Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Evens ❯ For Love Or Money ( Chapter 2 )

Chance 2: For Love Or Money

Jet raised the remote and pointed it at the screen. With a quick flick of his thumb he changed channels, dispatching with some satisfaction a programme he had not found to his taste. Unfortunately, no sooner had this substandard show fizzed from the screen it was replaced by another equally obnoxious broadcast. Taking aim once more, Jet put this show out of its misery, only for yet another to arise in its place.

With increasing frequency, Jet shot down soap and talk show, quiz and cartoon, as he might the defenceless cut outs that scurried haplessly about the police shooting range where he had spent many a training day; although, there was something a little more satisfying about taking aim at a living, breathing, annoying game show presenter than a lifeless target. At least the shooting range dummies didn't have mouths.

Jet paused his surfing, and briefly glanced across the darkened living room to the door of the kitchen. A soft yellow light was emanating from the open doorway, along with the steadily intensifying sound of a kettle approaching boiling point.

Keeping one eye on the kitchen -- one of only two other rooms in the humble domicile --Jet slowly raised his left foot and placed it gently on the surface of the coffee table. He was careful not make a sound, as Alisa hated it when he put his feet up on the furniture.

Of course, Jet knew that he would inevitably be busted for his transgression, but that didn't bother him too much. The fact was he actually kind of enjoyed being scolded by his girlfriend. Not for anything serious, mind. Just for the little things, like feet on furniture and raised toilet seats. He liked the attention and, for whatever reason, he felt it was an affirmation of her love for him. After all, would she be so strict if she didn't care?

The sound of boiling water reached a crescendo, and was punctuated by a loud click as the kettle switched itself off automatically. Then there came the sound of boiling water pattering into a mug. Jet pondered briefly on why it was that hot water sounded different from cold water. But, after a couple of half-formed theories he to let it go, deciding that he should have paid more attention in elementary physics.

There was a second click, and the kitchen light died. The room sank yet further into darkness, now lit only by the pale glow of the TV screen. A moment later, Alisa emerged into the room, bearing a tray upon which rested two mugs. The barely visible swirls of steam that rose from their apertures signified the high temperature of the liquid within.

Momentarily consumed with concern, Jet sat up in his chair.

"Careful, Alisa," he said. "Those are hot."

Alisa stopped where she was, and sighed.

"I know, Jet," she replied. "I boiled the water myself."

She then took a further step before stopping once again.

"And get your dirty foot off my coffee table," she scolded.

Jet gave a mischievous smirk, and removed his foot from the table. In the pale light he could see that his girlfriend to also wore a subtle smile, as she too was familiar with his mildly masochistic tendencies.

Alisa rounded the bed that stood at the heart of the room, then slowly made her way to the table and placed the tray gently upon its surface. She then slid herself between the table and the couch, and took a seat beside Jet.

"Thanks, hon'," Jet said softly.

He then leaned forwards, and grasped the handle of the mug nearest him. Cradling it carefully with his left hand he paused, and allowed the warmth that radiated from its contents to be absorbed into his skin climb steadily up his arm. Then, raising the mug, he took a sip of the coffee. He held the coffee in his mouth for a moment, allowing it to impart its warmth to his body yet further before finally swallowing it.

Jet let out a contented sigh, and leaned back into the chair. A moment later, he felt a slight pressure on his left shoulder, as Alisa rested her weary head against him.

It had been a long, but enjoyable day. For the first time in quite some months, Alisa had persuaded Jet to take one of the many holidays he was owed by the ISSP. And, though he felt a little guilty about abandoning his post, Jet was glad she had. The last few months had been quite taxing from a work perspective. Syndicate activity on Ganymede had peaked, and for the already overworked and undermanned Ganymede branch, that had meant dealing with everything from homicide to weapons smuggling, larceny to money laundering.

And it wasn't as if Jet had been able to concentrate on a single category of offences. Budget cuts and a downturn in recruitment had meant he had been working on all manner of cases in all areas of the city. On a slow day, he could have expected to spend twelve hours cleansing the mean streets of Ganymede, and round the clock shifts were not unheard of.

Though he had been resistant at first, it turned out that a day spent shopping around the streets for something other than crooks and mobsters had been just what Jet had needed. Plus, he felt it better that he was at Alisa's side as she travelled those dangerous streets, rather than allow her to brave them alone. He of all people was aware of the dangers that lurked in the dark corners of Jupiter's largest moon, especially for an unaccompanied woman.

