Disclaimer: Don't own the shit.
Yep! Chapter three already! This is a short chapter, but there's a reason, I promise. Thanks to all those who reviewed—to be honest I'm making this up as I go along, but I PROMISE there's a plot. Oh yes..and a juicy one at that. _;
..Yes I have issues, AND?! ..anyway. Read. =)
Blue Moon Bar, Callisto
He'd been sitting in an old run down bar for two hours, staring at the same Kentucky whiskey bottle in front of him. His mind blank, his actions for the past couple of days uncaring and his attitude—depressing. It'd been a while since he was in this frame of mine, but never the less he had to keep looking. He had to go on.
The man on the video tape had contacted him earlier within the day via vid-link, silhouette as usual. He had given Spike another month extension, providing the situation eased up on the current interrogation of the gateway scandal that was rocking the solar system by storm. He needed to find Dimitri..and the devil in paradise.
The bar itself looked as though it had seen its years, but for whatever reason it was the main hotspot for roughnecks and criminals on the planet. The only forms of entertainment in the bar were the alcohol and three drunken singing Irish men that seemed to call this place their home. There were very few chairs and tables inside the place and the lighting was in three spots through the entire bar—the entrance, the bathroom and a large florescent light that hovered over the make shift bar.
The bartender himself fit the typical description—tall, stumpy old man probably in his mid fifties cleaning the same glass over and over again. It was like being stuck in an old black and white rerun with the button on 'repeat'. Spike ran his right digits over his own glass, taking the time to turn the object counter clockwise, while taking a drag of his cigarette with his left.
"Somethin' on your mind there, buddy?"
The question seemed to come out of nowhere, but it indeed came from the bartender, who'd been observing him since he walked in.
"Man, I've never seen depression like that since my ol' lady left me years ago for my best friend."
"This depression is a bit different from yours."
"Oh yeah? What kind is this?"
"The kind you usually mix Xanax and whiskey with"
"You young people.." The bartender placed the glass down on top of the wooden surface and leaned over to Spike, who in turn raised his half glass of whiskey as if to gesture for more. After a brief pause and getting the silent hint that his glass wasn't going to be refilled, he shrugged his shoulders and lit up his favorite brand cigarette. The bartender continued. "You don't know how good you have it, you know. You got life, you got money, you got love.."
"Ain't got love." Spike mumbled underneath his breath while exhaling out the fumes that came from his cig. 'Fraid I'm fresh out of that shit."
"Well save your energy for the next drink if you're lucky to have it…you got trouble comin'."
"Fuck you doin' bitch?"
A gruff male voice bellowed from behind, followed by a series of cracking noises—probably from his knuckles. The lingering smell of whiskey and hot shit that came out of this guy's mouth was so strong that it prompted Spike to stop drinking right then and there.
"You been acting real funny since you came in here pal. I don't like the way you show up in here. Best leave before you get yourself in some trouble."
Spike chuckled and pushed his glass of whiskey to the side. The bartender that was cleaning glasses before stopped momentarily to glance at the figure behind Spike, then slowly but surely inched away.
"This the kind of trouble you were talking about?" The space cowboy asked without so much as acknowledging the man behind him. The old bartender nodded in response.
"I kinda like it here" Spike replied with a grin. "Mostly for the comedy act you have going on here. Tell me, which act are you putting on tonight?"
"What was that?!"
Almost immediately he was grabbed by the back of his blue jacket and hauled, but Spike quickly evaded the possible attack by slipping swiftly out of the piece, wrapping it around the unknown assailant's head and round housing him to the floor, throwing him several feet away into the brick wall. A puff of smoke escaped the Cowboy's lips, a sly smirk formed on his lips and his right leg shifted into defensive.
"Come on." He seemed to taut the man with complete relaxation—then again, it was a part of his fighting style. Everything this man ever did was done with ease and the man he round housed seemed to quickly be agitated by that fact.
With an angry bellow he pushed himself up from off the floor and threw the jacket to the ground, stomping his left leg on it as an indication to Spike that that would soon be his body. He stampeded towards the Cowboy, throwing a strong punch out there at first but Spike dodged it sideways effortlessly and swiftly pushed his palm upwards into a pressure point on the guy's chest. The nameless assailant cried out in pain and spat out blood before staggering backwards towards the patrons that were behind him watching. His bulky body rested on top of a wooden table, where he continued to cough violently. Spike watched him closely as he reached into the pocket of his pants as if he were to pull out a handkerchief, but quickly tossed the white object aside and pulled out a Joker knife instead. Before he even came within an inch of Spike's face, his forehead was instantly connected with the Cowboy's Jericho. All went silent for a moment; the only thing being heard was the heavy breathing from the unknown, and the cock of Spike's Jericho.
"..Didn't your mother teach you to never bring a knife to a gun fight?"
"Didn't YOURS tell you to never come alone to one?"
As if on cue, six mean looking hairy Caucasian men approached the vicinity armed with guns AND Joker knifes. Handguns cocked, shotguns grew ready, knifes flipped open and one person even had a grenade on hand—the crew's personal arsonist it seemed.
