Session 9

Shiiiinnnkkkk. Shiiiinnnkkkk. Shiiinnnkkkk.

Obsessed with the rhythm, Vicious ran the whetstone along the edge of his katana. His eyes focused on the blade, measuring the sheen in the dim light of the condemned third story room Ironwall's handpicked squad kept watch in. This stakeout had already whiled away an entire day. An entire day of listening to their superiors point and bicker about building egress plans. Over in the windowsill by the fire escape, Spike reclined with his head resting against the chilled pane. Huddled in his jacket, every breath left a brief print of condensation. His eyes had been closed for hours, his right arm hanging limp at his side. Vicious snapped his gaze back to his sword. With a single hair he tested the edge. Two fine curls peeled off the one. It was ready.

Jovi, one of the men Ironwall left in charge of the mission, pounded a fist on the table in the center of the dusty room. "I'm telling you, the best place for the ambush isn't in the front of the building. They'll be expecting that. We need to come at them from this side entrance where there is less cover for them."

Kip, Jovi's partner, leaned forward and batted his hand away. "It leaves us exposed too, Jovi. Out front we can jump them from here and over here. Why is this escaping you?"

"Because that's obvious. And obvious will get us all killed."

This is the eighth go-around for these nimrods. Both plans are full of holes. Vicious rolled his eyes. The motion caught two bored men inching toward Spike. One held the end of a metal rod in his lighter flame as he crept forward to the whispers of his pal. "Heh, lazybones. The boss called him a Hellhound. But I can't let sleeping dogs lie."

"Yeah right, teach him to snooze on the job."

They remained oblivious as Vicious closed the distance. His katana sheered the thin rod in two, the glowing end tipped onto the floor. Two sets of shocked eyes blinked up at Vicious. "There will be no hazing, understand?"

Both men gulped and backed against the wall.

Vicious sheathed his sword and huffed a breath. "Morons." Behind him the team nearly broke into a fist fight over the plans. He shook is head.

In the window, Spike's eyes snapped open. "They're here," he murmured.

Leaning into the window, Vicious peered down as a delivery truck pulled around the corner. He eyed Spike's hand as the pocker chip materialized. He gave it a toss in the air. It landed on the sill and spun down in a circle. At last it settled, crown side up.

Vicious grinned. "I win. Go bait the hook."

Snatching the chip, Spike tucked it in his pocket and loosened the latch on the window. "You know this is the fun part, right?"

One of the would-be hazers tried to tug on Jovi's sleeve only to be batted away. His wide eyes watched helplessly.

Vicious gave Spike a shove out the window. "Just don't let them actually catch you."

The squeal of the fire escape brackets breaking loose from the corrosion turned Jovi's head. The hazer pointed to the window just as Vicious's head vanished from view.

Spike whistled an idle tune as he strolled by the truck, slouching with his hands in his leather jacket pockets. The driver leapt out of truck cab, a few more men dropped from the back as Spike meandered by, kicking a can. Big burly grunts with their firearms in full display turned their eyes toward him.

"Hey you, kid." The truck driver waved a hand in the air. "You shouldn't be here. Get lost!"

Unfazed, Spike gave the can another clattering punt along the gutter.

The grunts moved in tighter, a semi-circle leaving only one route of escape. "You deaf or dumb or somethin'? I'm talkin' at you!"

A rumble accompanied by a puff of exhaust turned their attention back to the truck. In tandem the men turned around to the now running vehicle just as it slipped into gear and started down the road.

Spike drew his foot back and delivered a violent kick to the can. It nailed the bewildered driver in the back of head bending him over. Leapfrogging over him, Spike reached into the driver's pocket and grabbed the key-ring. He cartwheeled, flattening two more thugs with kicks before breaking into an all out run for the handle on the back of the truck. Hot on his heels, the remaining grunts pulled out their firearms and stumbled to follow.

Catching hold, Spike hauled himself up onto the back and perched on the speeding vehicle. He produced his Beretta and fired off a few rounds, laughing as the men danced to avoid them. They screamed in rage as the truck barreled off, tipping as it rounded the corner.

Once the coast was clear, Spike laid his head back against the bouncing door, laughing hysterically. "That was too easy! Man, what a rush!"

