Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Simple Man ❯ Desperado ( Chapter 4 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Faia Saiyajin 
Anime/Manga: Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Martial Arts / Adventure / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 11.12.2002 | Pages: 5 | Words: 5.9K | Visits: 235 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Martial Arts / Adventure / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 11.12.2002 | Pages: 5 | Words: 5.9K | Visits: 235 | Status: Completed
title: Desperado
author: Faia Saiyajin
rating: R
song: "Desperado" The Eagles (have we seen a pattern yet?)
-copyright stuff goes here. Characters and songs copyright their respective owners, everything else is miiiiiiine. ::Evil demonic laughter:: ...Now, I've re-written this chapter about 8 times, which should explain the delay. But my own eagerness at a response from you folks made me screw what would be a 9th draft, just to get this thing out. So here it is. Enjoy, and please, review it. ^_^; Don't make me beg. I'm not good at begging.
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"Desperado
Why don't you come to your senses
You've been out ridin' fences
For so long now"
Faye landed safely on Ganymede. She parked the Red Tail behind the Bulldog Rubber factory, gagging at the stench of rotting materials and chemicals. Sitting on the elliptical cockpit, she pulled out her communicator.
"Spike!" she nearly shrieked, seeing Spiegel's face appear on the tiny screen.
Spike looked just as shocked to see her. "Faye? What in the hell are you doing here? And keep your voice down!" he hissed.
"I'm here to save your ass." She scowled, whispering harshly. Spike looked away a moment, distracted. "Where are you?"
"I'm about to find Jet. I'm in some bar on Union Avenue. It's crawling with thugs."
"I'll be ov-"
"No." Spike's words were firm, his eyes locked on her. "You stay put. I've got it under control."
"You mean you're gonna take on all those guys by yourself? You're nuts."
"I've got it under control, Faye. Stay there. I'll get back in touch when I'm done here." Spike grinned once, and looked at someone, nodding. "Sit tight Faye. ah...you wouldn't happen to have any smokes on you, would you?"
"Yeah..." Faye barely got the words out, before the screen went dark. She slumped down, leaning on her knees. "I have got to have the WORST luck in the entire solar system."
Jet had napped somewhat peacefully in his little prison of a room. Two hours had passed since he had been taken from the Waterfront. He was sitting, eyes closed, when the door opened, and Elenie entered.
"Feeling better, Jet?"
"Surprisingly, yes." He looked at her out of the corner of his slitted eyes. The drugs she had given him earlier had indeed removed the aches he'd been suffering. But, of course, the dull throb of the hangover was still clinging desperately to life.
She flashed a smile. "I'm glad to hear that. You are due to meet with the Council in forty-five minutes. I thought you'd like to freshen up." She flicked on the overhead lights. Jet was nearly blinded, having been lying in near darkness for some time.
Struggling to open his eyes in the piercing blindness of the overhead florescent lights, Jet got to his feet, painstakingly slow. It was fading, his hangover, but it still made him dizzy. And the light didn't help. Once his eyes adjusted, Jet looked around the room.
It was an empty office. Blue carpeting went from wall to wall, the only thing in the room, besides the people. Jet had been in the upper right-hand corner. The door to the hallway was on his left, and on his right, four windows, their blinds tightly drawn. On the wall opposite him, there was another door. Jet blinked, as Elenie, laden down with a few things and a suit bag, motioned him to her.
"Here you go." She opened the door, to a sparse, clean bathroom, all in marble and porcelain. She hung the bag on the coat hook on the wall next to the door, and laid the other items on the black marble countertop. Jet looked at them.
Basic toiletries. Soap, shaving cream, a few plastic razors, toothbrush and toothpaste, a washcloth, and a hairbrush. This last item he looked at, then glanced at her, with a brow raised. She grinned a little and set a pair of black dress shoes on the tile floor, by the toilet. She looked at them longer than necessary, as if to make sure they were really there.
"Whenever you're finished, I'll be in the hallway." She nodded politely, and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Alone in the room, Jet sighed, looking at his reflection in the mirror. "You look like shit." He said to himself. Rubbing his nose briefly, Jet twisted open the stainless steel faucets, running a basin of warm water. When it was full, he unzipped his sweaty, blood spotted jumpsuit, and pulled it down around his waist. His shirt was deposited on the floor. Locking eyes with himself, and at the blood that matted his unruly beard, he dipped the washcloth into the water, gingerly began dabbing at his face.
When he was clean, he surveyed his injury. Nothing major, just a blood scab on his temple, about two inches wide. "Another scar, eh Jet old boy?" he shook his head, and wrung out the cloth, draining the fouled water. He bent with a groan, the floor seeming further away than usual.
He unlatched his boots, and set them aside. Pulling the jumpsuit the rest of the way off, he unzipped the garment bag. On the hanger was a spotless three-piece suit, black with narrow grey pinstripes, a white dress shirt, and a blue tie. Jet took a deep breath.
"My funeral attire, I would suppose." he grumbled, and carefully pulled the slacks from the hanger. He pulled them on, not at all surprised to discover that they fit him perfectly. Next came the shirt, which he tucked into the pants. He stared at the matching vest, complete with a sparkling pocket watch. "Sheesh. These mugs thought of everything." He buttoned the vest, and sat on the toilet seat to put on his shoes. In the left shoe, a bit of black fabric stuck out. He withdrew the socks, and put them on, followed by the left shoe. Sticking his other foot into the right, he nearly jumped when he met an obstacle.
"Eh..?" He muttered, lifting the shoe, looking inside. The sparkle of metal greeted him. Jet's jaw nearly dropped. Reaching in, he withdrew a gun, already loaded, followed by an extra clip. Jet stared at this like it was a gift from the Gods. A smile creased his lips, as he put on the remaining shoe. He stood and tucked the weapon into the waistband of his slacks.
Jet nearly laughed when he looked in the mirror. "This isn't gonna be so bad, after all." He chuckled, flipping up his collar, to knot his tie. The jacket, buttoned down, completed his attire. "I look like a syndicate bastard.." he snorted, smoothing his crown of hair with the palms of his hands, and tugged on his beard before exiting.
Elenie was waiting for him in the hallway. "I suppose you found your clothing to be ...satisfactory?" she smiled at him. A nondescript black man was behind her, glaring at him from behind wire-framed glasses.
Jet returned the grin, knowing that it was she who planted the weapon. "Very much so." His mood matched his tone. Jovial, smug, and downright crafty.
"Excellent." She looked over her shoulder at her partner. "Come, Rhasid." She gestured with her right hand for Jet to go ahead of her. Jet complied, looking around inconspicuously.
The hallway bent at a right angle 40 yards ahead of him. The doors, leading to other offices, Jet presumed, dotted the hallway sparsely. They appeared to be unoccupied. *Must've relocated the current tenants to better quarters.* Jet mused. Overhead, the paneled ceiling was lit with a block of fluorescent lights every other 5 feet.
The trio walked swiftly, turning the corner. This 20-foot expanse was walled in glass, leading to an elevator. Jet glanced down briefly. They were five stories up. He figured that the Council would be on the top floor.
Elenie pressed a button, and the doors slid open, as they entered a round, spacious elevator. It was merely a circular platform that moved up and down on a tube of glass, attached to the building through walkways like the one they were in. Elegant, but dangerous. One false step, and you'd wind up kissing concrete.
"After you, Miss." Rhasid nodded, letting Elenie in.
"Thank you." she smiled curtly. Jet entered next.
