The rest - the stuff about him being a wealthy jerk - was completely false. At least, it wasn's the whole story. Tony occasionally behaved poorly, poorly, but he'd learned compassion when he'd become Iron Man. Or partial compassion. Was there such a thing as partial compassion? Tony wondered as he scraped his forehead on the sidewalk outside Dubai's convention center. He didn't feel compassionate. He felt ticked off.
He heard a man's voice from the other side of the fountain: "There's no way that rich weasel outran us." Tony was lucky to have a stronger attachment to pragmatism than to dignity, or he'd have been embarrassed to be hiding below the far side of a fountain rim.
"I don't know, Joe, he's pretty fit." That was a woman's voice now. Tony vaguely recognized it - she was a television reporter. Had he seen her naked some years back, maybe after too late a casino during the Vegas electronics show?
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