Faye dropped her earpiece into her pocket, and began humming deep in her throat.
Soon now, very soon, she'd have her answers.
She ducked into the alley next to the bar, and settled herself into the shadows to wait. When this Nicholas Greene left, she'd be right behind him, tailing him... she'd follow him wherever he was going, and when he got there, she'd call Jet to help her "question" him.
Yes, soon...
"I've been looking for you."
The acid tones behind her caught her totally by surprise. She had thought she was alone in the alley. She had been wrong.
She ripped her gun from its holster, and whirled to face her opponent. "You!" she hissed. She was face to face with the man in the black ship. The syndicate dog.
He grinned down the barrel of her glock30, and raised his hands slightly. "I'm afraid I never got the chance to introduce myself before. My name's Dimitri."
"How 'bout I just call you 'Ass Hole,' it suites you so much better."
His grin took on a wicked twist. "Is that so?"
He struck out too fast for her to react, knocking the gun from her hand, and her onto the ground. A moment later, he was sitting on her chest, constricting her breathing. He leaned over, his lips pressed into her hear.
"I have to say, I'm a little disappointed in you. I thought this would be a little more challenging."
"Fuck you!" she managed, breathlessly.
"Very crude, Miss Valentine, how about I teach you some manners."
He sat up, and drew his hand back. She met his eyes in a defiant glare as his fist began its down arch, and held his gaze until the force of the blow fell upon her temple. Then she was staring at the wall beside her, and the puddle her lifeless arm lay in, and then the fade to black.
Nicky glanced over his shoulder and watched her go. He'd recognized the picture; it was the man who he'd met just the other day. The one who called himself Corbin 26.
He'd recognized her too. She was the bounty hunter, Faye Valentine. The year before, she'd taken in a pal of his, but what could she want with a guy like Corbin.
True, what he worked for some slimy people, there was no law against that, otherwise, most people would be in quite a bit of trouble. So what, then?
Nicky shook his head, if that lady bounty hunter was involved, it had to be pretty big. He'd probably better let Townsend know about this.
Her communicator rang in the alley, unheard by all but one. Jet walked over to the buzzing black box, his eyes traveling from the gun laying several feet away to the faint blood stain on the concrete, and back once again to the communicator... Faye's communicator.
He flipped his own communicator closed, and the faint noise stopped.
He had waited for her to call with a location. He'd waited for over an hour. And when she didn't call, he'd tried to call her, and she hadn't answered. Now he knew why.
Jet closed his eyes, and shook his head. That stupid woman had gotten herself into trouble, again. He should have just let her go that day, so many years ago, when they first met. He'd known she'd bring trouble to his doorstep.
"But then your life wouldn't be so interesting." He told himself aloud.
And suddenly he felt it, anger and anguish, welling up inside him. Emotions belonging not only to the present situation but to events from years past. He raised his metal arm, closed his eyes to listen to the familiar whir and click of gears as he curled the fingers into a fist. He hit the wall so hard it cracked.
Not again, this time he would not loose his partner... not this time.
He turned around, making his way back to the ship, "but I have a feeling that you'll find the answer to your questions when you find this... this look-alike..." he repeated to himself. "You'll find the answers when you find this look-alike."
He didn't have time to be subtle, he was going to get some answers.
Drip. Silence. Drip. Silence. Drip... and so on, and so on. The first things Faye became aware of was this sound and the scent of lilac, and jasmine. Next was the ache in her head, like a drum solo on her temporal lobe.
"Nnnnnn..." she moaned, and started to reach her hand to the injured area. That's when she became aware of the third thing. She couldn't move her hands, and she registered the feel of unforgiving steel encircling her wrists. She'd been in handcuffs enough to know without looking that she was in them now.
"Ahh... I do believe I see some signs of life," the voice was feminine, and almost matronly. "You're a lucky girl, you know that? Dimitri has a terrible temper." She continued.
Faye tried to sit up, straining against her bonds.
