Happiness is a Warm Gun
By Vicki Vance
Rating: PG-13 for language. Maybe R, depending on how graphic your imagination is.
Notes/disclaimer:
I tried to make this as complete and probable an episode of Cowboy Bebop as possible. While the focus is naturally on Spike (he IS the field man, after all) I tried to give some applicable time to the rest of the crew. I also kept with the title style of the show, included the commercial break thingy in the middle, and finished it with one of those see you space cowboy' thingamajiggies.
Happiness is a Warm Gun' would occur somewhere between episodes 20 and 23. That's around Pierrot Le Fou, up to just before Ed and Ein leave and Big Shot goes off the air, about the same time as the movie.
In reference to the show, I call it Cowboy Bebop. In reference to the ship, I call it the BeBop because that's what it says on the side of the ship.
Unlike most anime shows, I thoroughly enjoyed the dubbed version. I have written this in the English language mindset.
In case you're wondering, the song Happiness is a Warm Gun' can be found on the White album by the Beatles.
Finally, I do not own Cowboy Bebop, nor am I making any profit from this.
I think it's time to blow this thing.
Get everybody to start together...
OK 3, 2, 1, let's jam!
It was a soft day on Hibiscus Ridge and the ducks were eager to feed. They quacked noisily at Faye's ankles and the tickling of their feathers brought back precious memories to a despairing empty mind. She had fed the ducks back home on Earth, back when she was too little to recall or care about where she was, only that she had parents with her, and their assurance was all that was necessary to keep a young girl content.
Faye understood the facts of her situation well. The BeBop, after picking up a lofty bounty on a run of the mill hacker, had docked at Hibiscus Ridge on Mars for some much desired, if not needed, upgrades. With 1000 spare woolongs burning a hole in her pocket, Faye had gone off alone in search of a little play time, and found herself gravitated toward Toshiko Park, a simple public recreational facility complete with a playground and a pond. No doubt long ago someone had brought the white ducks from Earth to Mars, most likely as a pet, but they got loose and now were the primary population of Toshiko.
However, Faye could not name what had brought her here any more than she could resist the desire to engage in an ancient means of entertainment: feeding the ducks.
She had felt silly and futile at first, being the only person there and a grown woman, but after she sat down on a bench did the first triumphant memory come to her. It was from when she was young, very young, and she had been sitting on a bench on Earth, before the accident, and she remembered quite clearly an old man sitting placidly at another bench, also feeding the ducks. He had a red jacket, she remembered, and had a voice like a long lost uncle might.
The memory was brief and the only vivid aspect was the man's jacket, but it had been a milestone for Faye; a beautiful achievement that only quacking birds could bring.
As the sun squatted below the crater ridge and disappeared into the black of space, Faye stood, her bread bag empty, and stretched luxuriously in the orange light, proud and despondent of her achievement. It had been so much, yet yielded nothing.
She stuck her hands in her pockets, and began the short trek back to her ship. She passed shops on her left, and an empty street on her right. Hibiscus Ridge was a quiet place, full of simple, quiet people living simple, quiet lives.
Son of a BITCH!
Faye cocked her ear toward to rude sound.
Somebody's sticking out of the crowd, she commented to herself. She was about to make tracks from the disturbance when a man she didn't care to know stumbled bloodily out from between a flower stall and a ramen shop.
she cried more in surprise than concern. What the hell happened to you?
The question was not unnecessary. There was no doubt in Faye's mind that he had been the source of the loud curse, and this particular case seemed especially deserving of it. Spike was a mess. Blood dappled in streaks on his exposed forearms, and he was holding his side as though he were afraid his intestines would slide out if he didn't. Where his dark suit had been torn his light shirt was clearly defined as a canvas of red. Bits of glass sparkled in his hair, and minor cuts on his face indicated to the myriad of injuries he had received when he had crashed through glass at some point.