Of course, the shopping trip had yielded little. Other than a few essentials, all to which Jet and Alisa had been able to treat themselves were a movie and dinner at a moderately priced restaurant. Once again, the hardship had come courtesy of ISSP budget cuts. Indeed, had Jet not loved his job so he would have left it for greener pastures long ago. Fortunately for him, he had a girlfriend who was willing to tolerate modest surroundings in the interests of her companion's happiness.

"We should do this more often," Alisa purred, nestling her head into her partner's upper arm.

Jet gave an unsettled grunt. He was reluctant to agree outright. Though this rare day off had been enjoyable he still had his duty, and crime was not taken to synchronising its holidays with those of its foes.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled.

"You should take more of your holidays, Jet," Alisa advised. "You work too hard. It's not healthy."

"Would be a hell of a lot less healthy if I didn't work hard," Jet muttered.

Alisa glanced up at Jet just as he glanced down at her.

"You know what I mean," she said. "I'm not asking you to put less effort into your work, I just want you to take the time that's owed you. You'll burn out otherwise."

"I won't burn out," Jet rumbled, defiantly. "Can't afford to. A guy gets sloppy out there and..."

"Jet!" Alisa snapped, quickly righting herself.

Jet took note, as Alisa seldom raised her voice. It was clear that she knew what was coming next, and was less than enthusiastic to hear it.

"You know I don't like it when you talk like that."

"I'm sorry," Jet relented. "It's just that I'm not the only one depending on my abilities out there."

"I know," Alisa said, and rested her head against Jet once more. "To serve and protect."

"That's right."

Alisa sighed.

"Just remember, the citizens of Ganymede aren't the only ones who need you in one piece."

Jet did not respond to this, though he did give just the tiniest of smiles. It was nice to know that he was needed, and even nicer to hear it.

The two rested in silence, basking in the cool glow of the television screen. Neither paid the softly muttering box much heed. Instead, each took more enjoyment from the other's company, and from the memories of a singular day spent in the same.

After a few minutes, and the passing of one anonymous broadcast into another, Alisa spoke.

"So, what do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" Jet replied, the surprise quite evident in his voice.

Alisa sat up once more.

"Yes, tomorrow," she reiterated.

It was only as she looked into Jet's cast of genuine bemusement that she realised he really didn't understand.

"Oh, Jet," she said solemnly. "You're not going to go back tomorrow, are you?"

"Well, I..."

"But you've only taken one day off. It's not enough. You're owed two weeks for this year, and save today you haven't taken a single hour of that."

Jet sighed.

"I know that, but I can't just..."

Jet paused mid sentence, and looked suspiciously into his partner's eyes.

"How do you know I'm owed two weeks?"

Alisa broke eye contact, and hurriedly brushed a couple of strands of her dark hair behind her right ear.

Jet knew that mannerism. It was the one she displayed when she had done something she knew he wouldn't like.

"Alisa?" he said, sternly.

"Jet," she said, tentatively re-establishing eye contact. "I spoke to the captain. Now I know I shouldn't but..."

"Damn it, Alisa," Jet barked. "Why did you have to go behind my back like that? You know you only had to ask..."

"Ask what, Jet," Alisa retorted. "Ask what? It took me a month just to persuade you to take this one day-off. I was afraid to even suggest you take all the time that you're owed."

"So you get me to take this one day just to soften me up?"

"No. No, I just want you to rest a while. Jet, I'm worried about you. This job, these times, they're getting on top of you. Every day you walk out that door, and every evening you come back looking that little bit more tired, and that little bit older. You're pushing yourself too hard, Jet. You're aging too fast."

Jet leaned forward, and rested his elbows against his lap. Staring down at his stocking feet, he let out a long, weary breath. She was right. He couldn't bring himself to say it, but she was right. This past year and been hard, even more so than he had let on. Every day he had encountered some new threat, been exposed to some fresh horror, and bared witness to some new depth of depravity. With each shred of lost faith in his fellow man had gone a little bit of his self. Slowly, but noticeably, the streets had been bleeding the very life from him -- the very slowest of deaths.

But he couldn't tell Alisa; this burden was his to bear. Many times he had been told that a problem shared was a problem halved, but in his opinion a problem shared would be a problem doubled. If only the small pieces of information Alisa had of his work life were enough to fill her with worry, then he dare not contemplate what a full account would do to her.

"I am tired, Alisa," Jet began. "But you have to understand, I have a responsibility; to the public and to my colleagues. I made a promise when I started out that I'd be there for them when needed."