Spike shrugged.
"All this because I'm sitting alone?"
The unknown assailant chuckled underneath his breath before rising to his feet and wiping the blood from his jaw. "Not exactly"
At this time the space cowboy couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. He'd already figured that there was something other intention but he wasn't too sure—now he was certain of it.
"A good ol' fashion fist fight. No guns, no nothin'. If you win, I'll tell you all you need to know about Dimitri."
"And if you win?"
"Well.." The man glanced towards his comrades, who in turn chuckled for some odd reason or another in that typical anime fashion. "..That all depends if I'm feeling generous today. Two minutes. Alleyway. Be there."
In the alleyway..
Some were sitting on boxes, garbage cans, and some even brought beer from the bar to observe the blood match between Spike and his attacker.
The six men that walked into the bar earlier surrounded the two with cheers, shouts and bets all around to see who'd be the victor in the fight. Ten dollars went to Spike—eight hundred went to the opponent.
"Kick his ass Lupe!"
"Show that skinny sonovabitch who's boss!"
"YEAH LUPE!"
"Git 'im!"
"BE QUIET!" Lupe bellowed to his comrades who quickly quieted down. The rain poured down in the alleyway, giving the disposition of the area a very depressing one. It reminded Spike of the day he thought his life should've ended right then and there..the day Julia died in his arms.
Except now he had the feeling that it was his turn now—that it was some sort of sick revenge from God from allowing her to be in that situation in the first place. He silently wished for a guardian angel…and yes, it wasn't like Spike to start mentally backing out at the last minute but he had always been a man to follow his gut instincts, and right now they were telling him to get out.
"Before we begin" Lupe started, cracking his knuckles in the process. "I wish to add a twist..because no fic is ever complete without a twist eh?"
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm sayin' that I love a good fight—always gets my blood pumping. A man that can fight another without a use of a weapon is truly worth his title, and believe I've held mine in the past."
"If what you called back there was your idea of a fight, then I might as well lea—"
Before the word even FULLY left his mouth, guns were raised to his back and Lupe's comrades from in front had their knives ready to slice him open if he even thought about walking away or backing down. Lupe continued.
"Continuing from where I left off. Two minutes is the time limit. If in two minutes no one is declared the winner, or if your face touches the ground at ALL, one of my men will shoot. You won't know which one, so don't bother trying to seek him out. We got a deal?"
"..Fair enough."
"Good."
BAM!
A cheap shot! Lupe hurried to regain his composure and grinned maniacally before rushing back to Spike's position. He swung his arm out but Spike quickly caught his arm twisted it and slammed his elbow in the back of Lupe's neck, causing him to hit the floor much sooner than was expected—but his face never touched the ground. Instead he did a back flip similar to the Capoeira fighting style and simultaneously connected his foot with Spike's face. The cowboy's jaw lifted upwards with his entire body before landing backwards on the ground; his shirt already ripped and blood stained from his first wound.
The men around them cheered wildly, with some popping gun shots in the air in celebration of what was going on. The two continued.
Lupe grabbed Spike by his shirt quickly but he rolled out the way before that action was completed. A high left leg kick connected with Lupe's stomach, but even that proved to be no use as his leg was caught and his body thrown around like a useless rag doll. It seemed that he did indeed know how to fight after all, and was just using the bar as a cover up to mask his real talent. His fighting skills matched Spike's deadly combination of Jeet Kune Do and Savate, but it would also seem that he practiced a bit of Capoeira as well.
The wall behind Spike had a slight imprint of where his body did damage—and not a pretty site at that. He got himself up from off the position and rushed towards Lupe in offensive. His opponent, however, sidestepped his on coming assault, grabbed his neck fiercely from behind, kicked his legs out from underneath him and slammed him down on the floor, forcibly trying to make his head touch the cold dirt floor. The men cheered wildly as it seemed who clearly the winner was going to be, shouting out obscenities and throwing bet money about to the person who apparently had the highest bid. Spike began feeling the effects of his neck being pressured, feeling the light headedness of his body going down..down..
In an amazing rebound and, with a bit more of the strength he had left, he uppercut his opponent from his down stance, laid flat on his back and sidekicked Lupe with his left leg! His opponent in return flew into some nearby black trashcans, toppling over several garbage bags in the process. Needless to say, Lupe was PISSED.
Spike himself got up from his position and wiped the blood off his forehead and lips, before wincing at the site of a sharp, piercing pain in his side. Lupe chuckled lowly under his breath.
"S'matter? Cat got your tongue?"
Spike tried desperately to hold his body up, but it was no use. Something wasn't right..no something didn't FEEL right. He glanced down at his side.
"…I thought you said no weapons..!"
"Yeah, you're right. I did say that now didn't I? But technically I didn't use one. One of my men did."
"You son of a—UGH!" Lupe's knee caught him dead in his jaw, sending the cowboy's body soaring backwards on to the cold concrete floor. He slammed both his hands on the ground upon impact to prevent his head from touching the pavement..and any fool at this point could see that he was exhausted.
