Session 20

Somewhere in the back of his memory Spike knew that voice. Hearing, before seeing the source, brought it back to him. The hours spent listening to the man drone in a seemingly endless conversation with Mao in the backroom of a casino. All Spike had wanted to do was hit the gambling floor, but duty, and this time-wasting bastard, had forbade him. On that long ago day he'd been forced to stand behind Mao, shoulder to shoulder with Vicious, for the whole painstaking flop of a deal.

The moment Spike turned and locked eyes with him in the dim hallway, he knew he'd IDed the egotistical asshole. Gunter Keller. There he stood, dressed in a finely tailored suit that marked him as old money elite. The signet ring on his finger, an age old symbol of his family's power on display. A man convinced he was untouchable. Spike cursed himself for overlooking the name on the initial list. Still, Gunter wasn't into hacking. When they'd crossed paths ages ago he'd been a shyster of an arms dealer, that was what his family managed beneath their high-society front.

Gunter adjusted his tie with a self-satisfied smile. "I really should have noticed earlier, but it's been awhile, over a decade actually. I'd heard all the Red Dragons had been slaughtered, their reign ended in a blaze from hell itself, so why I even expect to see you alive? And truly, the day I saw you I spent most of my time trying to negotiate with Mao Yenrai. But I couldn't help glancing up his bodyguards. A high ranking capo such as he watched over by a pair of snot-nosed brats. Something didn't add up."

This was not good. Gunter had him dead to rights. He kept his mouth shut. All it would take was a few words to the right people and Spike's cover would be blown. The rules of the contest were clear—couples must be legitimately married, no aliases were to be used. Two marks that would disqualify them. Not to mention Spike's past involvement with the syndicate was not something he relished getting exposed. That could make things … uncomfortable, to say the least. Could even result in an unfortunate visit from the ISSP.

Gunter laughed coldly. "That of course meant that later that night when my own bodyguards didn't return I had to investigate. And I think you know what I found. Don't you, Spike Spiegel."

Oh, Spike remembered. The meeting had been boring as hell, just another blowhard trying to screw over Mao. What followed had made it worth the trip. Even Vicious had remarked. It wasn't everyday that goons fucked up that badly, nor Mao in that foul of a humor. He'd let Spike and Vicious exercise their imaginations on the party crashers. Spike did not envy the clean-up in that backroom considering the condition they'd left it in! The only thing to identify the men by, their cuff links. He kept his gaze steady on Gunter. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Looking this close now I'd know those eyes anywhere, you lying shit. You're the prick who drilled my best bodyguard. And I know it was you. Your blade-wielding partner butchered my other guy. You were the one with the gun."

"Best? That witless bag of pulp was your best?"

Gunter pointed, his smile twisted into a victorious sneer. "There it is! I knew it."

Too late Spike realized he'd said that aloud. His hand inched behind his back, fingers brushing the hilt of the small throwing knife. "Tch. Well, if you'd wanted them back with pulses you shouldn't've sent them after Mao." Somehow he had to get out of this. Slaughtering Gunter wouldn't work. A body would be inconvenient. No, this would require a gentlemen's bargain. He had to remember the rest of the night … what the heck were the details of the rest of it?

Gunter continued to drone on, "Mao was the issue. It's not my fault the negotiations soured."

"Not my problem. My task was to make sure my own boss walked away from that table. You're just lucky Mao decided to make you a pigeon."

He stiffened. "Is that what he said? I am no messenger! None of that matters now, I have need to recruit. You will serve as my bodyguard—or else."

"Serve you? Not gonna happen, pal. You have no idea how close you came to decorating the wall after the stunt you pulled." A cruel smile began to grow, the details coming back. "Your lackys weren't even cold yet when Mao sent me to locate you just to make sure you weren't stupid enough to send them as decoys. I found you, alright. Kept track of you for the rest of the night with only Mao's order stopping me from ending you. The thing with that particular casino is the walls aren't very soundproof."