Jet looked up at Alisa.

"They need me, Alisa. Now, more than ever."

"But I need you too."

"I know. That's why I make that promise to you, every morning before I go to work, that I'll come back to you in one piece. And every evening, I keep that promise."

Alisa looked away, and clasped her hands around her coffee mug.

"I wish you wouldn't," she uttered quietly.

"What?"

"I wish you wouldn't make that promise. It's morbid."

Jet didn't know how to take this. Every day since they had moved in together, he had promised her that he would return from work unharmed. It was a valued part of his routine and, he had thought, a part of Alisa's. Just as with any part of his routine, it would difficult to let go. But evidently, this practice only served to upset her. In hindsight, he could understand why that was. Considering all that Alisa was sacrificing just to stay with him, he resolved that it was only fair that he relent on this matter.

"Okay," he said. "I won't do it again."

"Thank you," Alisa said quietly, still staring down into her mug.

Jet gave a tired sigh, and reached his left arm around Alisa's shoulder and drew her in. She did not resist, allowing her head to fall softly against Jet's shoulder.

"I don't think we should talk about this anymore tonight," Jet said.

Alisa did not reply. It seemed she too had no desire to draw out this conversation any further.

And so, the evening drifted on. Neither one of the couple spoke a word, allowing the meandering chatter of the television set to dominate over the background sound.

The gentle flicker of the screen and the monotonous hum of the speakers were proving hypnotic. And, slowly but surely, Jet could feel them lulling him into a much-needed sleep.

Suddenly Jet sat bolt upright, almost knocking Alisa from her purchase in so doing.

The phone was ringing. Its shrill, intrusive call permeated the apartment, shattering the restful ambience and precluding any possibility of sleep for now.

Jet muttered a profanity, and then grudgingly began to raise himself from his chair. However, before he could raise himself to his feet, Alisa placed a staying hand on his shoulder.

"Where are you going, Jet?" she asked wearily.

"The phone," Jet replied; his eyes still fixed on the crying appliance that sat upon a small table next to the door across the room.

Alisa sighed.

"Let it ring, Jet," she said, sleepily.

"No, Alisa. It could be something important."

"It's probably just my mother. I can call her back tomorrow."

Jet sighed, and waited a moment. He was tempted to just let the phone ring, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not while there was even the slightest chance that it could be an important call-out from work.

"I'm sorry, Alisa," Jet said, standing up. "I have to take it."

Stepping carefully past Alisa, Jet made his way across the room, dodging the mismatched items of furniture as he went.

"You were tempted, weren't you?" Alisa said.

Jet stopped, and glanced over his shoulder. In the cold light that radiated from the TV set, he could see Alisa's face smiling softly at him.

"For a moment, you were tempted not to answer it."

She was right. He had been tempted, and indeed, he still was slightly.

Jet looked back to the phone. It was still ringing. Doubtless whoever was calling knew he was there, and deemed their purpose important enough to let the phone ring out.

"I have to," Jet stated, more to himself than Alisa. "What if it's Fad, or the Captain? Alisa, I have to take this call."

"You're still not sure," Alisa said.

Again, she was right. Jet didn't know how she did it. He could hide his anxieties and fears from the most insidious of villains, guarding them behind his chiselled granite features. And yet, this woman could read him with ease, as if everything he felt were typed in boldface across his forehead.

Jet looked away. He didn't know why he was so torn. On any other day he would have answered the phone without hesitation, but today had been so restful. For the first time in months he had been carefree, and now he was finding it difficult to go back to the way things were.

But he had to.

Jet turned for the phone once more.

"Jet," Alisa called.

Jet turned. At that moment, Alisa tossed something to him. A tiny shard of flickering blue light arced across the room towards him. Instinctively, he reached out and plucked it from the air with his left hand.

Opening his hand, he found a small, silver coin nestled in his palm. Jet looked up at Alisa in bemusement.

"Flip it," Alisa said.

This did nothing to alleviate Jet's confusion.

"What?" he asked.

"Flip it," Alisa repeated. "Heads you answer the phone, and tales, you let it ring."

"I don't understand."

"I know it sounds silly, but please, humour me. Jet, don't let your conscience decide. It's not fair on you. You have your own life to lead. Better you should let chance decide for you."

Jet looked down at the coin. It did sound silly. Why should he let this little trinket decide his actions? He was a man of means. He had every right to full control of his fate.