He put out one hand onto the wall of the ramen shop and kept the other one at his side. He managed a smug grin at Faye.
I met a girl.
That idiot, Faye muttered angrily, tapping a fingernail against her cheek. I was actually enjoying myself before he stumbled along. He was bleeding all over the place in my ship, and an ambulance could've taken him, but nooo! He insisted on me taking him back. Do you have idea how hard it is to clean up blood?
Then why didn't you just leave him to die? Jet asked, not looking up from his work.
Faye didn't speak for a moment. She took her hand from her face and stood up to observe his work. He rakes in the dough. I need him because I like to eat.
She watched as Jet expertly removed the glass from Spike's face, wrinkling her nose slightly at the sight.
I wonder what he was doing, she mused out loud.
You could ask him, Jet said, dropping another shard of glass into a waiting tray. It glistened red next to its companions.
Yeah, in about five days when he finally wakes up, she growled.
I thought you said he was after a bounty, Jet said, staying on the logic express.
That's what he told me, Faye replied. But he wouldn't tell me who, or why, or anything. Only that it was a woman. Well, he called her a girl, but I don't think a girl could do that.
To emphasize, she indicated the four lacerations running in crisscrosses through Spike's flesh. Jet had taken care of those major injuries first, and Faye had even helped him by handing him what he asked for from the medical kit. She did not dare to touch Spike, however, when Jet had asked her to apply pressure. She had touched an injured boy once, back when she was first awakened from sleep and her memory left her with a pliable personality. She had been determined to be unafraid in her new environment, and when a boy had crashed his new ship into a building she had boldly tried to help. She touched the dying child then, applied pressure as she had been taught by someone she couldn't remember, and felt the breath cease. The feeling had sunk deeply into her, and she refused to touch someone in such a way unless she was pressured to do so.
The cuts weren't all that deep, Jet commented. He'd probably kept himself moving and out of her reach. But he still lost a lot of blood, and he'll be outta commission for a couple of days.
But he'll be all right?
The image of the old man feeding the pond ducks had come back to Faye. Jet was not accustomed to depth in Faye's eyes.
I thought you didn't care about him, he said.
Faye, still with the old man, found herself exposed and she didn't like it. She turned away from the ugly yellow couch that had borne Spike's injured body several times before and crossed her arms.
Like I said, she managed at last. He brings home money. He's a valuable asset.
Spike grunted as Jet pulled out the last piece of glass, a large one near his mouth. Faye turned her head slightly to watch him wince. He quickly relaxed, his mouth falling slightly open as he fell away from awareness.
Well, that's it for now, Jet said, pressing gauze to Spike's freshly bleeding face. It's a good thing we had the opportunity to restock on supplies, isn't it? Otherwise, I don't know what I'd do without a fresh medical kit.
Yeah, lucky. Faye was not enthused.
We'll just leave him like the mummy he is until he can eat. Then we'll have no choice but to put him back to work. he winked at Faye, but she wasn't looking at Jet.
Jet, upset that his tease fell flat like a bad sax, returned his attention back to Spike. He pulled off the bloody latex gloves he had used to treat the bleeding and put on fresh ones. He picked up a small flash light, extended a hand to lift one of Spike's eyelids, hesitated, then lifted Spike's left eyelid when he had clearly intended to initially inspect the right. He twirled the light across the dark pupil and observed how its size changed.
Faye wondered idly why Jet had chosen the left eye over the right, but made no comment. Jet had once worked as a police man and probably knew more about that sort of thing than she did. Faye dismissed it as beyond her and didn't think of it again.
A ceiling.
But not just any ceiling. The upper bulkhead of the BeBop, complete with loose piping and a slowly spinning fan. This sight could only mean one thing.
I'm really starting to hate this damn couch, Spike said to the ceiling of bad news. He moved a hand and wearily examined his body, never taking his eyes off the fan.
One of these days I'm gonna wake up to that fan and I'll be short a limb.