Gunter cocked his head, eyebrow raising a touch as Spike studied the man's time-worn wedding band. Years of wear. Time to throw the dice on a gamble.

"How many years have you been married to Sarah now?"

Panic began to register in Gunter's eyes. But it was vague. A man trying not to reveal anything his opponent might not already know.

Nailed it. Spike's turn to have him dead to rights. He took the time to tuck his hands in his pockets, letting Gunter stew. "That night you weren't with your wife Sarah. That wasn't her voice in your hotel room howling like a cat in heat. Would be a shame if she found about Mimi. After all, she was a syndicate favorite. Rumor had it she didn't just dance around the stage pole for a living."

He narrowed his eyes. "You don't know anything."

"Well, I never had the opportunity to confirm those rumors for myself. Nights with her were a capo level exclusive. You're right, I didn't actually see her in your room, I just heard her distinctive … uhh … chorus." Spike's wicked grin twisted. "However, Mimi wasn't your arm candy at the table." He crossed his arms. "That one was Jezebel. A girl with a real slick poker face. By the way, did you think she actually had feelings for you? I lost a good deal of woolongs to her when Mao let me off duty for a few card games. She's still a good friend of mine, and Mimi's. She's been making rounds in a casino on Ganymede. Think I should give her a call and we can have a little reunion. Bet Sarah would love to met them both and compare notes." It was one helluva bluff. Those connections had been severed along with his initial death from the Red Dragons. But Spike bet that Gunter couldn't have been certain of that.

Gunter's throat closed off any reply as he shifted backward.

"Does Sarah even know what you really do for a living?"

The tight swallow proved it. Spike had rattled the cage the man didn't even know he was in. A bitter secret he had kept from the woman he loved, concealed beneath a veneer of privileged innocence, he used that term loosely.

Backing Gunter up, Spike planted his palm against the wall and leaned into him, so close he could see every rapid beat of the man's heart in his eyes. "A man trying to pretend to be clean cut shouldn't try to dig up dirt on another who knows the truth. Do you catch my drift?"

A bead of sweat dripped from Gunter's forehead.

"Here's the deal. You keep your mouth shut about who I was, and I won't share your details with your wife." He held out his right hand. "Deal?"

Gunter stared for a moment before taking the hand, palm glistening in sweat, he shook hastily. "Deal! Deal!"

Releasing the hand, Spike remained leaning over him, staring. "That's the thing about most of you big-shots, you forget why bodyguards were needed for your fat asses. You sit at your tables talking smack all while guys like me listen, tracking every move, every word. You forget that what made you powerful were the thugs who kept you breathing. Just one word in the right ear and that happy world you've cultivated on blood money can go down like a bad poker hand. The only thing stopping me from killing you before was Mao. In case you haven't noticed, he's not around to give any orders." He slammed his hand against the wall and growled, "Don't piss me off!"

Gunter slid down the wall, slack-jawed, staring up at Spike with all his bluster gone.

Spike pushed off the wall and strode down the hall, keeping an air of confidence until he rounded the corner. The second he was out of sight, panic seized him and he ran the rest of the way to the room. The suite door couldn't open fast enough. Secured inside he still didn't feel safe.

His finger clawed the knot of his loose tie down, but it didn't ease that suffocating feeling. It felt so damn similar to another day … the graveyard in Tharsis flashed before him. Where he had fled in a blind panic after that fateful meeting in the tower, after Vicious tricked him into publicly disgracing himself before the Van. The same hopelessness filled him. Nowhere to run. His world crashing around him. But that wasn't the worst of it. Inside he felt that same hollowness threatening to envelope him once more. The same bloodthirsty beast he had once been in service to the Dragon. No—in sacrifice to the Dragon.

He panted, how could he have been so damn foolish? He'd said it himself early on. The people in this circle tended to have a lot to hide in the methodology of how they gained their money and kept their status. These were the people who dealt with and were even secretly in the syndicates. The true power behind the wheels of society. The odds always were high that someone here would have been on the other side of Mao's table and lived to tell about it.