"Really God.." He glanced up at the grey sky as though he were looking at his maker himself, with a toothy grin occurring on his bloodied lips. "I'm supposed to die this way..?"
The smell of cigarette smoke waved passed Spike's nostrils, and his attention was now turned back towards his assailant, and the men that were now heavily surrounding him. Lupe bent down towards him and placed a hand on his head, chuckling while he blew some smoke in his opponent's features.
"Sucks huh..?" He tauted, taking yet another drag of his cancer stick. "Good thing I invested in a silencer. Heh..best thing I ever did, right boys?!"
"WHOO!! GO LUPE!!"
"YEAH! FINISH HIM OFF SON!"
"HIT 'IM RIGHT DEAD IN THE JAW!"
"You hear that, Spike..?"
The hooting and hollering seemed more like a garbled dream to him, and after a few seconds of trying his best to comprehend, he stopped listening. Lupe himself seemed like a shadowy blur. He was losing blood—and fast. He needed to get himself patched up, or Lupe was going to do it for him—and in the worst way possible.
"They're cheering for me. Who you got cheering for you, huh? Nobody. You're going to die here, Spike.. You're going to die here..and you're going to damn well like it. Sounds good huh?"
"..No..not really.." And somehow, he managed to let out a small laugh before wincing in agonizing pain.
"Before you do die however, there's something you should know about me. Something that only me and my men know about."
"Yeah..?" Spike coughed, and spat out a bit of blood on the floor. He was still managing so far to keep his head up from the pavement, but so far that was proving to be a weak effort. "..And what…what might that be..?"
Lupe grinned.
And not just any grin.
It was the type of grin that Spike's first ever leading lady had ever given him a few years back..the grin that he was sure his mother gave to his father, whomever they were, right before he was conceived. The type of grin Julia gave Spike before they realized they wanted their hands all over each other. The type of grin that Faye flashed him (among other things) during one of their past escapades. This grin seemed all too familiar, and though Spike wasn't up for exploring or reading up much on the various types, he certainly knew this one.
"You're a great fighter, Spike" He began in a soft, yet gruff voice; the smoke from his lips escaping into light airy wisps. Spike flinched.
You've got to be fucking kidding me..
"I wanna at least have some fun with you before I shut you up for good..and not just any kind of fun, if you know what I mean. whaddayasay boys?! READY FOR SOME FRESH MEAT?!"
"YEAH!!!"
"WOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"COME ON NOW BABY!!!"
Even in some very serious pain, Spike cringed. The fight apparently seemed to take a very VERY wrong turn than what he was expecting..and Spike himself was even prepared to take a quick death instead.
"Can't ya just.. shoot me..?"
Lupe chuckled, outing the cigarette bunt on the ground before leaning closer to his features, his hot breath trailing the gaojo's clammy skin.
"Now why would I do that…?"
"FUCK! BOSS!! BOSS!!!!"
"WHAT NOW?!"
"Kaneda's down boss!!"
"Fuck do you mean by down?"
"He's DEAD!"
And sure enough, there laid the body with an apparent gunshot wound to the back of the skull laying face down on the concrete floor next to some old black garbage cans. Lupe's men surrounded the body with their guns and knives drawn out immediately, searching about the place for a possible killer.
"YOU IDIOT! WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Lupe yelled as he rushed over to his fallen comrade's side.
"I didn't do nothin'! One minute he was cheerin' and the next he just fell down—dea— "
"LUPE! TENJO'S DOWN!"
"WTF?! Boss, I'm hit! I'M HI— "
"KANEDA!"
And one by one, they all started dropping like flies, all six of them with gun shot wounds to the back of the head. The bystanders that were watching previously from the bar doors suddenly vanished as if they were busted for a crime. Lupe grabbed his holster from off one of the silver garbage cans and started firing off rounds of ammunition aimlessly, hoping for one of the fucking bullets to hit whom ever were targeting him and his men. Each time it shot off, the sound of its ricochet echoed loudly through the dark damp moody alley way of Calisto.
"Come out come out where ever you are!! OR I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM!"
The cold black barrel of the gun was now pressed against Spike's already throbbing temple. He could tell that his opponent was fucking scared out of his mind—but tried quite hard (however unsuccessful) not to show it.
"You.." He started, his focus still shifting about for the unknown shooter.
"You..you sonovabitch Spike..! You had a secret shooter up there all along didn't you?!"
"….."
"DIDN'T YOU?!"
"……."
"ANSWER ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"
"I don't know what you're talking about…"
"Don't!" The back of his hand occupying the gun slammed into Spike's head immediately. "DON'T FUCK WITH ME SPIEGEL! WHERE IS HE HUH?! WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!"
"I don't know..what the fuck..you're TALKING ABOUT."
"TEN SECONDS SPIKE! I'M WARNING YOU…I'm..I'm fucking warning you..you're fucking..you're DEAD! DEAD! TEN!"
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN GOING RIGHT NOW!"
"NINE! KNOW WHAT?! LET'S JUST FUCKING SKIP TO THE END HOW ABOUT THAT?! LET'S JUST FUCK IT ALL!"
"No! NO WAIT! WAIT A MINUTE!!"
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