Today's not that day, he thought to himself. As far as his hand could tell, his body was there, albeit wrapped in bandages. His toes wiggled, indicating his legs were still attached. His chest hurt, but the pain was very shallow. Surface injuries, he thought, with a smile. My favorite.
He sat up carefully and found himself feeling stronger than he had expected. He looked down at his body to make the observations his hand could not.
She didn't touch my legs at all, he said, running his hands down his body, searching for any injury that a drug could hide. Nor my arms. She just went for the chest and neck.
Spike's eyes narrowed in all-too-late revelation.
She's good.
Spooky day, spooky play!
Spike looked up. It was Ed, making her usual rounds through the ship, closely followed by Ein. She took no notice of Spike, only continued her cartwheel path down the stairs.
She stopped suddenly, just short of hitting the wall, and sat on her haunches, sniffing at the air. Ein took on a similar stance.
Smell that, Ein? she asked the dog. Yummy smell. Smelllls liiiike dinnerrrrrrrr!
In an explosion of limbs she catapulted herself at the kitchen, Ein at her heels. Spike blinked at her departure.
Well, that's one way to make an exit.
The sound of Ed's ravenous eating was nullified when Jet greeted Spike as he came out of the kitchen, bearing a plate of steaming food.
Hey, how'd you like something to eat?
Spike grinned. Depends. Whatcha got? He recognized the smell.
Bell peppers and beef. Your favorite. Jet held out the plate to Spike, expecting him to take it. Spike hesitated.
Is there actually beef in it this time?
Sure there is! Jet sounded a little offended as he set the plate down before Spike. You forget, we actually got some woolongs nowadays. Not enough to throw around, but a modest sum to sustain us.
Which reminds me, his tone became serious. Why'd you go after a bounty when we don't need the money?
A delighted squeal interrupted them.
Edward found it!
Her intermittent laughter called their attention to her as she bounced in from the kitchen, twirling her computer at her fingertips.
Found what? Jet asked.
Ed found it as she was eating her din-din, she explained, balancing the computer on her head once she'd seated herself cross-legged on the floor. Lotsa woolongs for it. So many zeros!
Jet and Spike watched the teetering screen atop Ed's wobbling head.
Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero.
Is that her? Jet asked over Ed's chanting.
Yeah, that's her.
Zero. Zero. Zero. Eight zeros! And one lonely two. two and eight zeros!
two hundred million woolongs? Jet said.
It was no lie that Jet's beef and bell peppers was his favorite dish within Jet's power, yet it was not the food that now caused Spike to salivate.
That's why I was after her, he explained.
Yeah, but who is she? She's like a phantom. No picture. No name. Nothing! Only that she uses stylized knives on her victims. How come you have something?
Her name... Spike paused between bites. He was surprised at his own hunger, but didn't question it for long. He always ate and slept like a pig after injuries. After all, who didn't?
...is Sentinel.
Sentinel? What kind of a name is that?
It is the name of someone who is never seen, never heard, and never detected. for unnecessary emphasis, he added: even by the syndicate.
She's involved with organized crime?
No, and that's what makes her so good. Spike said. She's a freelance assassin. Normally, that's a contradictory statement, but in Sentinel's case it's true. She has absolutely no connection with any mob, yet does business with them all the time. See, she hires middlemen to serve as the link between her and the syndicate. What'll happen is she'll do business with one mafia, right, then do business with another, the competing mob, for example. She'll have struck against both syndicates, making enemies in both groups. But the only connection they have to her is the poor middleman, who's-
Killed by a competing mob before they can get any info on their traitor. Jet finished.
Yup. Either by her or by the syndicate, that sap would be done in. One way or another. See, she used to be wanted by only ISSP, for only her links to the murdered middlemen. Back then she used to be worth about seven hundred thousand woolongs.
Only seven hundred grand? Jet said. Why is she worth-
two and eight zeros! Ed cheerily supplied.
