The wind stirred up a funnel of dust, swirling his dark brown duster around his long legs, legs clad in tight blue Levi jeans. On top there was a pale yellow shirt, blue bandanna, and dark brown cowboy hat set at a rakish angle upon thick curly green dust covered hair. His lips wore a cigarette and a secretive smile, as though there was something amusing, but he wasn't telling. With on hand carelessly stuffed in a pocket he surveyed his surroundings with careless nonchalance. To the casual observer, he looked like any other cowhand or hired gun. To the trained western eye noticing the two six shooters strapped to his thighs in the fast mans rig, he looked like a good man to have at your back and pure poison to have after you. Spike Speigel was indeed such a man.
Finding the Pink Pony, the local saloon in Cheatville, he rode his strawberry roan horse over to the hitching post and dismounted. He was in sore need of a drink and money. Between watered down liquor and the inevitably crooked poker games to be found in such places, he should be in heaven.
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Slipping in to the Pony with out being noticed, our hero took a seat at the bar. Ordering a scotch on the rocks, he sat back and observed his surroundings once again.
In a mirror above the bar, Spike could watch his back and front at the same time. There were about six or seven tables around the small room. Some were populated, most were empty. In one corner was a small group of sleazy looking characters playing the expected game of crooked poker. There were four men, and one of them seemed to be having very bad luck, loosing almost every hand.
" Can I get you something, friend?" The bartender stood nearby wiping a glass in his hand. He had observed the tall green haired stranger and knew he had a story. Reading the signs of a dangerous man was easy after a lifetime of practice.
" Maybe. I'm looking for a man. A very vicious man." He watched the bartender to see if there was any reaction to the stress placed on the word vicious.
" Well, don't know why you would want to find a vicious man 'cept to kill him, but good luck." The barkeep appeared totally oblivious to the hidden meaning of the word.
"I'll have another." Tapping the rim of his glass the stranger signaled for more scotch. "So what's with the poker game over in the corner? Looks like that green horn is getting beat pretty bad," he observed.
"Well, those boys are from out at the Bar-9. Its a mean spread, and crookeder than a drunk snake. They cheat the locals out of their money and drink too much. Being as you're looking for a vicious man, why don't you do all of us a favor and take a few of them out?"
"Really? Maybe I can beat them at their own game...Send over a couple bottles of tequila." With a crooked smirk and a wink, he headed over for his anticipated game of crooked poker, leaving the bartender open-mouthed.
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Bright sunlight broke through to clouds. Above him an angel came to rest. She had blond hair, blue eyes, flawless skin and a body so perfect it was heaven and dangerous all in one.
"Spike..." The voice was soft and alluring, calling him from the depths of sleep.
"Spike..."
"Julia..." Spike reached up to cup her face with his hand, looking deep into her cornflower blue eyes.
"I love you Julia."
Julia's lips drew closer and closer to Spike's. For one brief instant their lips touched. Spike thought he was in heaven. His lips parted, and so did hers. Deepening the kiss, he opened his eyes and felt her tongue--
"DAMMIT ALL TO HELL!!! WHISKY! Do you have to ruin all my dreams! What did I ever do to you!! Stupid broke down nag!" A very irate Spike was yelling at his strawberry roan horse, who seemed greatly amused with himself.
"I hate pets. If I didn't need you to survive you would be coyote bait by now!"
Whisky seemed unaffected by this tirade and continued to do the equivalent of a horse busting a gut laughing.
Suddenly, Spike fell down, remembering last night and how much he had drank. He had beaten the Bar-9 at their own game, but only barely, passing out only a few minutes after they did.
After taking over the bottle of tequila and plying the four degenerate fools with drinks, he cheated them out of all their money. He felt like absolute and complete ass. His head ached and memories of the night were a blur. Spike smirked to himself as he made his hangover cure, a disgusting nasty concoction that included raw egg among other things. He thought of where half the winnings now were and how he had left the fools. It made the hangover worth it. Whistling to himself and lighting a cigarette, he broke camp, mounted his horse, and proceeded with his hunt for a vicious man.
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"What the hell?? How the fuck did this happen?"
"Chet, it was that green haired hombre...he musta cheated us and left us here!"
In the bar, around the table where Spike had played cards, were the four from the Bar-9 in their boxers and hog-tied to the table and chairs they passed out in. Two of them were still passed out cold. Chet and another were awake and in a very embarrassed state. Their clothes were on the hitching post in the middle of the busy town. Town folk walked by pointing and laughing.
Chet swore out loud.
"That bastard, I'll get even with him for this. I SWEAR I will! No one makes a fool out of Chet Dolly and lives!!!"
Our bartender just observed from a safe distance unaware of the promise Chet Dolly was making to himself. He was remembering watching the lanky stranger cheat the Bar-9 boys and sneak half his money into the greenhorn's pocket without being detected.
"That was a hell of a cowboy..."
A/N: This is my first ever fanfic, let alone my first Cowboy Bebop fanfic! I am really trying to keep everyone in character, but if I slip, let me know.
A strawberry roan is a horse that is primarily a reddish brown color (chestnut) with a scattering of white hairs throughout the coat creating a "pink" effect. I figured since there could be no swordfish II in the old west, I would give Spike a horse the same color as his ship. Whadda ya think? Let me know!