Jet watched, somewhat remorsefully, at the surface of Ganymede, as they rose into the air. He crossed his arms, his back rigid. Elenie stood behind him. "What do you want from me?" he said, more of a demand than a question.
Elenie didn't answer. She fixed her blue gaze on the side of the building, as the elevator crept slowly into the sky. Rhasid continued to glare at him with his bleary eyes magnified by his coke-bottles.
Jet nearly lost his temper. "Answer me, damnit!" He turned on his heel, eyes boring into the woman, who drew back in fear. Rhasid, apparently her bodyguard, moved to strike. "Back off, buster, or you'll find yourself doing a swan dive onto Brighton street." Jet hissed, at eye level with him. Rhasid snarled, and prepared to hit him. Jet didn't flinch.
"Rhasid, stand down. Mr. Black asked me a logical question." Elenie said meekly, her slender hand tugging on Rhasid's right shoulder. The guard moved away, but kept his eyes on Jet. Jet continued to shoot a venomous glare at Rhasid. "Jet." Elenie nodded. "I do not know the full reason as to why you were brought here. Only that you have something of ours that we want returned."
Jet pulled his eyes away from her bodyguard. "Like what? I don't have a damn thing of yours!" he put his hands on her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. Rhasid lunged for him, upset that this man had touched his beloved mistress. Jet caught Rhasid's arms, and using all his might, wrenched his body to the left. Rhasid's bulk connected with the glass of the wall, spiderwebbing. Elenie screamed, as Jet pulled back his left hand, and smashed Rhasid's face with one blow of his prosthetic arm. Another punch sent Rhasid out the glass, cartwheeling down to the asphalt, 28 stories below. Elenie screamed once, before Jet grabbed her again. She was petrified.
"Look, lady. You tried to help me. I appreciate that. Honestly. But if you think I'm gonna walk into your boss and act like I know what's going on, you're out of your mind. What do you people want with me?! Give me something to go on here!"
The elevator shuddered, coming to a halt on the 30th floor. "Please." he asked desperately, as the doors opened. Two thugs rushed in, and seized Jet by the arms, dragging him into the hallway. Quince was waiting for him.
"I see we meet again, Mr. Black." he smirked. Elenie, shaken and afraid, stepped from behind Jet. Quince looked at her. "Where is Rhasid?"
Elenie lowered her eyes. Quince knew immediately. "Tsk tsk, Mr. Black. Your temper is going to be your undoing."
"Kiss my ass, you-!!!" Jet's breath was taken from him as Quince hammered his knee into Jet's gut. Jet wheezed, slumping down in the grip of the two men who held him.
Quince kissed Elenie's cheek, and offered his arm. She took it, and looked over her shoulder at Jet, who was still trying to get some air into his deflated lungs. He looked at her once, and there was a pain in his eyes Elenie found disturbing. "Forgive me." She mouthed, as Quince began walking, motioning for the thugs and their captive to follow.
"Destiny awaits." Quince cackled, not turning around. He felt the weight of Jet's eyes on his back. For a moment, Quince's self-esteem and uppity attitude crumbled, and he wondered if it was such a good idea to cross Jet Black.
"You're a hard one
I know that you've got your reasons
These things that are pleasing you
Will hurt you somehow"
Spike was still watching the men in the front of the bar, as they packed away all the things, moving the chairs and tables to the sidewalk outside. Shin stood beside him. Both held their guns at the ready. Spike hadn't seen Jet. It was safe to say that his partner had already been taken. There weren't any high-ranking members here. These guys were here to empty the bar of its contents.
Minutes earlier, Shin had made himself known, overwhelming Spike with joy and confidence. Shin was alive. He'd survived the Red Dragons. If only Lin had been as lucky... But Lin was still present, in the will and image of his twin brother. It had been Shin who had carried the wounded Spike to Doc's, and had vanished without a trace. Until now.
Spike grinned at the young man. "How'd ya find me?"
Shin gave him a look, as if to say 'I have my ways.'
Now they were ready to attack. Two against a dozen were better odds. Not GREAT odds, but better. Shin still wore the formal uniform of the Red Dragons. The Red Dragons and the Rising Phoenix had some nasty skirmishes in the past. Mao, however, refused to call it an all-out feud. Vicious, once he had taken over, had. He made it clear to all other syndicates, especially the White Tigers, that there was no other group as distinguished and powerful as the Red Dragons.
Shin wore his uniform, to display the last bit of pride, honor, and glory that had been the Red Dragons. His gold-braid epaulettes sparkled in the light. His hand tightened on his gun, the other balled into a white-knuckle fist.
"Are we ready, Spike-san?" It felt so good to be fighting alongside his former mentor. He and Lin had adored Spike, and Vicious. But something about Spike, his casual smile, easy-going nature, something made it clear to Lin and Shin that the caring they showed Spike was reciprocated. He saw them as friends, allies. To Vicious, they were willing pawns, something to be molded into bodyguards and cold killers.
"As ready as we'll ever get." Spike looked over his shoulder, at the willowy man-boy. He grinned, and nodded. "Let's knock 'em on their ears."
"You got it." Shin beamed.
"In my pack, there's a few grenades. Grab one for me. We're gonna start this party with a bang."
Shin fetched the small round explosive device, and handed it to Spike, who depressed the lever. He threw it around the corner. The click of hard plastic against the paneled floor caught their attention. Spike and Shin retreated further towards the door, seeking cover behind the massive refrigerator. The men didn't have time to react, as the explosion tore the bar apart.
The gangsters scattered, those still alive seeking cover, drawing their firearms. Spike and Shin came through the smoke, guns blazing.
"You take the right. I'll go left." Spike nodded to Shin. In his mind, Jet said 'You always take the left. Let me have some fun for a while, will you?' Shin dove out from behind the remains of the bar, for an overturned table. The current occupant of said table dropped to the ground, full of burning holes.
Spike went left, and without second thought, took his shot. A body slumped behind the table, the top of his head blown off. The initial grenade had left 6 survivors. Spike and Shin had each killed one.
Spike readied another two grenades, looking across the splintered bar, at Shin. "You idiots have a friend of ours. Tell us what you've done with him!" Spike demanded, peering quickly around his shelter. The 4 left were cowering in fear.
"If we knew, we wouldn't tell you!" a voice rang out, lacking any sort of confidence.
"Thought so." Spike shrugged. He knew where Jet was, of course. But it couldn't have hurt to ask. "Now be a good group of gentleman, and save me a seat in hell. Would ya's?" Spike chuckled, and tossed the activated bombs over his shoulder, where they clattered in the middle of the room. He nodded at Shin, and both ran, hell-bent for leather, out the back door and into the alley.
The following decimated what was left of the Waterfront Bar. Any windows left exploded into the street, killing the rest of the men. Spike and Shin, perched on either side of the door, waited for the smoke to clear.
When it did, the pair re-entered, looking at the corpses scattered about, both wearing matching half-grins. Spike used the tip of his shoe to kick one of the bodies over, and survey the damage done by a combination of bullets and explosives.
"Nice job, ne?" he chuckled, and pulled open the refrigerator.
"As usual, Spike-senpai." Shin nodded.
"Drop the 'Spike-senpai', Shin. I'm no longer your superior. Just call me Spike." Spike, standing before the open refrigerator, selected his drink. Shin stood next to Spike, partitioned off by the thick door of the fridge. "Here. Hold this." Spike said suddenly, his arm poking around the wall.
