("Cowboy Bebop" is the property of Sunrise, Bandai Entertainment, Shinichiro Watanabe et al. all rights reserved. In other words, the property of not-me. And hopefully that's something reasonably close to the proper credit given.)

Chapter 1

It's a mess, that's for sure.

"Dealer has twenty-one."

A disaster - she knew full well that prick in the suit had no intention of letting her just walk away after this deal, whether or not he got what he wanted in the end.

"Blackjack, boys."

That's just the way men like him operate. He'd get his stupid chip from whoever's on this scrambled picture he'd given her, still displayed in its static-riven glory on the small monitor under the lip of the table, and then he'd ask her for another "favor," or have one of his thugs shoot her, or maybe try to convince her she'd make a good piece on his arm. Ha! Fat chance, you old...

"This seems to be my lucky night," the lady dealer modestly remarked aloud, her best sympathetic professional smile on her face as her graceful hands swept over the cards: three of spades, eight of clubs, queen of hearts.

A collective groan, not the first to plague that table, announced the growing despair of the players arranged around the green felt crescent. Who'd have guessed the seductive twenty-something dealer would have such luck on her side? Perhaps she is twenty-one, they mused, superstitious glances passing between them. No one wanted to be first to give up, of course, if it was only fortune favoring the girl. Luck can change: it always changes, like everything else.

The blare of a slot jackpot sounded the rallying trumpet throughout the main casino platform, filling the brightly colored gambler's arena with the promise that you, too, could be a winner at any moment! A wondrous cacophony of coins colliding on the crimson carpet cast itself into the blood of so many addicted souls hard at work at their favored games of chance, renewing the weary and emboldening those whose winnings were already swollen.

& & &

At least two individuals wandering the main floor went unaffected by both lovely lady luck reigning over the blackjack table and the siren song of tokens on the wind.

One of these was a confident figure prowling the aisles with a disinterested look on his face: long and lanky with a cocky stride in a slick blue jacket crossed over his chest to clasp covering a cream shirt and black tie, none of which quite fit his bushy algae-green hair. Something about the man spoke of precision, or at least precise recklessness; having his hands tucked into his pockets did not diminish this intangible quality, though his rolled up sleeves weren't exactly crisp. After all, the best bounty hunters know how to fit in.

The second man, though similar at a glance, could have been made as the hunter's antithesis. True, his hair, though perhaps a shade lighter and less well kept, could have been mistaken for the same green mess, but his carriage was near the opposite: too timid by half, for one, and clearly paranoid as mousy eyes flicked through the room, constantly on the lookout for some unidentifiable stalker in pursuit. A disheveled blue suit, rumpled shirt and loose tied completed the look of a man hiding from hygiene.

Neither paid too close attention to where exactly he was going, however, and their paths happened to coincide. At speed.

"Hey," Spike Spiegal grunted, jarred out of his loose gait by the sudden collision with the smaller, hunched man. The weaker man tumbled, hands knocked open to break his fall, and flopped onto his rump, disoriented. His senses returned after only a moment of pause and, with a yelp, he scrambled onto hands and knees, searching desperately over the carpeted floor without so much as an apology to his recent point of impact.

Bemused, Spike blinked down at the odd fellow, wondering what he could have dropped. Then he noticed a funny feeling under his shoe. "Hahn?" Lifting a toe, the lean man craned over to discover a gambling chip had found its way under his foot while he'd been regaining his balance. "Uh...is this...hunh?"

Before Spike could even finish pointing it out, the fallen man had pounced on the lost chip and skittered away, leaving a perplexed Spike in his wake. The bounty hunter watched this strange fellow shuffle his way through the crowded casino for a moment, scratched his head, shrugged and went on his own way.

Maybe Jet would be ready to go by now; this place was getting annoying.

& & &

No wonder they scrambled his picture, the dealer mused as the green-haired man took his seat. With that hair I'd want to hide my face, too, even in this kind of business! "Place all best," she noted to welcome the newcomer to the game, relieved that her job would be over soon. Not that the certain doom awaiting her behind closed doors was so appealing, but putting up with all these ugly drunks was quickly growing tiresome.