He palmed his face, cursing. What if there was someone else? Another who didn't try to extort him … who just went to the proper channel and revealed his roots? Why did it seem like every time he tried to recapture something precious in his past the venomous bite always followed?

Get a hold of yourself! He gritted his teeth and registered the cold weight of a whiskey bottle in his hand, when had he grabbed it? He didn't even remember that. Taking a good swig, the liquid burned his throat, the sensation chipping away at the numbness even as he paced the room. Pain, discomfort, the old trick of an anchor informing him he was still alive.

The bathroom door opened to a puff of steam. Wrapped in a robe, Faye smiled when she saw him … then stopped short and blinked. "Spike? What the hell is wrong? You look … haunted."

He took another deep swallow, his grip on the bottle neck tightened. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop pacing. "Shit, I shoulda known. I shoulda known!"

Faye attempted to stop his course, but he shrugged out of her failed effort. "Tell me, what's wrong?"

"Why the fuck does my past always try to drag me back? A guy I ran into from the old days tried to extort me in the hall."

She held her breath, glancing pointedly down at Spike's knuckles. "You didn't … "

He didn't mean to yell, but he couldn't stop himself. "Of course I didn't! I'm not that stupid!" Taking a moment, he shut his eyes and wrangled in the welling panic. "Fortunately, I had enough dirt on the asshole that he'll probably think twice about every decision he's made for the past decade. But it doesn't matter. I should have thought about being recognized!"

"Spike, take it easy. If you silenced him, you're ok."

No, she didn't get it. How close everything was to being ruined. It wasn't just the contest, Spike realized with a white hot poker of panic—the thought of being controlled again, shackled by the empty bluster of power, nothing more than a beast set to murder on demand. No—never again!

"I won't go back to being a hollow wretch again!" With a roar, he threw the bottle against the wall. It shattered with a loud crash. Spike blindly fell to his knees. "I never should have tried to do this! I don't belong here! I'll never be one them! I never wanted it … even when Mao did!"

A gentle touch on his shoulder. Faye cautiously knelt down beside him.

A frantic knock on the door whipped her head up. She clamped a hand over Spike's mouth, he couldn't blame her for that move, even he didn't know what he'd blurt out right now. A voice broke through, Jim Lansing, "Hey. You ok? We heard a crash all the way from our room."

Faye stared at the locked door. "Yeah. Damn it all! Just tripped while celebrating, dropped the bottle of champagne. Don't open the door, there's glass everywhere. Guess we might have had a little too much. We're okay."

On the other side of the door, Jim laughed. "Well, you got enough to celebrate, alright! Not everyday that someone beats the Espositos at their own game. Congratulations!" His footsteps carried down the hall.

Faye released her hand over Spike's mouth. His weight shifted back and he leaned against the bed and stared at the ceiling, still breathing hard. She sat next him, droplets of water from her hair soaking through his jacket. Cold on his skin, another sensation to batter the threatening numbness. "Spike, are you alright now?"

He blinked slowly. "That asshole nearly had me. If I hadn't remembered he'd been married to Sarah that long ago … that back then his sleazy one-night stand meant something more, he'd have had the power to leash me again. Drag me back into the blood bath all over again. Back into what I used to be."

"Ooookaaaaay," she replied slowly.

"Faye, you don't get it, guys like this—"

"Are the same shallow jerks we've been collaring. They're just lowlife scumbags with titles."

Spike shifted and met her gaze. "Titles have money and power. Men like Gunter are the ones who design how the system works. I've been inside it, seen how the strings are pulled. Gunter belonged to a different syndicate, but he was just as powerful as Mao."

"And just as vulnerable." Faye took his hand. "Remember, I sat next to a corpse. With what you did to the Red Dragons why does this guy even affect you?"

"Because he reminded me," he stared at her hand wrapped around his, an anchor in the storm, "secrets are the currency of loyalty. Men who desire their secrets remain concealed tend to be volatile creatures."