Shin blinked as he was handed a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Spike closed the fridge, holding two bottles of Wild Turkey. He looked at the bewildered Shin.
"What?" Spike grinned. "Where we're goin', you're gonna need a stiff drink."
"And what're those for?" he motioned to the two bottles Spike had.
"Something special for our friends at the Rising Phoenix." Spike's mouth curved into a slow dark smile.
"Don't you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet
Now it seems to me some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get"
Faye was working on her third cigarette, waiting for Spike's call-in. "Damnit..." she growled, and lifted the com. She was thoroughly fed up with this. Edward appeared on the other end.
"Faye-Faye!" Ed chirped.
"Ed, get me the address of the Rising Phoenix."
Edward, who had already dug it up for Spike, nodded. "It's on 458 West Brighhhhttton Street!" she giggled. Ein barked.
"All right, Ed. Now listen carefully...."
"Desperado
Oh you ain't gettin' any younger
Your pain and your hunger
They're drivin' you home
And freedom,
Oh freedom,
Well that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walkin' through this world all alone"
Jet Black was drug bodily into the Council Chamber, his suit wrinkled and mussed. Quince and Elenie were standing off to the side of the huge desk in the even bigger room, the person in the chair swiveled around to look out the wall that was nothing but pane after pane of glass, looking out over the tall buildings of Ganymede's business district. The remaining three solid walls were covered in elaborate tapestries and paintings, apparently exalting the deeds of the Rising Phoenix, along with a few other well-known villains from ancient history. Artsy-fartsy, these folks. It was all about show.
The thugs dropped him, and exited. Jet smoothed his suit and his wits, standing straight, daring them to say something. In front of Jet, a long wooden table, polished to a high-gloss shine, lay parallel to the desk. About twenty-five feet long, and 6 wide, the equally polished chairs, 12 in number, lined one side, facing the glass wall.
The person in the chair exhaled a puff of smoke, but didn't turn around. "Ah.. Mr. Black. How nice of you to arrive. You've been a great deal of trouble for my men, so I hear." Their left hand, holding a slender cigarette, appeared, bedecked in several rings, a gold watch, and a spotless white suit.
"Well, I tried my best." Jet huffed, crossing his arms.
The chair whirled around, and Jet was facing the head of the Rising Phoenix. It was an old man, perhaps in his late 60's. He was stately, with salt-and-pepper hair, and clean-cut face. He had been handsome in his prime. Now he was nothing more than a greedy old man. Jet eyed him.
"You're probably wondering what has brought you to this place." his voice had a beguiling tone to it. He was the kind of guy who could get anything he desired, with just one word.
"The thought crossed my mind once or twice." he snapped.
"Your friend Angelina, the proprietor of the Waterfront Bar, is safe. So don't worry." He tried his best to put the man at ease. It didn't work. "You, however, could be a problem. So just hand over the chip that has come into your possession, and the two of you are free to go."
"What chip?" Jet's bushy eyebrows knitted together.
"Two weeks ago..." the man paused to take a puff of his cigarette. "Wait. How rude of me. We haven't been introduced yet. I am Jacques. Jacques DeMonet. The head of this establishment."
"I'd say I was pleased to meet you, but that'd be a lie." Jet growled. Jacques didn't flinch.
"Take it easy, Mr. Black. Or may I call you Jet?"
"Jet." he said simply.
"Yes, Jet." he smiled. "Back to the reason why you are here." He snubbed out his cigarette. "Two weeks ago, you visited a fine restaurant on Mars, looking for a certain man called The City Slayer. Correct?"
Jet nodded. He had gone looking for the 30 Million bounty, but it hadn't turned out in his favor.
"Yes, well, while you were waiting, a terrible error was made. You were given an item that was meant for one of my associates. And before that error could be rectified, you left."
That's when Jet remembered. He'd found a sort of microchip embedded in the wine list, and taken it back to the Bebop. He hadn't found anything special about it, and dismissed it. Just a regular chip. Encoded so well, that even he couldn't decipher its contents. Edward would have come in handy, but at the time, Edward wasn't around. "What was it for?"
"Well, it's a long, complicated ordeal. But a very profitable ordeal, if you play along." He smiled.
"I'm listening." Jet's ears perked up.
"Well, it has to do with Ms. Angelina's bar. Underneath it, buried under the foundation, is a compound. It is in very short supply, however. The Waterfront Bar sits on the largest concentration of this mineral. It is used in forming the narcotic affectionately known as Hot Ice."
*Hot Ice?* Jet paused, wondering what this drug was. He hadn't heard anything about it.
"This anodyne was popular during the first colonization of Callisto. When administered, in small doses, it raises the body temperature, making the user able to fight against the harsh climate. It also deadens the pain receptors for cold. But taken in large quantities, it produces a much desired hallucinogenic effect." Jacques said, leaning forward in his chair. "Don't ask me how... I just know that it is popular with both young and old." he smiled again, a creepy, calculating sort of smile.
Jet looked stunned.
"But you see, my dear friend, the drug can't be completed without this chip you have. It runs the machines that extract the chemicals needed to produce the Hot Ice. And without it... well... the Hot Ice melts. And that's not very good for money."
"I see... so you need me.. well, this chip, to run your business." *Or what's left of it...*
"Now we understand each other. And if you cooperate, like I stated before, you will be more than compensated."
"Hm.." Jet rubbed his chin, feigning interest. "There's one minor hitch. In your haste to collect me, you collected only me. Your chip is on my star craft."
Jacques' grin never wavered in its facade of kindness. There was a snake under that smile. A nasty, crotchety old snake. "And where is your ship?"
"When I last left it, it was orbiting Mars." Jet said simply. *This guy is good. Real good. It would be very beneficial to play along.* To Jet, Mr. Jacques DeMonet was a king, sitting on a throne that was only millimeters from toppling. *They need this microchip. Without it, they haven't anything to go on. Producing this drug would put them back on top. ...It's a new age, Jet. Narcs are all the rage, and the demand is high.*
"Ah. I see." DeMonet sank back in his plush leather chair. "Well, until we can go and retrieve it, you will be a temporary member of the Rising Phoenix. Of course, if you perform well, your status will be more... permanent." His smile widened. "I hear that you are an ex-ISSP officer. We may use that to our advantage."
Still standing off to the side, Quince tried his best to keep from looking surprised. *Old coots, both of them. One is gonna betray the other, and I'll be left to pick up the pieces. Goddamnit.. I shoulda offed the money-loving bastard when I had the chance. I'd show him how a real drug ring is run...* Quince' lip twitched, itching to form into a distasteful sneer at the old man and the captive.
"As long as I can be of service." Jet matched Jacques' dark smile. He had to get in touch with Faye, quickly. "You are going to negate the bounty placed on me, I hope."
"Of course, of course. It was canceled the moment I was alerted of your presence in this building." Jacques stood, and held out his hand. Jet stepped forward, and shook it. "Welcome to the Rising Phoenix, Jet Black."
"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. DeMonet."
"Don't your feet get cold in the wintertime
The sky won't snow
And the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the nighttime from the day
You're loosin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feelin' goes away"
Spike and Shin ran for all they were worth, to the address Ed had given Spike before he left. In his arsenal, Spike had four grenades left, and a dozen or so clips of ammunition.
"Spike..." Shin wheezed. "You never explained to me why you are after the Rising Phoenix."