"No, don't do that, you really should rest a little more first, before you try to get up... besides, I don't have the key to those cuffs, Dimitri does."
"Dimitri can go to hell," Faye whispered, as she drifted back off to sleep.
Jet looked at the number on the apartment building, and saw that it echoed the one on the slip of paper in his hand. This, according to Ed, was the apartment of one Nicholas Greene, and here, Jet would get some answers.
The building was a bit rundown. Inside the door, the lobby was laid with trampled red carpeting, and the wallpaper was peeling and stained with smoke. But it had once been expensive wallpaper, and the dusty chandelier spoke that the building had seen better days.
Jet walked by an unoccupied security desk, and up two flights of stairs. There was an elevator in the lobby, but judging by the shape of the ground floor, he really didn't want trust his life to whoever did the upkeep on this place. He felt much better when he wasn't swinging from old cables.
As he reached the second landing, he paused. His hand was already on the door to the hallway, but on the other side he could hear voices.
"She didn't say anything about me, or about trying to bust up our operation?"
"Nope, just that she was looking for Corbin."
Jet pressed his ear to the door... were they talking about Faye?
"Did you tell her anything?"
"No way, that guy is too close to us right now, having just finished up a job for you. I didn't want to do anything that might get us involved with the police."
"Good thinking Nick... You're sure she didn't notice you?"
"Nah, never even looked in my direction."
Jet stiffened as he realized the voices were getting closer. He reluctantly left the door, and the conversation, and headed another flight up. He pressed himself against the fourth flight of stairs, and waited until he heard the hall door open, and the footsteps that retreated down the stairs.
He breathed a sigh of relief, and heaved himself off the steps.
Once again before the second floor hall door, he stopped to listen, then, satisfied that there was no one there, he turned the handle and stepped into the hallway. He walked half way down it, on orange shag carpet, and stopped in front of 207. He lightly rapped the door with his knuckles.
"Coming," he heard form far away.
Jet ripped the door from its hinge. "Don't worry," he called, "I let myself in."
Jet heard a muffled "oh, shit," and headed in that direction.
He pulled his gun, and kicked in a door that he assumed was to the bathroom. Nicky looked rather undignified sitting on the toilet with a newspaper spread across his lap.
"Um... can I help you?"
Jet grinned "why I believe you can. You see I work with a Miss Valentine, and we were looking for this man," Jet tossed a photo at him, "Who is he, and when was the last time you saw him?"
Nick shook his head, "shit, I thought I was going to get outta this one." He cleared his throat, and continued "He calls himself Corbin 26. The first time I saw him, and the last, was about two days ago. He did a little bodyguard work for a friend of mine,"
"Your boss, Townsend." Jet filled in.
He grinned weakly back at Jet. "Yeah, anyway, I delivered his payment."
"Did he tell you anything... where he was staying, where he was headed next?"
"I don't know where he's going, but he was staying in a hotel in the shipping district, a place called Romania. It's a real rat hole... I doubt he's still there."
"We'll see," Jet said, and left the dazed man on the toilet. "We'll see."
Corbin tied his boots, and opened his pillow mint. He turned off the television, and pulled his suitcase off the bed. A moment later he was shutting the door to his room, and walking down the hall, spinning the room key around his finger.
He'd drop these by the desk, and check out, then off to god knows where, to do god knows what, all for the sake of earning a little cash, so he could once again move on. He smirked, what a way to live his life.
"So you're Corbin 26?"
He stopped in his tracks, as a drop of sweat trickled down his neck.
"That's what I go by, yes."
Corbin turned around. The first thing he noticed was the gun aimed at his head. It was a standard army issue 1911, a classic design. He then moved his gaze up the barrel of the gun to the metal hand that gripped the handle, to the broad shoulders, and imposing figure, and finally to the stern face.
It was a rugged face, Corbin mused, a face that had seen a lot of heart ache, a lot of pain. Under different circumstances, he might have respected that face, but right now it belonged to the man training a gun on his nose. It was hard to feel anything but hatred, and bitterness... and maybe fear.