What was the need for all this secrecy, anyway? Didn't Gordon own this place? There had to be some smoother way to do this, but no. Feh, men, always playing at being James Bond…

"Who?"

"Hunh?"

"Who's James Bond?"

"Oh, he's, uh, ahaha, bets are in!" Internally Faye pinched herself for mumbling her thoughts aloud…though some part of her agreed with the curious player. Where had that name come from, anyway?

She could worry about that later. Real issues to think about here, Faye, so pay attention! Cards flew smooth and easy from her fingertips, sliding to a halt at each place around the table and whisperings their secrets to her as they passed.

Thirteen there, eighteen and seven to the tipsy twins, twenty by them, two aces…so, let's see…bust, low, he'll chicken out…good. Faye smiled, turning her own cards to reveal doubled spade royalty. "Sorry, do come again," she said as a sympathetic farewell as most of the table dispersed afterward, broken in the last hand.

Good, it would be much quicker and easier to roll the deck against just one player, especially one expecting to lose, and this guy was sure to stay now.

"A man will come to your table," Gordon had told her, "and he will lose. When he has nothing left, he will offer his lovely dealer his final chip as a tip. I want you to bring that chip to me, Ms. Valentine. Do that, and all your debts will vanish like a bad dream."

The man bet high, completely wiping himself out in the next three hands. Now broke, he made a show of his despair at the results of his bad luck. … A poor show, at that. Faye felt her frozen professional smile twitching around the edges from the effort of not reaching over the table and punching this jerk.

"Um…sir?" The dark magenta blazer buttoned over her white shirt crinkled a bit as she leaned into whisper range of the fraudulent player. "It's harder for me to hand that chip over to…the casino if you don't give it to me first," she explained, trying to convey a sincere but firm look through her sharp green eyes that couldn't quite succeed with that big red bowtie hovering over her throat.

The man dry-sobbed again; Faye fought the urge to glare at him, but this was getting ridiculous: he was attracting more attention this way than he would have if he'd thrown the chip at her and threw a fit! Where did they come up with this guy? By the time he finally left the table, leaving the chip behind, Faye was all too happy to snatch it and go, slipping the chip neatly under her left cuff.

Now she just had to find a clean way out to her ship before –

"Ah, Ms. Valentine, so good that I caught you at the end of your shift."

Faye shut her eyes with a tense sigh. Shit.

& & &

Gordon looked well enough off, for a crook. He prowled his casino in a fine grey suit with a crimson undershirt and purple tie, presenting a heavy image of authority with his mere presence. Clearly older, maybe even into his fifties, the man's slicked-back hair and gold-ringed fingers declared he was still a player and intended to be for quite some time to come.

Some part of Faye had to admit a bit of envy: he'd clearly found his niche here and been successful in it, having both wealth and some modicum of power in his reach. She could hardly say the same for herself.

On the other hand, he was still old and stodgy. No thanks.

"Would you walk with me a moment? There is a matter we should discuss."

Quick eyes glanced around the crowd, picking out a suspiciously high number of Gordon's black-clad security personnel mingling nearby, sweeping through the crowd to keep her from taking off for any viable exit. "Not like I have much choice," she grumbled.

"Oh, of course you do," Gordon assured her, a slimy smile splitting his normally rather stolid face. "If you wish to leave, your ship is ready in my personal hangar."

Faye nearly grimaced. If it was in his hangar, then he'd already guessed she would try to skip out. That meant it was locked down. This just keeps getting better, she thought.

"I simply ask for your company a while longer. If you would rather hand over the chip and go on your way now…your obligation in our arrangement is complete. You may leave if you wish."

After a brief pause, "I can?" Faye simply stared at him, clearly suspicious. Gordon, for his part, stood there with his sure, inscrutable smile, immune to her disbelief, waiting for her reply. There had to be a trick in it somewhere, right? Still…"Where are we going?"

"My office might be best for this conversation."