"They've taken my partner hostage. Put a bounty on his head." Spike glanced at Shin, who was holding his own. He grinned, and focused on running. Neurodyne Technologies, the cover operation for the Rising Phoenix, loomed in. *Yeah... these guys -are- old-fashioned. Only the geezers run a front anymore.* Spike bobbed his eyebrows. He was enjoying this. "There it is."
The two slowed, and looked at the fortress they had to conquer. "You're sure we can do this?" Shin looked to the older man. Spike wore his usual emotion. Amusement. This was all a game to him. But then again, when he was the Green Dragon, it was the same.
"Of course." Spike sneered.
"We could get caught.." Shin whispered. He wasn't afraid, not a bit. But he was worried. Spike either had a death wish, or thought he was invincible.
"I was never one for being subtle." Spike said, and pulled the bottle of Jack Daniel's from his pack. The brown liquor had only two shots missing, and Shin swore he could still feel the numbing warmth in his throat.
Spike sat against the left hand wall of Neurodyne Tech, hidden from the doormen and security guards out front, undoing his tie. "You think these boys want a drink?" He chuckled, before he used his teeth to split the tie into thirds.
"What're you going to serve them?" Shin laughed, pulling another gun from Spike's pack, loading it with a full clip.
"A personal favorite. A cocktail, Molotov style." Spike glanced at Shin, amusement in his red-brown eyes. He stuffed the end of one strip of fabric into the throat of the bottle, until it was soaking up the alcohol. He did the same with the bottles of Wild Turkey. He brandished his lighter.
"Ready to rumble?"
"As always, Spike." he said, standing.
"Good. You open the door for me. It'll be a run-by arson." He lit the three fuses. It would take a second for them to burn down into the bottle and cause the boom. "Go!"
Shin darted around the corner, and nodded to the small group outside, he opened the door, like he was going to enter. Then Spike, a slender flurry of arms and legs, tore by, tossing the three bottles into the lobby in quick succession.
The alcohol that the cloth had absorbed made it burn faster, and Shin and Spike took off for the opposite end of the building.
The handful of people in the foyer watched as the little bombs soared through the air, too surprised to realize what they were. The second the Molotov's hit the ground, the glass shattered, liquor spraying everywhere. The flame licked it up, spreading along the carpet. Those in the lobby ran for cover.
The security guards ran after the two culprits, but Spike was waiting for them at the corner.
"Hya!" Spike grunted, one guard knocked unconscious with a savage kick to his face. The other was taken care of in the same fashion. They then went back to the entrance.
"Tactful, Spike." Shin grumbled, seeing the damage that Spike's little calling card had done. The fire was now working on consuming the front desk, and the padded chairs. It'd hit the walls soon, at any rate. "The sprinkler systems should be coming on."
"Why aren't there any alarms...?" Spike blinked.
"WATCH OUT!!" Shin roared, pulling Spike to the side, and out of the way, as a smart little grey ship zoomed in overhead. The sound of machine guns firing filled the air.
"Faye?!" Spike blinked, sitting up, as the noise stopped. The Red Tail landed on the sidewalk, and Faye Valentine stepped out.
"You dolt. Have you ever heard of anything called a plan?" she said, hands on her hips.
Spike gave her a look. Shin hid a smile. But the brief moment of humor was over, as a dozen or so syndicate members came around the building. Faye climbed back into the Red Tail. "Get on!" She yelled. The two men scrambled onto the sides of the craft, as Faye took off, mowing down the people who would have killed them.
"Nice piloting, Faye." Spike muttered to himself, holding for dear life onto the ship, the other holding out his gun. On the opposite end, Shin did the same.
Out of the range of gunfire, Faye's craft zipped around the building. It spiraled upwards, landing on the roof. Spike was immediately off and running, Shin on his coattails.
"SPIEGEL!! Would you stay still for TWO MINUTES while I explain the FREAKING PLAN?!?!" Faye screeched after him.
Spike looked over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth forming into a grin. He and Shin both kicked stairwell door open, and disappeared. Faye sighed, and climbed back into the cockpit of the Red Tail. The plan that she and Edward had hatched, that is, to leave the Rising Phoenix completely in the dark about her presence, figuratively and literally, had been shot to hell by the reckless lunkhead that was Spike Spiegel. Faye huffed, and leaned back in the seat, lighting a cigarette. They'd be back. Men always came back for Faye Valentine. Faye just hoped that this time it'd be with good intentions.
"...Yeah, and I love you too, you idiot."
"Desperado,
Why don't you come to your senses
Come down from your fences,
Open the gate
It may be rainin'
But there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you,
You better let somebody love you,
Before it's too late..."
"What in the blue hell is going on?!" Jet looked around, alarmed. There was a commotion of people, shouting, the sound of many feet running. But no sort of siren or other warning bell. Peculiar. Jet nearly jumped when someone bolted through the door.
"Mr. DeMonet! There are several intruders in the building. You must evacuate."
Jacques stood calmly, smoothing his suit. Elenie and Quince followed him. "In my desk, Mr. Black, you will find the weapons we confiscated from your personage. Retrieve them, and make sure you use them properly." Jacques gave him a cold stare, giving Jet his first orders, without even saying the word. "We will take your lady friend with us. ...I will contact you when this ordeal is over." Elenie tossed one last desperate look over her shoulder, as Quince pulled her along.
"Yes, sir." Jet nodded, as the old man and his thrall exited. At least Angelina was out of harm's way. Out of the fire and into the frying pan, so to speak. They were headed down to the basement, to where several inconspicuous vehicles waited, to spirit the important members away to safety. When his boss had left, Jet leapt the desk, and threw the drawers open, until he found his gun. Resisting the urge to kiss it, he went into the hallway. "What's all the hullabaloo about?" He said, stopping the first person to run by.
"Two men have started a fire in the lobby. They are now on the roof, heading downstairs." He nodded frantically. "Orders are to make a hasty retreat."
"You make sure everyone gets out safely. Leave the two of them to me." He let the young boy run off, and went in the opposite direction, which was up the hall, a dead-end. Twenty yards ahead of him, there was a light grey door, the narrow window on the left hand side lined in wire. Bold red lettering on the grey paint made it clear that this was the rooftop staircase. *Bad idea.* Jet said. *To put the leader to such an accessible location.* Jet smirked. He remembered the empty offices below. *Must've been intentional. Someone wants this guy dead. Instinct tells me it was my good friend Quince.*
Keeping his back to the left-hand wall, Jet through the window, seeing two shadows descend. "If you think I'm gonna let you two idiots blow the biggest drug-related bounty in the history of the Solar System, you're out of your pea brained minds." Jet hissed. He put his left shoulder on the doorjamb, in his left hand his gun, the right clutching the flat, metal door handle. It would swing open towards him.
"And a-one, and a-two..." A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. "...Four... FIVE!" He practically pulled the door off the hinges, and rotated his body, so that he filled the doorway with his broad frame, his gun aimed on the first intruder.
Spike was on the second stair from the bottom, Shin on the one above. The door opened suddenly, and Shin, with his itchy trigger finger, wasted no time. Spike was nearly deafened by the bullet, expelled over his left shoulder. That's when he saw who it was. "JET!!" He howled. But it was too late. Nothing could stop a bullet. Not good karma, not a miracle. Well, maybe a miracle could, but it wasn't in Spike's nature to rely on miracles.
Jet's eyes opened wide in a double dose of surprise. "SPIKE?!" He managed to yell, a smile just beginning to form on his face, before the bullet struck him in the chest.