I think Ed knows the answer, Spike said, desiring a break from talking for a chance to eat.
Ed blinked at the newfound attention.
Why is Sentinel worth so much now? Jet asked the eccentric girl.
Ed grinned suddenly and proudly displayed her computer on her feet as she stood on her head.
ISSP only wanted her at first, but now she's so POPular!
As you know, the syndicate-icate and ISSP-P have to do some bizzness with each other.
Jet knew all too well. His prosthetic arm was a daily reminder of the cold fact.
When they decided to share information, they figured out this woman is the one they're all after and upped the ante. Ante. Ante. Ante.
So what you're saying is that ISSP worked with the syndicate on this one? Jet asked.
They put two and two together and got two hundred mil. Spike filled in. Both sides would really like to see this one go down, all syndicates, as a matter of fact. This thing doesn't really have two sides. It has about twenty. Sentinel's taken out a lot of members of a lot of different crime circles. As a result, she's got a lot of frustrated people wanting her dead.
Jet took a moment to absorb the information. Well, I can understand how Ed came up with that story; she can hack into anything. But you, he turned his attention on Spike. How did you come to meet her, and why do you know her alias? And why did you go alone? he added, almost sounding offended.
Spike relished his meal by taking the time to lick his plate and slowly suck the tips of his chopsticks, thoroughly enjoying Jet's impatience.
You forget, he started slowly, then picked up his regular pace. I used to be a member of the Red Dragons. They had me all set up to take over once the old chief farts passed away. I learned some things in that prestigious position. And I didn't mind blazing my own path, rather than following what someone else laid down for me. I fancied myself a spy back then.
He grinned, truly proud of himself.
I followed the middleman one day.
After letting the vitality of the statement sink in, he quickly brushed it aside.
Of course, I was following everyone in those days. Some I liked to follow more than others, he cast a knowing glance at Jet, who always had an interesting story back from his skirt-chasing days.
But when I saw who this middleman met, and heard what they were talking about, I wasn't surprised. I didn't really care either. I was getting ready to leave that damned institution, and the more chaotic I left it, the better off we-
Spike choked. The silence stung. He stared numbly at Jet as his mind screamed insanely at him for letting that slip. He found the control too late.
I. I- The better o-off I would be.
Ed's eyes moved from one stationery man to the other, sensing something very important or dangerous had just happened. Ein watched with the same rapt attention.
Spike cleared his throat and quickly continued.
I knew what she looked like and I knew what kind of operation she ran. I only found her by chance just a few days ago when we landed for upgrades and restocking. So I approached her, and asked for a job...
And she ripped the living shit outta you. Jet finished.
Actually, I'd been doing fine and had landed myself in a potentially physically close and lucrative position with her. I'd be the dependable, expendable link between her and her business.
But, she asked me my name. And I was stupid enough to tell her the truth. It seems that she keeps her enemies very close and knows every member of every syndicate extremely well, even the ones that have been dead for a few years. The moment I said Spike Spiegel-
You were as good as dead meat. Jet smiled knowingly.
Hey, I'm a walking ghost now anyway, Spike shrugged. Machts nichts.
Spike lowered his head, growing serious.
She's a lot more than I expected. I've met some pretty good assassins before, but she's unlike anything I've encountered before. Her fighting style is so, well, intimate- the way she engages her prey with those lovely knives of her- it just wouldn't be honorable to put a gun on her.
Yeah, and if you weren't careful, you could kill her. Bounties are no good when they're dead.
Speaking of which, I'm now on her very intimate hit list for immediate disposal. I've seen her, Jet, he clarified. For all she knows, she can now be identified, and being faceless and nameless has made her successful and kept her alive.
Spike leaned back in his seat, enjoying the gravity of his situation.
Looks like the hunter has become the hunted, eh, Jet? Kinda poetic, innit?
The work which becomes a
new genre itself will be called...