& & &

Technically it began once they were out of public earshot. The elevator was private enough for Faye's purposes, though she had to give Gordon at least one point for having told his guards to stay off the car they were taking. She hated feeling cornered.

Not that she was any less cornered now, but a girl can pretend, right?

Faye went all the way back in the elevator and set her hips against the rail, arms crossed tight over her chest, the blazer's nametag already gone now that the pretense of employment had ended. The brass reflection of her face in the polished doors was as bitter as the metal itself. Sure, playing coy was easy while there was still something in the air, as had been the case during her first visit to his office, but now she was stuck wondering what Gordon intended for her. Faye hated suspense: she was not designed for patience. "I want my clothes back."

"Ah, yes, of course. I hope you don't mind, but I must say the uniform looks g-"

"I do mind, thanks!"

Gordon glanced at her reflection in the closed doors. The hum of the rising car filled the silence for him while he turned about to face her, a slight frown hardening his already gruff face. "I understand you feel pressured, Ms. Valentine, but that attitude is unnecessary. I am simply trying to tell you why I want you to stay here."

"I'm flattered. Really."

Gordon continued as if she hadn't snapped at him: "This was not an easy situation to handle with grace, yet you showed only a hint of strain until I arrived. I feel reasonably certain you were considering how unfortunate an ending our business could have, yet you did not waver in your task."

Lucky thing you don't read minds, Faye thought. Did I say that out loud? No? Good.

Unfortunately, making that confirmation meant she missed the last thing Gordon had said. An awkward silence hung in the air while the older fellow looked at his "employee," and she back at him, each waiting for the other to say something. When neither broke the passing time, Faye found herself blushing. "Wh-what are you looking at?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Gordon eventually replied. Then, gesturing toward the doors, he repeated, "We have reached the hangar. This is where you wanted to get off, isn't it?"

"The hangar? I thought you said we were going to your office?"

"We still could, if you prefer, but it is clear to me now you would not agree anyway. I can live with minor rejections from time to time," Gordon answered, allowing for the barest of smirks as he added, "especially when the source of that rejection has so recently provided me with such a delicious desire. Go on, Ms. Valentine. I doubt we will meet again."

Tentatively, the raven-haired woman circled around the rather intimidating fellow, just enough to reach the open-door button, since he showed no intention of pressing it himself. The doors slid open without incident and showed that they were indeed in Gordon's port in the casino, complete with her Red Tail tucked into a small guest space.

"So…that's it?" Faye asked, still befuddled by how simple this could be. No answer came, however, and when she turned to look for a reason she found the elevator had already closed. Apparently, whatever Gordon had had in mind, it was a one-time offer.

& & &

"Show me." Gordon settled into his chair before a series of viewing screens on which various mathematical diagrams and other patterns, mostly numerical, glowed with a pale gold light. The room was an observation booth above the technical center of the casino, set back far enough for Gordon to watch over the various events taking place on the floor below as his small group of technicians worked around their consoles, studied they encryption of the chip, and basically acted as redundant labor.

On Gordon's command the screens kicked themselves awake, blooming into a number of cooler tones as the chip's information screened through the system. Soon, no lock would be able to deny his interest, no matter where or what variety. He didn't even notice the grin creeping across his face, barely reflected on the busy screen, but he could feel how the idea pleased him like a growing weight in his belly, the sort of weight that says you'll never need to eat again: perfectly sated. Contentment wrapped in a black velvet skin. The ultimate formation of a dream that –

"What the hell? Get it out of there!"

Gordon snapped out of his reverie with a start, blinking down at the lab. A fire had started while he was fantasizing; something had caused a malfunction in the chip, or the machine working on it, he couldn't tell from his position. "What's going on down there?"

The technicians were too busy halting the destructive flames to answer, shouting back and forth to one another as they worked, but the specifics weren't important. Gordon could already feel that welcome darkness deflating, leaking away inside.

The chip was gone.

The many rings on Gordon's fleshy fingers scraped together as his hands balled into tight fists; a fine tremor ran through his arms as he watched his future demolished in front of his eyes. "…Find the damn courier."