...Nice Shootin, Tex...
---
To be concluded. >D And so, yet again, I manage to continue my evil nature. Stay tuned for the final part ...::ahem:: ...hopefully ... of 'Simple Man'.
author: Faia Saiyajin
rating: R
song: "Desperado" The Eagles (have we seen a pattern yet?)
-copyright stuff goes here. Characters and songs copyright their respective owners, everything else is miiiiiiine. ::Evil demonic laughter:: ...Now, I've re-written this chapter about 8 times, which should explain the delay. But my own eagerness at a response from you folks made me screw what would be a 9th draft, just to get this thing out. So here it is. Enjoy, and please, review it. ^_^; Don't make me beg. I'm not good at begging.
---------------
"Desperado
Why don't you come to your senses
You've been out ridin' fences
For so long now"
Faye landed safely on Ganymede. She parked the Red Tail behind the Bulldog Rubber factory, gagging at the stench of rotting materials and chemicals. Sitting on the elliptical cockpit, she pulled out her communicator.
"Spike!" she nearly shrieked, seeing Spiegel's face appear on the tiny screen.
Spike looked just as shocked to see her. "Faye? What in the hell are you doing here? And keep your voice down!" he hissed.
"I'm here to save your ass." She scowled, whispering harshly. Spike looked away a moment, distracted. "Where are you?"
"I'm about to find Jet. I'm in some bar on Union Avenue. It's crawling with thugs."
"I'll be ov-"
"No." Spike's words were firm, his eyes locked on her. "You stay put. I've got it under control."
"You mean you're gonna take on all those guys by yourself? You're nuts."
"I've got it under control, Faye. Stay there. I'll get back in touch when I'm done here." Spike grinned once, and looked at someone, nodding. "Sit tight Faye. ah...you wouldn't happen to have any smokes on you, would you?"
"Yeah..." Faye barely got the words out, before the screen went dark. She slumped down, leaning on her knees. "I have got to have the WORST luck in the entire solar system."
Jet had napped somewhat peacefully in his little prison of a room. Two hours had passed since he had been taken from the Waterfront. He was sitting, eyes closed, when the door opened, and Elenie entered.
"Feeling better, Jet?"
"Surprisingly, yes." He looked at her out of the corner of his slitted eyes. The drugs she had given him earlier had indeed removed the aches he'd been suffering. But, of course, the dull throb of the hangover was still clinging desperately to life.
She flashed a smile. "I'm glad to hear that. You are due to meet with the Council in forty-five minutes. I thought you'd like to freshen up." She flicked on the overhead lights. Jet was nearly blinded, having been lying in near darkness for some time.
Struggling to open his eyes in the piercing blindness of the overhead florescent lights, Jet got to his feet, painstakingly slow. It was fading, his hangover, but it still made him dizzy. And the light didn't help. Once his eyes adjusted, Jet looked around the room.
It was an empty office. Blue carpeting went from wall to wall, the only thing in the room, besides the people. Jet had been in the upper right-hand corner. The door to the hallway was on his left, and on his right, four windows, their blinds tightly drawn. On the wall opposite him, there was another door. Jet blinked, as Elenie, laden down with a few things and a suit bag, motioned him to her.
"Here you go." She opened the door, to a sparse, clean bathroom, all in marble and porcelain. She hung the bag on the coat hook on the wall next to the door, and laid the other items on the black marble countertop. Jet looked at them.
Basic toiletries. Soap, shaving cream, a few plastic razors, toothbrush and toothpaste, a washcloth, and a hairbrush. This last item he looked at, then glanced at her, with a brow raised. She grinned a little and set a pair of black dress shoes on the tile floor, by the toilet. She looked at them longer than necessary, as if to make sure they were really there.
"Whenever you're finished, I'll be in the hallway." She nodded politely, and left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Alone in the room, Jet sighed, looking at his reflection in the mirror. "You look like shit." He said to himself. Rubbing his nose briefly, Jet twisted open the stainless steel faucets, running a basin of warm water. When it was full, he unzipped his sweaty, blood spotted jumpsuit, and pulled it down around his waist. His shirt was deposited on the floor. Locking eyes with himself, and at the blood that matted his unruly beard, he dipped the washcloth into the water, gingerly began dabbing at his face.
When he was clean, he surveyed his injury. Nothing major, just a blood scab on his temple, about two inches wide. "Another scar, eh Jet old boy?" he shook his head, and wrung out the cloth, draining the fouled water. He bent with a groan, the floor seeming further away than usual.
He unlatched his boots, and set them aside. Pulling the jumpsuit the rest of the way off, he unzipped the garment bag. On the hanger was a spotless three-piece suit, black with narrow grey pinstripes, a white dress shirt, and a blue tie. Jet took a deep breath.
"My funeral attire, I would suppose." he grumbled, and carefully pulled the slacks from the hanger. He pulled them on, not at all surprised to discover that they fit him perfectly. Next came the shirt, which he tucked into the pants. He stared at the matching vest, complete with a sparkling pocket watch. "Sheesh. These mugs thought of everything." He buttoned the vest, and sat on the toilet seat to put on his shoes. In the left shoe, a bit of black fabric stuck out. He withdrew the socks, and put them on, followed by the left shoe. Sticking his other foot into the right, he nearly jumped when he met an obstacle.
"Eh..?" He muttered, lifting the shoe, looking inside. The sparkle of metal greeted him. Jet's jaw nearly dropped. Reaching in, he withdrew a gun, already loaded, followed by an extra clip. Jet stared at this like it was a gift from the Gods. A smile creased his lips, as he put on the remaining shoe. He stood and tucked the weapon into the waistband of his slacks.
Jet nearly laughed when he looked in the mirror. "This isn't gonna be so bad, after all." He chuckled, flipping up his collar, to knot his tie. The jacket, buttoned down, completed his attire. "I look like a syndicate bastard.." he snorted, smoothing his crown of hair with the palms of his hands, and tugged on his beard before exiting.
Elenie was waiting for him in the hallway. "I suppose you found your clothing to be ...satisfactory?" she smiled at him. A nondescript black man was behind her, glaring at him from behind wire-framed glasses.
Jet returned the grin, knowing that it was she who planted the weapon. "Very much so." His mood matched his tone. Jovial, smug, and downright crafty.
"Excellent." She looked over her shoulder at her partner. "Come, Rhasid." She gestured with her right hand for Jet to go ahead of her. Jet complied, looking around inconspicuously.
The hallway bent at a right angle 40 yards ahead of him. The doors, leading to other offices, Jet presumed, dotted the hallway sparsely. They appeared to be unoccupied. *Must've relocated the current tenants to better quarters.* Jet mused. Overhead, the paneled ceiling was lit with a block of fluorescent lights every other 5 feet.
The trio walked swiftly, turning the corner. This 20-foot expanse was walled in glass, leading to an elevator. Jet glanced down briefly. They were five stories up. He figured that the Council would be on the top floor.
Elenie pressed a button, and the doors slid open, as they entered a round, spacious elevator. It was merely a circular platform that moved up and down on a tube of glass, attached to the building through walkways like the one they were in. Elegant, but dangerous. One false step, and you'd wind up kissing concrete.
"After you, Miss." Rhasid nodded, letting Elenie in.
"Thank you." she smiled curtly. Jet entered next.
Jet watched, somewhat remorsefully, at the surface of Ganymede, as they rose into the air. He crossed his arms, his back rigid. Elenie stood behind him. "What do you want from me?" he said, more of a demand than a question.