Cowboy Bebop
By Vicki Vance
Rating: PG-13 for language. Maybe R, depending on how graphic your imagination is.
Notes/disclaimer:
I tried to make this as complete and probable an episode of Cowboy Bebop as possible. While the focus is naturally on Spike (he IS the field man, after all) I tried to give some applicable time to the rest of the crew. I also kept with the title style of the show, included the commercial break thingy in the middle, and finished it with one of those see you space cowboy' thingamajiggies.
Happiness is a Warm Gun' would occur somewhere between episodes 20 and 23. That's around Pierrot Le Fou, up to just before Ed and Ein leave and Big Shot goes off the air, about the same time as the movie.
In reference to the show, I call it Cowboy Bebop. In reference to the ship, I call it the BeBop because that's what it says on the side of the ship.
Unlike most anime shows, I thoroughly enjoyed the dubbed version. I have written this in the English language mindset.
In case you're wondering, the song Happiness is a Warm Gun' can be found on the White album by the Beatles.
Finally, I do not own Cowboy Bebop, nor am I making any profit from this.
I think it's time to blow this thing.
Get everybody to start together...
OK 3, 2, 1, let's jam!
It was a soft day on Hibiscus Ridge and the ducks were eager to feed. They quacked noisily at Faye's ankles and the tickling of their feathers brought back precious memories to a despairing empty mind. She had fed the ducks back home on Earth, back when she was too little to recall or care about where she was, only that she had parents with her, and their assurance was all that was necessary to keep a young girl content.
Faye understood the facts of her situation well. The BeBop, after picking up a lofty bounty on a run of the mill hacker, had docked at Hibiscus Ridge on Mars for some much desired, if not needed, upgrades. With 1000 spare woolongs burning a hole in her pocket, Faye had gone off alone in search of a little play time, and found herself gravitated toward Toshiko Park, a simple public recreational facility complete with a playground and a pond. No doubt long ago someone had brought the white ducks from Earth to Mars, most likely as a pet, but they got loose and now were the primary population of Toshiko.
However, Faye could not name what had brought her here any more than she could resist the desire to engage in an ancient means of entertainment: feeding the ducks.
She had felt silly and futile at first, being the only person there and a grown woman, but after she sat down on a bench did the first triumphant memory come to her. It was from when she was young, very young, and she had been sitting on a bench on Earth, before the accident, and she remembered quite clearly an old man sitting placidly at another bench, also feeding the ducks. He had a red jacket, she remembered, and had a voice like a long lost uncle might.
The memory was brief and the only vivid aspect was the man's jacket, but it had been a milestone for Faye; a beautiful achievement that only quacking birds could bring.
As the sun squatted below the crater ridge and disappeared into the black of space, Faye stood, her bread bag empty, and stretched luxuriously in the orange light, proud and despondent of her achievement. It had been so much, yet yielded nothing.
She stuck her hands in her pockets, and began the short trek back to her ship. She passed shops on her left, and an empty street on her right. Hibiscus Ridge was a quiet place, full of simple, quiet people living simple, quiet lives.
Son of a BITCH!
Faye cocked her ear toward to rude sound.
Somebody's sticking out of the crowd, she commented to herself. She was about to make tracks from the disturbance when a man she didn't care to know stumbled bloodily out from between a flower stall and a ramen shop.
she cried more in surprise than concern. What the hell happened to you?
The question was not unnecessary. There was no doubt in Faye's mind that he had been the source of the loud curse, and this particular case seemed especially deserving of it. Spike was a mess. Blood dappled in streaks on his exposed forearms, and he was holding his side as though he were afraid his intestines would slide out if he didn't. Where his dark suit had been torn his light shirt was clearly defined as a canvas of red. Bits of glass sparkled in his hair, and minor cuts on his face indicated to the myriad of injuries he had received when he had crashed through glass at some point.
