he was.  McClean's head started to hurt trying to figure it all out, so he stopped.

A moment of absolute quiet passed before Taylor seemed to regain his composure.  He started to move again, deeper into the darkened lot.  He instructed, "This way.  Not too much further."

The parking lot couldn't physically have been as large as it felt.  It seemed to McClean as if they had been walking for hours, traversing the eerie place via the rather efficient pedestrian walkways, painted in a vibrant yellow on the dark asphalt.  It couldn't possibly have been more than a minute.

Finally, Taylor came to a stop.  McClean squinted in disbelief and disappointment at what Taylor had led him to.

***

It was as clear as the Nagoya night sky to John Taylor that McClean wasn't a fan of the rental car.

As generic a Toyota as one could possibly get in Japan of all places, it was no Roll's Royce.  But it did the job.  It allowed Taylor travel where he needed to go...  Unnoticed.  That, to the Gunman, was the key.

"So, can I talk yet?" McClean asked, sheepish and irritated in equal amounts.

"Be my guest," Taylor said bluntly as he pulled onto the motorway, "What do you want to talk about?"

This poked the obnoxious little businessman right in his weak spot - his 'cool'.  Taylor knew McClean well enough to know that he thrived on eternally keeping his cool, his composure.  He couldn't bare to be seen stressed or freaked.  To exploit this was by no means Taylor's priority when he had called McClean up earlier, but it made for a nice footnote all the same.

"You wanted me, John," Clancy reminded.  The little man was quickly regaining his backbone.

"I did," Taylor said as he turned a corner and pulled in by the side of the motorway, as if he'd run out of gas.  He killed the engine.  Wisely, he didn't bother to switch his hazard lights on.  He'd go unnoticed.  He and McClean were now invisible.  "I'll level with you, McClean.  My star is fading..."

***

Clancy McClean's loyalty to Jay Jameson and general obnoxiousness fought valiantly his next move, but he resisted.  

Feigning concern and holding back the self-made insults for reporting purposes, he asked, "How's that?"  He felt Taylor catching onto his ploy instantly, but kept a straight face.

"How long has it been since a single cameraman has set his lens on me?  Three weeks?  Four?  Truthfully, it's been a lot longer than that."

"Hey, hey...  Backtrack a couple of seconds there, Johnboy-"

"Don't."

"Uh...  Right.  Sorry about that, my man.  Forget it.  I'm a perceptive man, John, but I'll be frank when I say I haven't got a clue what you're talking about.  Longer than that?  We've seen you...  You've been on Crimson, y'know?"

"Physically," Taylor corrected, "Only physically.  Lord John Taylor as he should be known was MIA long before Seth Raide showed up and tried to take over the show."

"He...  You was?  Uh, were.  You were?"

***

John Taylor resented McClean's excitement.  So much so, in fact, that he told him.

"You what?" the little man asked, not catching on.

"It's exactly what drove me away from the company.  My star is fading not because my body's giving up on me or because the challenge has become too great, but because my interest in this once-great creation of mine has waned.  The thrill that possessed me to overcome every obstacle and jump every hurdle faded away to a dull grey.  My interest and drive in this game followed with it."

"Want me to grab the Kleenex?" obnoxious Clancy spurted out.  Taylor could tell write away that the businessman was kicking himself for saying it.  It amused him slightly.

"Take a look at yourself, McClean.  You're as corpulent as they come, a heart attack waiting to happen...  But you're having the absolute time of your life out there.  Why is that?  What's the spark that keeps you going?  What keeps you supporting that deadbeat Jameson kid of yours?  I've been trying to figure it out for months now..."

The masked compliment hit the little man with the desired effect.  Flattered, McClean became butter.  "Well, it's quite..."

"Actually," Taylor interrupted.  Clancy, however, didn't mind.  He wasn't insulted or fussed.  Just as Taylor had thought.  "Now that I say it out loud, I'm thinking something entirely different.  I'm thinking that I called you out here for an entirely different reason altogether..."

McClean's face dropped and his buttery mood froze as he listened to Taylor change his tune.

***

"...Are we clear?" Taylor asked of Clancy McClean.

McClean was in a state of shock.  Taylor's mood had switched in a matter of seconds from reserved shyness to a calculated coldness.  The Gunman had in no uncertain terms assured Clancy that it wasn't his skill as an interviewer that had caught his attention, but rather his connection to Jay Jameson.

"Don't flatter yourself here," Taylor had said without even a smidgen of compassion.  "You're an amateur compared to Paul Terry and not sneaky enough to hang with Mickey 'Mouse' Greer.  If I want an interview, I'll interview myself.  If I want a shrink, I'll go to Heinz Ketchup.  If - actually, make that WHEN - I want to talk about Seth Raide, I'll march right up to him and see what I've got to say.  You're good for absolutely none of that, McClean.  But I'd be lying if I said you weren't valuable..."

It had been right about then that the thought that this might be yet another kidnapping crossed McClean's mind.  When Taylor had elaborated, he realised it was nothing of the sort.

"I don't like you, Clancy.  I don't want to cash in on your high profile.  I don't want a thing from you, but I want you to do something for the good of your client.  In two minutes, you're going to climb out of this car and hitchhike your way back to civilisation.  And I'll advise that you do indeed hitchhike; it's quite a walk.  Anyway, I told you the truth when I said that my star was fading.  Was.  I've waited long enough, Clancy - I'm going to light that fucker right back up again.  The second you're out of here, I want you in contact with Jameson.  Call him, fax him, send him a telegraph if needs be...  Tell him that if he half-asses this match at Crimson - my RETURN match - it'll be the last mistake he'll ever get the chance to make."

McClean had nodded weakly.

Taylor's irritated voice brought him back to the present.  "McClean!  I asked if we were clear..."

***

"We..." the little man, unusually flustered and tongue-tied began, "We're clear."

"Good.  Your door's open."

Clancy pleaded desperately, "You're not honestly asking me to walk, are you?  Look at this suit."

"Your door is open, Clancy.  Goodbye."

Having lost face, even in the sanctity of an unnoticeable rental car, Clancy sighed in small defeat.  He climbed out of the car.  It wasn't two seconds before Taylor had the engine going.  He sped out of sight.

***

Alone at the side of the motorway, Clancy McClean flipped open his cell phone and placed two calls, one to his driver still waiting in ignorance at the hotel with no name, and the other to Jay Jameson.