Elenie didn't answer. She fixed her blue gaze on the side of the building, as the elevator crept slowly into the sky. Rhasid continued to glare at him with his bleary eyes magnified by his coke-bottles.
Jet nearly lost his temper. "Answer me, damnit!" He turned on his heel, eyes boring into the woman, who drew back in fear. Rhasid, apparently her bodyguard, moved to strike. "Back off, buster, or you'll find yourself doing a swan dive onto Brighton street." Jet hissed, at eye level with him. Rhasid snarled, and prepared to hit him. Jet didn't flinch.
"Rhasid, stand down. Mr. Black asked me a logical question." Elenie said meekly, her slender hand tugging on Rhasid's right shoulder. The guard moved away, but kept his eyes on Jet. Jet continued to shoot a venomous glare at Rhasid. "Jet." Elenie nodded. "I do not know the full reason as to why you were brought here. Only that you have something of ours that we want returned."
Jet pulled his eyes away from her bodyguard. "Like what? I don't have a damn thing of yours!" he put his hands on her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. Rhasid lunged for him, upset that this man had touched his beloved mistress. Jet caught Rhasid's arms, and using all his might, wrenched his body to the left. Rhasid's bulk connected with the glass of the wall, spiderwebbing. Elenie screamed, as Jet pulled back his left hand, and smashed Rhasid's face with one blow of his prosthetic arm. Another punch sent Rhasid out the glass, cartwheeling down to the asphalt, 28 stories below. Elenie screamed once, before Jet grabbed her again. She was petrified.
"Look, lady. You tried to help me. I appreciate that. Honestly. But if you think I'm gonna walk into your boss and act like I know what's going on, you're out of your mind. What do you people want with me?! Give me something to go on here!"
The elevator shuddered, coming to a halt on the 30th floor. "Please." he asked desperately, as the doors opened. Two thugs rushed in, and seized Jet by the arms, dragging him into the hallway. Quince was waiting for him.
"I see we meet again, Mr. Black." he smirked. Elenie, shaken and afraid, stepped from behind Jet. Quince looked at her. "Where is Rhasid?"
Elenie lowered her eyes. Quince knew immediately. "Tsk tsk, Mr. Black. Your temper is going to be your undoing."
"Kiss my ass, you-!!!" Jet's breath was taken from him as Quince hammered his knee into Jet's gut. Jet wheezed, slumping down in the grip of the two men who held him.
Quince kissed Elenie's cheek, and offered his arm. She took it, and looked over her shoulder at Jet, who was still trying to get some air into his deflated lungs. He looked at her once, and there was a pain in his eyes Elenie found disturbing. "Forgive me." She mouthed, as Quince began walking, motioning for the thugs and their captive to follow.
"Destiny awaits." Quince cackled, not turning around. He felt the weight of Jet's eyes on his back. For a moment, Quince's self-esteem and uppity attitude crumbled, and he wondered if it was such a good idea to cross Jet Black.
"You're a hard one
I know that you've got your reasons
These things that are pleasing you
Will hurt you somehow"
Spike was still watching the men in the front of the bar, as they packed away all the things, moving the chairs and tables to the sidewalk outside. Shin stood beside him. Both held their guns at the ready. Spike hadn't seen Jet. It was safe to say that his partner had already been taken. There weren't any high-ranking members here. These guys were here to empty the bar of its contents.
Minutes earlier, Shin had made himself known, overwhelming Spike with joy and confidence. Shin was alive. He'd survived the Red Dragons. If only Lin had been as lucky... But Lin was still present, in the will and image of his twin brother. It had been Shin who had carried the wounded Spike to Doc's, and had vanished without a trace. Until now.
Spike grinned at the young man. "How'd ya find me?"
Shin gave him a look, as if to say 'I have my ways.'
Now they were ready to attack. Two against a dozen were better odds. Not GREAT odds, but better. Shin still wore the formal uniform of the Red Dragons. The Red Dragons and the Rising Phoenix had some nasty skirmishes in the past. Mao, however, refused to call it an all-out feud. Vicious, once he had taken over, had. He made it clear to all other syndicates, especially the White Tigers, that there was no other group as distinguished and powerful as the Red Dragons.
Shin wore his uniform, to display the last bit of pride, honor, and glory that had been the Red Dragons. His gold-braid epaulettes sparkled in the light. His hand tightened on his gun, the other balled into a white-knuckle fist.
"Are we ready, Spike-san?" It felt so good to be fighting alongside his former mentor. He and Lin had adored Spike, and Vicious. But something about Spike, his casual smile, easy-going nature, something made it clear to Lin and Shin that the caring they showed Spike was reciprocated. He saw them as friends, allies. To Vicious, they were willing pawns, something to be molded into bodyguards and cold killers.
"As ready as we'll ever get." Spike looked over his shoulder, at the willowy man-boy. He grinned, and nodded. "Let's knock 'em on their ears."
"You got it." Shin beamed.
"In my pack, there's a few grenades. Grab one for me. We're gonna start this party with a bang."
Shin fetched the small round explosive device, and handed it to Spike, who depressed the lever. He threw it around the corner. The click of hard plastic against the paneled floor caught their attention. Spike and Shin retreated further towards the door, seeking cover behind the massive refrigerator. The men didn't have time to react, as the explosion tore the bar apart.
The gangsters scattered, those still alive seeking cover, drawing their firearms. Spike and Shin came through the smoke, guns blazing.
"You take the right. I'll go left." Spike nodded to Shin. In his mind, Jet said 'You always take the left. Let me have some fun for a while, will you?' Shin dove out from behind the remains of the bar, for an overturned table. The current occupant of said table dropped to the ground, full of burning holes.
Spike went left, and without second thought, took his shot. A body slumped behind the table, the top of his head blown off. The initial grenade had left 6 survivors. Spike and Shin had each killed one.
Spike readied another two grenades, looking across the splintered bar, at Shin. "You idiots have a friend of ours. Tell us what you've done with him!" Spike demanded, peering quickly around his shelter. The 4 left were cowering in fear.
"If we knew, we wouldn't tell you!" a voice rang out, lacking any sort of confidence.
"Thought so." Spike shrugged. He knew where Jet was, of course. But it couldn't have hurt to ask. "Now be a good group of gentleman, and save me a seat in hell. Would ya's?" Spike chuckled, and tossed the activated bombs over his shoulder, where they clattered in the middle of the room. He nodded at Shin, and both ran, hell-bent for leather, out the back door and into the alley.
The following decimated what was left of the Waterfront Bar. Any windows left exploded into the street, killing the rest of the men. Spike and Shin, perched on either side of the door, waited for the smoke to clear.
When it did, the pair re-entered, looking at the corpses scattered about, both wearing matching half-grins. Spike used the tip of his shoe to kick one of the bodies over, and survey the damage done by a combination of bullets and explosives.
"Nice job, ne?" he chuckled, and pulled open the refrigerator.
"As usual, Spike-senpai." Shin nodded.
"Drop the 'Spike-senpai', Shin. I'm no longer your superior. Just call me Spike." Spike, standing before the open refrigerator, selected his drink. Shin stood next to Spike, partitioned off by the thick door of the fridge. "Here. Hold this." Spike said suddenly, his arm poking around the wall.
Shin blinked as he was handed a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Spike closed the fridge, holding two bottles of Wild Turkey. He looked at the bewildered Shin.
"What?" Spike grinned. "Where we're goin', you're gonna need a stiff drink."