He put out one hand onto the wall of the ramen shop and kept the other one at his side. He managed a smug grin at Faye.
I met a girl.
That idiot, Faye muttered angrily, tapping a fingernail against her cheek. I was actually enjoying myself before he stumbled along. He was bleeding all over the place in my ship, and an ambulance could've taken him, but nooo! He insisted on me taking him back. Do you have idea how hard it is to clean up blood?
Then why didn't you just leave him to die? Jet asked, not looking up from his work.
Faye didn't speak for a moment. She took her hand from her face and stood up to observe his work. He rakes in the dough. I need him because I like to eat.
She watched as Jet expertly removed the glass from Spike's face, wrinkling her nose slightly at the sight.
I wonder what he was doing, she mused out loud.
You could ask him, Jet said, dropping another shard of glass into a waiting tray. It glistened red next to its companions.
Yeah, in about five days when he finally wakes up, she growled.
I thought you said he was after a bounty, Jet said, staying on the logic express.
That's what he told me, Faye replied. But he wouldn't tell me who, or why, or anything. Only that it was a woman. Well, he called her a girl, but I don't think a girl could do that.
To emphasize, she indicated the four lacerations running in crisscrosses through Spike's flesh. Jet had taken care of those major injuries first, and Faye had even helped him by handing him what he asked for from the medical kit. She did not dare to touch Spike, however, when Jet had asked her to apply pressure. She had touched an injured boy once, back when she was first awakened from sleep and her memory left her with a pliable personality. She had been determined to be unafraid in her new environment, and when a boy had crashed his new ship into a building she had boldly tried to help. She touched the dying child then, applied pressure as she had been taught by someone she couldn't remember, and felt the breath cease. The feeling had sunk deeply into her, and she refused to touch someone in such a way unless she was pressured to do so.
The cuts weren't all that deep, Jet commented. He'd probably kept himself moving and out of her reach. But he still lost a lot of blood, and he'll be outta commission for a couple of days.
But he'll be all right?
The image of the old man feeding the pond ducks had come back to Faye. Jet was not accustomed to depth in Faye's eyes.
I thought you didn't care about him, he said.
Faye, still with the old man, found herself exposed and she didn't like it. She turned away from the ugly yellow couch that had borne Spike's injured body several times before and crossed her arms.
Like I said, she managed at last. He brings home money. He's a valuable asset.
Spike grunted as Jet pulled out the last piece of glass, a large one near his mouth. Faye turned her head slightly to watch him wince. He quickly relaxed, his mouth falling slightly open as he fell away from awareness.
Well, that's it for now, Jet said, pressing gauze to Spike's freshly bleeding face. It's a good thing we had the opportunity to restock on supplies, isn't it? Otherwise, I don't know what I'd do without a fresh medical kit.
Yeah, lucky. Faye was not enthused.
We'll just leave him like the mummy he is until he can eat. Then we'll have no choice but to put him back to work. he winked at Faye, but she wasn't looking at Jet.
Jet, upset that his tease fell flat like a bad sax, returned his attention back to Spike. He pulled off the bloody latex gloves he had used to treat the bleeding and put on fresh ones. He picked up a small flash light, extended a hand to lift one of Spike's eyelids, hesitated, then lifted Spike's left eyelid when he had clearly intended to initially inspect the right. He twirled the light across the dark pupil and observed how its size changed.
Faye wondered idly why Jet had chosen the left eye over the right, but made no comment. Jet had once worked as a police man and probably knew more about that sort of thing than she did. Faye dismissed it as beyond her and didn't think of it again.
A ceiling.
But not just any ceiling. The upper bulkhead of the BeBop, complete with loose piping and a slowly spinning fan. This sight could only mean one thing.
I'm really starting to hate this damn couch, Spike said to the ceiling of bad news. He moved a hand and wearily examined his body, never taking his eyes off the fan.
One of these days I'm gonna wake up to that fan and I'll be short a limb.