The truck squealed to a halt in a warehouse. Spike leapt down and peered into the alley outside. No one in pursuit. He snatched the overhead door pull and hauled it down with a rattling clang.

A bloody arm hung out the truck's passenger window. Vicious dropped out of the cab, his cell phone in his hand. "Ironwall. If you want the shipment, we have it down at the warehouse … How is it there so quickly? Easy. We left those juveniles bickering over a post-trade ambush plan. None of them thought of just stealing the damn truck first. We'll lock up for you."

Spike fitted the key into the padlock on the truck's back door as Vicious padded up to him. "Shit. that stakeout took forever. I could really use a drink."

"Me too." Vicious eyed him. "But you'll need to lose that street-thread look. Come on, we'll swing by your place so you can change."

"What?" Spike tugged on the front of his T-shirt. "This again?"

"Where we're going they serve the best martinis in town. But they won't let a bum in. Now move it."


The staff of Le Sommet quietly maneuvered through the polished surfaces of the fine restaurant. Everyone in the dining hall and at the bar was attired appropriately. The women in gowns, the men in black ties and jackets. That included Spike as he ran an idle finger along the rim of his martini glass. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and scarcely recognized himself. Between his fingers he spun the poker chip, the gold foil of the crown catch the light.

"Tonight we showed those ranked lackeys how things are done." Vicious lifted his empty martini glass and gestured to the bartender. "With plans like that we're on our way straight to the top."

The chip turned again and again, an endless flash between the face and bare side. He lifted his own glass and took a sip. A waiter drifted by with a tray of plates. Tiny blobs of food huddled in the middle of each, artfully arranged. Where the heck is the food in this joint? Spike thought to himself. How is it that so many of the rich are porky sons of bitches while eating practically nothing?

Vicious continued talking for sometime, but his words didn't register as Spike resumed trying to match up the image in the mirror with himself. Who was this polished stranger staring back? All that remained of Spike was the un-tameable mat of dark green hair.

" … you really need to consider what you wear, Spike. You're less intimidating dressed like a thug."

Spike flicked the chip and watched it spin again. "We are thugs."

"Not anymore. And that's my point. To be taken seriously you have to take yourself seriously. Show some self respect. We aren't thugs. We are men who mean business. True businessmen. A sharp image is intimidating."

"Is that so? I have a feeling that your katana has a lot more impact on your impression than your fashion sense."

"The fact is—"

"I don't care." Spike sighed. "Sure, you walk around the tower and what do you see? Suits. Yes, I'm not blind. Does that mean I have to tie a noose around my neck too?"

Vicious fingered his own tie. "This is not a noose."

With a shrug, Spike finished off his martini and signaled for a refill. "I know it embarrasses you. That's the only reason you give a shit. Your own personal vanity. I don't know why you value it so high. You and I have proven everyone bleeds red. So aside from body armor, it doesn't matter what you wrap a future corpse in."

Setting his glass down, Vicious scowled. "I thought you would be thrilled after today's success."

He flicked the chip into a spin again, not letting it fall from its tight dance. "Yeah, me too. But it just wasn't … it didn't feel the same. The thrill was too short. There, then gone. It wasn't … " he hesitated, glimpsing the hunger he felt in Vicious eyes, " … enough."

A smile grew. Vicious gripped Spike's shoulder. "I knew you would wake up eventually. I just knew the drive was there. We are kin after all. Two beasts destined to dominate the lesser animals." He gripped the katana hilt. "We will make them respect us."

Spike eyed the golden flash of the katana at Vicious's waist and smirked. "Just remember, there is a marked difference between respect and fear."

"A powerful beast keeps his fangs sharpened, concealed beneath a steely veneer."

This time Spike flicked the chip and let it spin down, gradually the focal point teetered and the pattern began to spread out into a wide wobble. The chip chittered to a stop. The crown winked in the light. Spike's half-lidded eyes barely reflected the shimmer.

He grasped the fresh martini and took a deep gulp from the glass savoring the flavor. None of the bars he frequented served one anywhere near this quality. To get in here all it took was changing one thing. One seemingly insignificant thing and suddenly nothing mattered. Not even his age.

Not black, though. He rested his chin on a palm. Blue.


See you, Space Cowboy