"And what're those for?" he motioned to the two bottles Spike had.
"Something special for our friends at the Rising Phoenix." Spike's mouth curved into a slow dark smile.
"Don't you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet
Now it seems to me some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get"
Faye was working on her third cigarette, waiting for Spike's call-in. "Damnit..." she growled, and lifted the com. She was thoroughly fed up with this. Edward appeared on the other end.
"Faye-Faye!" Ed chirped.
"Ed, get me the address of the Rising Phoenix."
Edward, who had already dug it up for Spike, nodded. "It's on 458 West Brighhhhttton Street!" she giggled. Ein barked.
"All right, Ed. Now listen carefully...."
"Desperado
Oh you ain't gettin' any younger
Your pain and your hunger
They're drivin' you home
And freedom,
Oh freedom,
Well that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walkin' through this world all alone"
Jet Black was drug bodily into the Council Chamber, his suit wrinkled and mussed. Quince and Elenie were standing off to the side of the huge desk in the even bigger room, the person in the chair swiveled around to look out the wall that was nothing but pane after pane of glass, looking out over the tall buildings of Ganymede's business district. The remaining three solid walls were covered in elaborate tapestries and paintings, apparently exalting the deeds of the Rising Phoenix, along with a few other well-known villains from ancient history. Artsy-fartsy, these folks. It was all about show.
The thugs dropped him, and exited. Jet smoothed his suit and his wits, standing straight, daring them to say something. In front of Jet, a long wooden table, polished to a high-gloss shine, lay parallel to the desk. About twenty-five feet long, and 6 wide, the equally polished chairs, 12 in number, lined one side, facing the glass wall.
The person in the chair exhaled a puff of smoke, but didn't turn around. "Ah.. Mr. Black. How nice of you to arrive. You've been a great deal of trouble for my men, so I hear." Their left hand, holding a slender cigarette, appeared, bedecked in several rings, a gold watch, and a spotless white suit.
"Well, I tried my best." Jet huffed, crossing his arms.
The chair whirled around, and Jet was facing the head of the Rising Phoenix. It was an old man, perhaps in his late 60's. He was stately, with salt-and-pepper hair, and clean-cut face. He had been handsome in his prime. Now he was nothing more than a greedy old man. Jet eyed him.
"You're probably wondering what has brought you to this place." his voice had a beguiling tone to it. He was the kind of guy who could get anything he desired, with just one word.
"The thought crossed my mind once or twice." he snapped.
"Your friend Angelina, the proprietor of the Waterfront Bar, is safe. So don't worry." He tried his best to put the man at ease. It didn't work. "You, however, could be a problem. So just hand over the chip that has come into your possession, and the two of you are free to go."
"What chip?" Jet's bushy eyebrows knitted together.
"Two weeks ago..." the man paused to take a puff of his cigarette. "Wait. How rude of me. We haven't been introduced yet. I am Jacques. Jacques DeMonet. The head of this establishment."
"I'd say I was pleased to meet you, but that'd be a lie." Jet growled. Jacques didn't flinch.
"Take it easy, Mr. Black. Or may I call you Jet?"
"Jet." he said simply.
"Yes, Jet." he smiled. "Back to the reason why you are here." He snubbed out his cigarette. "Two weeks ago, you visited a fine restaurant on Mars, looking for a certain man called The City Slayer. Correct?"
Jet nodded. He had gone looking for the 30 Million bounty, but it hadn't turned out in his favor.
"Yes, well, while you were waiting, a terrible error was made. You were given an item that was meant for one of my associates. And before that error could be rectified, you left."
That's when Jet remembered. He'd found a sort of microchip embedded in the wine list, and taken it back to the Bebop. He hadn't found anything special about it, and dismissed it. Just a regular chip. Encoded so well, that even he couldn't decipher its contents. Edward would have come in handy, but at the time, Edward wasn't around. "What was it for?"
"Well, it's a long, complicated ordeal. But a very profitable ordeal, if you play along." He smiled.
"I'm listening." Jet's ears perked up.
"Well, it has to do with Ms. Angelina's bar. Underneath it, buried under the foundation, is a compound. It is in very short supply, however. The Waterfront Bar sits on the largest concentration of this mineral. It is used in forming the narcotic affectionately known as Hot Ice."
*Hot Ice?* Jet paused, wondering what this drug was. He hadn't heard anything about it.
"This anodyne was popular during the first colonization of Callisto. When administered, in small doses, it raises the body temperature, making the user able to fight against the harsh climate. It also deadens the pain receptors for cold. But taken in large quantities, it produces a much desired hallucinogenic effect." Jacques said, leaning forward in his chair. "Don't ask me how... I just know that it is popular with both young and old." he smiled again, a creepy, calculating sort of smile.
Jet looked stunned.
"But you see, my dear friend, the drug can't be completed without this chip you have. It runs the machines that extract the chemicals needed to produce the Hot Ice. And without it... well... the Hot Ice melts. And that's not very good for money."
"I see... so you need me.. well, this chip, to run your business." *Or what's left of it...*
"Now we understand each other. And if you cooperate, like I stated before, you will be more than compensated."
"Hm.." Jet rubbed his chin, feigning interest. "There's one minor hitch. In your haste to collect me, you collected only me. Your chip is on my star craft."
Jacques' grin never wavered in its facade of kindness. There was a snake under that smile. A nasty, crotchety old snake. "And where is your ship?"
"When I last left it, it was orbiting Mars." Jet said simply. *This guy is good. Real good. It would be very beneficial to play along.* To Jet, Mr. Jacques DeMonet was a king, sitting on a throne that was only millimeters from toppling. *They need this microchip. Without it, they haven't anything to go on. Producing this drug would put them back on top. ...It's a new age, Jet. Narcs are all the rage, and the demand is high.*
"Ah. I see." DeMonet sank back in his plush leather chair. "Well, until we can go and retrieve it, you will be a temporary member of the Rising Phoenix. Of course, if you perform well, your status will be more... permanent." His smile widened. "I hear that you are an ex-ISSP officer. We may use that to our advantage."
Still standing off to the side, Quince tried his best to keep from looking surprised. *Old coots, both of them. One is gonna betray the other, and I'll be left to pick up the pieces. Goddamnit.. I shoulda offed the money-loving bastard when I had the chance. I'd show him how a real drug ring is run...* Quince' lip twitched, itching to form into a distasteful sneer at the old man and the captive.
"As long as I can be of service." Jet matched Jacques' dark smile. He had to get in touch with Faye, quickly. "You are going to negate the bounty placed on me, I hope."
"Of course, of course. It was canceled the moment I was alerted of your presence in this building." Jacques stood, and held out his hand. Jet stepped forward, and shook it. "Welcome to the Rising Phoenix, Jet Black."
"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. DeMonet."
"Don't your feet get cold in the wintertime
The sky won't snow
And the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the nighttime from the day
You're loosin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feelin' goes away"
Spike and Shin ran for all they were worth, to the address Ed had given Spike before he left. In his arsenal, Spike had four grenades left, and a dozen or so clips of ammunition.
"Spike..." Shin wheezed. "You never explained to me why you are after the Rising Phoenix."
"They've taken my partner hostage. Put a bounty on his head." Spike glanced at Shin, who was holding his own. He grinned, and focused on running. Neurodyne Technologies, the cover operation for the Rising Phoenix, loomed in. *Yeah... these guys -are- old-fashioned. Only the geezers run a front anymore.* Spike bobbed his eyebrows. He was enjoying this. "There it is."