Today's not that day, he thought to himself. As far as his hand could tell, his body was there, albeit wrapped in bandages. His toes wiggled, indicating his legs were still attached. His chest hurt, but the pain was very shallow. Surface injuries, he thought, with a smile. My favorite.
He sat up carefully and found himself feeling stronger than he had expected. He looked down at his body to make the observations his hand could not.
She didn't touch my legs at all, he said, running his hands down his body, searching for any injury that a drug could hide. Nor my arms. She just went for the chest and neck.
Spike's eyes narrowed in all-too-late revelation.
She's good.
Spooky day, spooky play!
Spike looked up. It was Ed, making her usual rounds through the ship, closely followed by Ein. She took no notice of Spike, only continued her cartwheel path down the stairs.
She stopped suddenly, just short of hitting the wall, and sat on her haunches, sniffing at the air. Ein took on a similar stance.
Smell that, Ein? she asked the dog. Yummy smell. Smelllls liiiike dinnerrrrrrrr!
In an explosion of limbs she catapulted herself at the kitchen, Ein at her heels. Spike blinked at her departure.
Well, that's one way to make an exit.
The sound of Ed's ravenous eating was nullified when Jet greeted Spike as he came out of the kitchen, bearing a plate of steaming food.
Hey, how'd you like something to eat?
Spike grinned. Depends. Whatcha got? He recognized the smell.
Bell peppers and beef. Your favorite. Jet held out the plate to Spike, expecting him to take it. Spike hesitated.
Is there actually beef in it this time?
Sure there is! Jet sounded a little offended as he set the plate down before Spike. You forget, we actually got some woolongs nowadays. Not enough to throw around, but a modest sum to sustain us.
Which reminds me, his tone became serious. Why'd you go after a bounty when we don't need the money?
A delighted squeal interrupted them.
Edward found it!
Her intermittent laughter called their attention to her as she bounced in from the kitchen, twirling her computer at her fingertips.
Found what? Jet asked.
Ed found it as she was eating her din-din, she explained, balancing the computer on her head once she'd seated herself cross-legged on the floor. Lotsa woolongs for it. So many zeros!
Jet and Spike watched the teetering screen atop Ed's wobbling head.
Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero.
Is that her? Jet asked over Ed's chanting.
Yeah, that's her.
Zero. Zero. Zero. Eight zeros! And one lonely two. two and eight zeros!
two hundred million woolongs? Jet said.
It was no lie that Jet's beef and bell peppers was his favorite dish within Jet's power, yet it was not the food that now caused Spike to salivate.
That's why I was after her, he explained.
Yeah, but who is she? She's like a phantom. No picture. No name. Nothing! Only that she uses stylized knives on her victims. How come you have something?
Her name... Spike paused between bites. He was surprised at his own hunger, but didn't question it for long. He always ate and slept like a pig after injuries. After all, who didn't?
...is Sentinel.
Sentinel? What kind of a name is that?
It is the name of someone who is never seen, never heard, and never detected. for unnecessary emphasis, he added: even by the syndicate.
She's involved with organized crime?
No, and that's what makes her so good. Spike said. She's a freelance assassin. Normally, that's a contradictory statement, but in Sentinel's case it's true. She has absolutely no connection with any mob, yet does business with them all the time. See, she hires middlemen to serve as the link between her and the syndicate. What'll happen is she'll do business with one mafia, right, then do business with another, the competing mob, for example. She'll have struck against both syndicates, making enemies in both groups. But the only connection they have to her is the poor middleman, who's-
Killed by a competing mob before they can get any info on their traitor. Jet finished.
Yup. Either by her or by the syndicate, that sap would be done in. One way or another. See, she used to be wanted by only ISSP, for only her links to the murdered middlemen. Back then she used to be worth about seven hundred thousand woolongs.
Only seven hundred grand? Jet said. Why is she worth-
two and eight zeros! Ed cheerily supplied.