Or did Alisa have a point? Perhaps he had been letting his conscience take precedence over reason and desire. Following such fickle instinct was often little better than flipping a coin.

"Jet, please," pleaded Alisa. "I promise I'll honour the outcome if you do."

Jet glanced over his shoulder. The phone was still ringing. Whatever happened, he would have to take action soon before whoever was on the other end of the line gave in and hung up.

Moving the coin onto the roof of his fist, he coiled up his thumb and then launched the coin skywards. The disk glinted weakly in the pale light, and almost became lost to Jet as it dropped from its zenith.

Nonetheless, Jet was easily able to catch it in his right hand, and then slapped it down against the back of his left. He could feel the smooth, cool surface against his skin. He could even discern its circular shape from the sensation. For a moment, Jet thought he might even be able to determine the outcome from the relief on the coin's face.

"What does it say?" asked Alisa, breaking Jet's concentration.

Jet looked up at Alisa, then back down at his hand. Slowly, he raised his hand from the coin.

Heads.

Jet's heart sank slightly. The sensation came as quite a surprise.

"Heads," he said, careful not to allow any emotion to seep into his voice.

There was a moment of silence as Alisa stared down at the table in front of her. She then peered up at Jet with a look of sad resignation.

"Okay," she relented. "If it's Mom, tell her I'll speak to her tomorrow."

It was then that the ridiculous nature of the situation struck Jet. All this stress and worry over a simple phone call. The likelihood was it was just some telemarketer, or a wrong number. He would probably be right back on that couch next to Alisa in but the few moments required to receive a greeting and accept an apology.

Jet turned, and without a second thought lifted the receiver from the hook.

"Hello, Jet Black speaking."

"Jet," a familiar voice greeted him.

Jet caught his breath for a moment, before replying,

"Fad. What is it?"

"Sorry to bother you on your day off, Jet," Fad said; the tension in his voice almost tangible. "But this is pretty important."

Jet furrowed his brow. It looked like his day off would have to go on hold.

"Something big, huh?" he replied, sternly.

"Huge," said Fad.

He paused.

"We found him, Jet."

Jet drew breath to ask who he was, but stopped as he realised exactly who Fad meant.

Had it been possible, Jet would have furrowed his brow yet further.

"Where is he?" he growled.

"He's at the docks on the East side of town," Fad informed him. "We think he may be meeting his bosses to finalise a contract. Jet, you'd better get down here fast. This may be our only chance to... "

"I'll be there," Jet interrupted.

There was another pause, followed by what sounded almost like a relieved sigh from Fad's end of the line.

"Right," he said. "See you there."

Jet did not respond. He simply lowered the receiver from his ear, looked down into it for a moment, and then replaced it on the hook.

He looked up to Alisa. She was still sat looking down at the table, her ever-cooling cup of coffee clasped tightly between her hands. At that moment, Jet felt a pang of regret.

"That was Fad," he said, though he could tell from Alisa's body language she already knew. It was almost as if she had always known.

Indeed, this information was met with little change from his girlfriend. She didn't move, nor did she speak. She just continued to stair sadly into the wooden surface before her, her forlorn features accentuated in the sombre blue light.

"I have to go out for a while," Jet said, taking his hat and jacket from the hat stand next to the door, and slipping his feet into the shoes at its base.

Still, Alisa did not respond.

Jet looked back to the hat stand. Aside from Alisa's own waste-length leather jacket, the only item remaining was his laden gun holster. He didn't usually leave it there, choosing to put it somewhere out of sight. But today, for some reason, he had chosen to keep it close to hand.

Perhaps he too had known.

Jet dispelled the thought, and plucked the holster from its purchase. Once he had donned his regalia, Jet reached for the keys that lay beside the phone. He stayed his hand, however, and looked over to Alisa.

"Alisa, I..."

"Don't, Jet."

Jet caught his breath. How could he have forgotten so quickly?

"Just go," Alisa said softly. "And come back to me."

Jet gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. He then took his keys from the table, and turned to open the door.

The door gave a mournful creek as, without a backward look, he departed the apartment. It gave little protest as it was pulled closed.

Emerging into the moist night air, Jet tried to put aside the emotions of that evening; he could ill afford such distractions whilst hunting such a dangerous quarry. Allowing, the cool sea breeze to carry his cares away, he comforted himself with the thought of returning home with the relief of an important case closed. Likely it wouldn't take long. He and Fad had done their homework, and knew exactly what they were up against.

With such trusted partners at one another's sides, what could possibly go wrong?