Showdown with Legs McNeil.

Chapter 1: Noah and Gideon Encounter Legs McNeil

The evening draped itself over Giulianova like a velvet shroud, the sky bleeding hues of amber and violet. Ristorante L’Angoletto stood as a temple of indulgence, its walls adorned with the whispers of a thousand forgotten souls. At a corner table, Gideon Samuels sat like a statue carved from shadow, his eyes two smoldering coals in the dim light. Across from him, Noah Savett fidgeted, a nervous sparrow perched on the edge of a storm.

“You brood like a man composing his own epitaph,” Noah said, his voice contained forced levity.

Gideon’s lips curled into a faint, mirthless smile. “Epitaphs are for the dead. I am merely… contemplative.”

“Contemplative? You’re as cheerful as a graveyard.”

“Graveyards are honest places,” Gideon replied, his voice a low rumble. “They do not pretend to be anything other than what they are.”

Noah raised his glass in mock toast. “To honesty, then. May it haunt us all.”

Before Gideon could respond, the air was rent by a voice like a trumpet blast, brash and unrelenting.

“Gideon Samuels! The man who writes with one hand and stabs with the other!”

Legs McNeil loomed over their table, a figure of chaotic energy, his presence an assault on the senses. His hand descended on Noah’s shoulder like a vulture’s talon.

“And who’s this? Your girlfriend? Or perhaps your latest victim?”

Noah laughed nervously, “Woe, friend, I’m just here for the pasta.”

Gideon’s gaze never wavered. “My girlfriend is your wife, Legs. She finds me… inspiring.”

Legs’ face flushed crimson, his bravado faltering for a moment. “Fuck you, Samuels.”

Gideon leaned back, his smile widening. “She told me you were into that.”

Noah choked on his wine, his laughter tinged with hysteria. “I feel like my honor is being dragged through the mud here. Someone defend me. Or at least buy me another drink.”

Legs’ hand shot out, knocking Noah’s glass to the floor. Wine spread like blood across the white tablecloth.

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” Legs snarled, “but the fact that you’re sitting here with this walking corpse is suspicious as hell.”

Noah’s elbow swung wildly, missing its mark but earning a grunt from Legs. At the same moment, Gideon’s legs lashed out beneath the table, tangling with Legs’ ankles and sending him crashing to the floor. Noah planted a foot on Legs’ chest, his nervous energy giving way to a strange, almost giddy determination.

Gideon rose with the grace of a predator, wiping his lips with a napkin, his movements deliberate, his presence suffocating. He knelt beside Legs, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of a thunderclap.

“Listen, Legs. ‘Spin Magazine’ is a cesspool, and you are its most fetid offering. The next time you see me, you will call me Mr. Samuels. And if you do not…”

He leaned closer, his breath hot against Legs’ ear. “I have ways of making Legs disappear. Leaving your bloated ego of a first name, vanish without a trace.”

Gideon stood, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. He nodded to Noah, and together they walked away, leaving Legs sprawled on the floor like a broken marionette. As they passed the maître d’, Gideon paused.

“Charge our drinks to Mr. McNeil. Consider it a tax on his stupidity.”

Chapter 2: The Obsession

Legs McNeil sat in his hotel room, the air thick with the stench of whiskey and desperation. The humiliation at the restaurant festered in his mind, a wound that refused to heal. Gideon’s words echoed in his skull, a taunt and a threat wrapped in one.

“I have ways…”

Legs poured himself another drink, his hands trembling. He spread the photographs across the table, each one a fragment of Gideon’s murky past. A man in a war-torn village, a figure slipping into the darkness, a face obscured by smoke and time.

“You’re not just a writer, are you, Samuels?” Legs muttered, his voice slurred but defiant. “You’re a ghost. A phantom. And I’m going to drag you into the light.”

He picked up the phone, his fingers stabbing at the numbers.

“Yeah, it’s me. I need everything you’ve got on Gideon Samuels. Everything. If he so much as sneezed in 1987, I want to know about it.”

Chapter 3: The Past Resurfaces

Gideon and Noah stood on the balcony of a villa, overlooking the Adriatic Sea, stretching out before them like an endless abyss. The moon hung low, a pale eye watching their every move.

“What did you mean back there, Gideon?” Noah asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “About making his Legs disappear?”

Gideon’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his expression unreadable. “The past is a hungry beast, Noah. It devours everything in its path.”

“Is that an answer? That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer I have.”

Noah ran a hand through his hair. “You speak in riddles.”

Gideon turned to him, his eyes like twin voids. “Understanding is overrated. Sometimes, it’s enough to simply survive.”

Noah smirked. “Survive? It feels more like I’m drowning in an unknown conflict.”

Gideon’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. “Drowning is just another way of saying you’re still fighting.”

Chapter 4: The Showdown

The storm rolled in like a harbinger of doom, the sky a roiling mass of black and silver. Legs stood on the pier, his coat whipping around him like the wings of a fallen angel. Gideon approached, his figure silhouetted against the lightning.

“I know who you are, Samuels,” Legs shouted, his voice barely audible over the wind. “I know what you’ve done.”

Gideon stopped a few feet away, his expression calm, almost serene. “Do you? Or do you only know what you want to believe?”

Legs’ hand tightened around the folder of documents he carried, the papers fluttering like dying moths. “I’m going to expose you. I’m going to tear you apart.”

Gideon stepped closer, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “You are a fool, Legs. A fool who mistakes noise for power.”

Legs lunged, but Gideon sidestepped with ease, his movements fluid and precise. He grabbed Legs by the collar, his face inches from the other man’s.

“This is your last warning. Walk away. Or I will make sure you never walk again.”

Legs spat in his face, his defiance undimmed. “Go to hell, Samuels.”

Gideon released him, his expression unreadable. “I’ve already been there. It’s overrated.”