I think Ed knows the answer, Spike said, desiring a break from talking for a chance to eat.
Ed blinked at the newfound attention.
Why is Sentinel worth so much now? Jet asked the eccentric girl.
Ed grinned suddenly and proudly displayed her computer on her feet as she stood on her head.
ISSP only wanted her at first, but now she's so POPular!
As you know, the syndicate-icate and ISSP-P have to do some bizzness with each other.
Jet knew all too well. His prosthetic arm was a daily reminder of the cold fact.
When they decided to share information, they figured out this woman is the one they're all after and upped the ante. Ante. Ante. Ante.
So what you're saying is that ISSP worked with the syndicate on this one? Jet asked.
They put two and two together and got two hundred mil. Spike filled in. Both sides would really like to see this one go down, all syndicates, as a matter of fact. This thing doesn't really have two sides. It has about twenty. Sentinel's taken out a lot of members of a lot of different crime circles. As a result, she's got a lot of frustrated people wanting her dead.
Jet took a moment to absorb the information. Well, I can understand how Ed came up with that story; she can hack into anything. But you, he turned his attention on Spike. How did you come to meet her, and why do you know her alias? And why did you go alone? he added, almost sounding offended.
Spike relished his meal by taking the time to lick his plate and slowly suck the tips of his chopsticks, thoroughly enjoying Jet's impatience.
You forget, he started slowly, then picked up his regular pace. I used to be a member of the Red Dragons. They had me all set up to take over once the old chief farts passed away. I learned some things in that prestigious position. And I didn't mind blazing my own path, rather than following what someone else laid down for me. I fancied myself a spy back then.
He grinned, truly proud of himself.
I followed the middleman one day.
After letting the vitality of the statement sink in, he quickly brushed it aside.
Of course, I was following everyone in those days. Some I liked to follow more than others, he cast a knowing glance at Jet, who always had an interesting story back from his skirt-chasing days.
But when I saw who this middleman met, and heard what they were talking about, I wasn't surprised. I didn't really care either. I was getting ready to leave that damned institution, and the more chaotic I left it, the better off we-
Spike choked. The silence stung. He stared numbly at Jet as his mind screamed insanely at him for letting that slip. He found the control too late.
I. I- The better o-off I would be.
Ed's eyes moved from one stationery man to the other, sensing something very important or dangerous had just happened. Ein watched with the same rapt attention.
Spike cleared his throat and quickly continued.
I knew what she looked like and I knew what kind of operation she ran. I only found her by chance just a few days ago when we landed for upgrades and restocking. So I approached her, and asked for a job...
And she ripped the living shit outta you. Jet finished.
Actually, I'd been doing fine and had landed myself in a potentially physically close and lucrative position with her. I'd be the dependable, expendable link between her and her business.
But, she asked me my name. And I was stupid enough to tell her the truth. It seems that she keeps her enemies very close and knows every member of every syndicate extremely well, even the ones that have been dead for a few years. The moment I said Spike Spiegel-
You were as good as dead meat. Jet smiled knowingly.
Hey, I'm a walking ghost now anyway, Spike shrugged. Machts nichts.
Spike lowered his head, growing serious.
She's a lot more than I expected. I've met some pretty good assassins before, but she's unlike anything I've encountered before. Her fighting style is so, well, intimate- the way she engages her prey with those lovely knives of her- it just wouldn't be honorable to put a gun on her.
Yeah, and if you weren't careful, you could kill her. Bounties are no good when they're dead.
Speaking of which, I'm now on her very intimate hit list for immediate disposal. I've seen her, Jet, he clarified. For all she knows, she can now be identified, and being faceless and nameless has made her successful and kept her alive.
Spike leaned back in his seat, enjoying the gravity of his situation.
Looks like the hunter has become the hunted, eh, Jet? Kinda poetic, innit?
The work which becomes a
new genre itself will be called...
Cowboy Bebop