The two slowed, and looked at the fortress they had to conquer. "You're sure we can do this?" Shin looked to the older man. Spike wore his usual emotion. Amusement. This was all a game to him. But then again, when he was the Green Dragon, it was the same.
"Of course." Spike sneered.
"We could get caught.." Shin whispered. He wasn't afraid, not a bit. But he was worried. Spike either had a death wish, or thought he was invincible.
"I was never one for being subtle." Spike said, and pulled the bottle of Jack Daniel's from his pack. The brown liquor had only two shots missing, and Shin swore he could still feel the numbing warmth in his throat.
Spike sat against the left hand wall of Neurodyne Tech, hidden from the doormen and security guards out front, undoing his tie. "You think these boys want a drink?" He chuckled, before he used his teeth to split the tie into thirds.
"What're you going to serve them?" Shin laughed, pulling another gun from Spike's pack, loading it with a full clip.
"A personal favorite. A cocktail, Molotov style." Spike glanced at Shin, amusement in his red-brown eyes. He stuffed the end of one strip of fabric into the throat of the bottle, until it was soaking up the alcohol. He did the same with the bottles of Wild Turkey. He brandished his lighter.
"Ready to rumble?"
"As always, Spike." he said, standing.
"Good. You open the door for me. It'll be a run-by arson." He lit the three fuses. It would take a second for them to burn down into the bottle and cause the boom. "Go!"
Shin darted around the corner, and nodded to the small group outside, he opened the door, like he was going to enter. Then Spike, a slender flurry of arms and legs, tore by, tossing the three bottles into the lobby in quick succession.
The alcohol that the cloth had absorbed made it burn faster, and Shin and Spike took off for the opposite end of the building.
The handful of people in the foyer watched as the little bombs soared through the air, too surprised to realize what they were. The second the Molotov's hit the ground, the glass shattered, liquor spraying everywhere. The flame licked it up, spreading along the carpet. Those in the lobby ran for cover.
The security guards ran after the two culprits, but Spike was waiting for them at the corner.
"Hya!" Spike grunted, one guard knocked unconscious with a savage kick to his face. The other was taken care of in the same fashion. They then went back to the entrance.
"Tactful, Spike." Shin grumbled, seeing the damage that Spike's little calling card had done. The fire was now working on consuming the front desk, and the padded chairs. It'd hit the walls soon, at any rate. "The sprinkler systems should be coming on."
"Why aren't there any alarms...?" Spike blinked.
"WATCH OUT!!" Shin roared, pulling Spike to the side, and out of the way, as a smart little grey ship zoomed in overhead. The sound of machine guns firing filled the air.
"Faye?!" Spike blinked, sitting up, as the noise stopped. The Red Tail landed on the sidewalk, and Faye Valentine stepped out.
"You dolt. Have you ever heard of anything called a plan?" she said, hands on her hips.
Spike gave her a look. Shin hid a smile. But the brief moment of humor was over, as a dozen or so syndicate members came around the building. Faye climbed back into the Red Tail. "Get on!" She yelled. The two men scrambled onto the sides of the craft, as Faye took off, mowing down the people who would have killed them.
"Nice piloting, Faye." Spike muttered to himself, holding for dear life onto the ship, the other holding out his gun. On the opposite end, Shin did the same.
Out of the range of gunfire, Faye's craft zipped around the building. It spiraled upwards, landing on the roof. Spike was immediately off and running, Shin on his coattails.
"SPIEGEL!! Would you stay still for TWO MINUTES while I explain the FREAKING PLAN?!?!" Faye screeched after him.
Spike looked over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth forming into a grin. He and Shin both kicked stairwell door open, and disappeared. Faye sighed, and climbed back into the cockpit of the Red Tail. The plan that she and Edward had hatched, that is, to leave the Rising Phoenix completely in the dark about her presence, figuratively and literally, had been shot to hell by the reckless lunkhead that was Spike Spiegel. Faye huffed, and leaned back in the seat, lighting a cigarette. They'd be back. Men always came back for Faye Valentine. Faye just hoped that this time it'd be with good intentions.
"...Yeah, and I love you too, you idiot."
"Desperado,
Why don't you come to your senses
Come down from your fences,
Open the gate
It may be rainin'
But there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you,
You better let somebody love you,
Before it's too late..."
"What in the blue hell is going on?!" Jet looked around, alarmed. There was a commotion of people, shouting, the sound of many feet running. But no sort of siren or other warning bell. Peculiar. Jet nearly jumped when someone bolted through the door.
"Mr. DeMonet! There are several intruders in the building. You must evacuate."
Jacques stood calmly, smoothing his suit. Elenie and Quince followed him. "In my desk, Mr. Black, you will find the weapons we confiscated from your personage. Retrieve them, and make sure you use them properly." Jacques gave him a cold stare, giving Jet his first orders, without even saying the word. "We will take your lady friend with us. ...I will contact you when this ordeal is over." Elenie tossed one last desperate look over her shoulder, as Quince pulled her along.
"Yes, sir." Jet nodded, as the old man and his thrall exited. At least Angelina was out of harm's way. Out of the fire and into the frying pan, so to speak. They were headed down to the basement, to where several inconspicuous vehicles waited, to spirit the important members away to safety. When his boss had left, Jet leapt the desk, and threw the drawers open, until he found his gun. Resisting the urge to kiss it, he went into the hallway. "What's all the hullabaloo about?" He said, stopping the first person to run by.
"Two men have started a fire in the lobby. They are now on the roof, heading downstairs." He nodded frantically. "Orders are to make a hasty retreat."
"You make sure everyone gets out safely. Leave the two of them to me." He let the young boy run off, and went in the opposite direction, which was up the hall, a dead-end. Twenty yards ahead of him, there was a light grey door, the narrow window on the left hand side lined in wire. Bold red lettering on the grey paint made it clear that this was the rooftop staircase. *Bad idea.* Jet said. *To put the leader to such an accessible location.* Jet smirked. He remembered the empty offices below. *Must've been intentional. Someone wants this guy dead. Instinct tells me it was my good friend Quince.*
Keeping his back to the left-hand wall, Jet through the window, seeing two shadows descend. "If you think I'm gonna let you two idiots blow the biggest drug-related bounty in the history of the Solar System, you're out of your pea brained minds." Jet hissed. He put his left shoulder on the doorjamb, in his left hand his gun, the right clutching the flat, metal door handle. It would swing open towards him.
"And a-one, and a-two..." A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. "...Four... FIVE!" He practically pulled the door off the hinges, and rotated his body, so that he filled the doorway with his broad frame, his gun aimed on the first intruder.
Spike was on the second stair from the bottom, Shin on the one above. The door opened suddenly, and Shin, with his itchy trigger finger, wasted no time. Spike was nearly deafened by the bullet, expelled over his left shoulder. That's when he saw who it was. "JET!!" He howled. But it was too late. Nothing could stop a bullet. Not good karma, not a miracle. Well, maybe a miracle could, but it wasn't in Spike's nature to rely on miracles.
Jet's eyes opened wide in a double dose of surprise. "SPIKE?!" He managed to yell, a smile just beginning to form on his face, before the bullet struck him in the chest.
...Nice Shootin, Tex...
---
To be concluded. >D And so, yet again, I manage to continue my evil nature. Stay tuned for the final part ...::ahem:: ...hopefully ... of 'Simple Man'.