For a long moment she was silent, her eyes narrowed in concern. "You're not talking about him … are you."

He lowered his head.

"Oh, Spike." Faye reached up and brushed his cheek. "If you let that asshole's threat rattle you you'll just be paranoid for no reason."

"You don't really know the truth … "

"I know who you are now, and that's enough. Come on. We've had a long day. We better get some rest. Things will be better in the morning."

Spike glanced at the shattered bottle. At a sign that for a moment he'd lost the reins on his temper. A hollow pit in his stomach teased him, a shiver ran down his spine … a deep well of fear rippled—to be forged once again in the fires that re-created him in the past. Vicious. Why did his smiling face haunt him now? Years ago he'd missed the viper sidled up beside him in the dark, waiting … bidding his time. What was Spike missing?

The buzzing of a cell phone invaded Faye's slumber. The bed shifted beside her, followed by the buzz rapidly drifting further away, and a pronounced thump. She sat up in time to see Spike's arm coming back to rest over the covers. The offending sound box now across the room. Oddly, he was still sound asleep as the thing ceased its squawking. She had a vague suspicion this was something he had done before.

As she went to lie back down her own piped up. She reached onto the nightstand and picked it up, answering the call IDed as from Tomato.

Ed's overly bright face filled the screen. At full volume she squealed, "Hi, Faye-Faye!"

Swiftly, she covered the speaker, eyeing Spike. Head rammed into the pillow, he hadn't so much as stirred. Turning back to the screen she cracked a grin. "Uh Ed, you do know it's the middle of the night."

"Yes yes. Edward knows. Jet is sleeping." She rocked back and forth. "Ed was going to wait until the morning to say how amazing that last dance was. Ed wants a turn to fly like Faye-Faye! Weeeeeeee! And Mister Spike-person can sing. Jet was surprised, you should have seen his face. It was … " She did a perfect imitation of the gold fish if it could point. "Ed almost had to pound on his chest he took so long to respond."

Faye held her finger up. "Shhh, Ed."

She stopped and blinked. "Why didn't Spike answer his phone when Ed called?"

"Because it's halfway across the room."

"Why?"

"That's where he threw it because he's trying to get some sleep. Sooo, why don't you tell me why you called in the middle of the night, alright?"

"Oh yeah, sure. Cause Ed cracked a transmission." She said it so matter-of-factly, like she was calling the Earth's sky blue or something else rather trivial.

Faye sat up, her hand straying to the side, inches from waking Spike. Wait, this was Ed, it could be nothing after all. Better to hear it herself first. "Okay, so?"

For a long moment Ed stared back at her. "Oh, you want to know?"

She ground her teeth and smiled. "Yes, that would be helpful."

"Late night transmission with lotsa codes layered over it again, and again, and again. Ed cracked it like pepper." She leaned closer to the screen, squinting as she rocked back and forth. "Chicken soup in the crock pot. Stock out. Delivery unaltered."

Faye wrinkled her brow. "Chicken soup? What the heck? Ed, that doesn't even make sense."

Ed shrugged. "There was a reply too. It was, You should have waited for the biscuits."

"That makes even less sense!" For the briefest moment she considered waking Spike up, maybe there was some standard covert code that would make heads or tails of chicken soup and biscuits. Burrowed in as he was she hated to. It had taken a long shower and over an hour for him to relax enough to shut his eyes the first time. Bringing up old codes right now might make it worse. "Thanks for the information, Ed. I'll tell Spike when he wakes up and we'll see what we can figure out. For now, keep monitoring things like you have been. I need to get some sleep. We have a serious rehearsal tomorrow morning."

"Dance pretty, Faye-Faye." Ed practically shouted, "Good night!"

She cringed and cut the call, Spike hadn't so much as stirred. The silence was deafening as she set the phone back on the stand. Chicken soup? Biscuits? What the heck was that about? Some sort of potluck?

See You Space Cowboy