"I don't know who you are, but I know who you're not, and there is no way you're Spike. He's dead, and I guess I'm dealing with that, but now she might be dead too." The man's stone face cracked. "Are you Spike?"
Spike? Some one had called him by that name before, hadn't they? He couldn't remember. Was he Spike? Corbin shook his head, and gave him the best answer he could.
"I don't know."
Soon now, very soon, she'd have her answers.
She ducked into the alley next to the bar, and settled herself into the shadows to wait. When this Nicholas Greene left, she'd be right behind him, tailing him... she'd follow him wherever he was going, and when he got there, she'd call Jet to help her "question" him.
Yes, soon...
"I've been looking for you."
The acid tones behind her caught her totally by surprise. She had thought she was alone in the alley. She had been wrong.
She ripped her gun from its holster, and whirled to face her opponent. "You!" she hissed. She was face to face with the man in the black ship. The syndicate dog.
He grinned down the barrel of her glock30, and raised his hands slightly. "I'm afraid I never got the chance to introduce myself before. My name's Dimitri."
"How 'bout I just call you 'Ass Hole,' it suites you so much better."
His grin took on a wicked twist. "Is that so?"
He struck out too fast for her to react, knocking the gun from her hand, and her onto the ground. A moment later, he was sitting on her chest, constricting her breathing. He leaned over, his lips pressed into her hear.
"I have to say, I'm a little disappointed in you. I thought this would be a little more challenging."
"Fuck you!" she managed, breathlessly.
"Very crude, Miss Valentine, how about I teach you some manners."
He sat up, and drew his hand back. She met his eyes in a defiant glare as his fist began its down arch, and held his gaze until the force of the blow fell upon her temple. Then she was staring at the wall beside her, and the puddle her lifeless arm lay in, and then the fade to black.
Nicky glanced over his shoulder and watched her go. He'd recognized the picture; it was the man who he'd met just the other day. The one who called himself Corbin 26.
He'd recognized her too. She was the bounty hunter, Faye Valentine. The year before, she'd taken in a pal of his, but what could she want with a guy like Corbin.
True, what he worked for some slimy people, there was no law against that, otherwise, most people would be in quite a bit of trouble. So what, then?
Nicky shook his head, if that lady bounty hunter was involved, it had to be pretty big. He'd probably better let Townsend know about this.
Her communicator rang in the alley, unheard by all but one. Jet walked over to the buzzing black box, his eyes traveling from the gun laying several feet away to the faint blood stain on the concrete, and back once again to the communicator... Faye's communicator.
He flipped his own communicator closed, and the faint noise stopped.
He had waited for her to call with a location. He'd waited for over an hour. And when she didn't call, he'd tried to call her, and she hadn't answered. Now he knew why.
Jet closed his eyes, and shook his head. That stupid woman had gotten herself into trouble, again. He should have just let her go that day, so many years ago, when they first met. He'd known she'd bring trouble to his doorstep.
"But then your life wouldn't be so interesting." He told himself aloud.
And suddenly he felt it, anger and anguish, welling up inside him. Emotions belonging not only to the present situation but to events from years past. He raised his metal arm, closed his eyes to listen to the familiar whir and click of gears as he curled the fingers into a fist. He hit the wall so hard it cracked.
Not again, this time he would not loose his partner... not this time.
He turned around, making his way back to the ship, "but I have a feeling that you'll find the answer to your questions when you find this... this look-alike..." he repeated to himself. "You'll find the answers when you find this look-alike."
He didn't have time to be subtle, he was going to get some answers.
Drip. Silence. Drip. Silence. Drip... and so on, and so on. The first things Faye became aware of was this sound and the scent of lilac, and jasmine. Next was the ache in her head, like a drum solo on her temporal lobe.
"Nnnnnn..." she moaned, and started to reach her hand to the injured area. That's when she became aware of the third thing. She couldn't move her hands, and she registered the feel of unforgiving steel encircling her wrists. She'd been in handcuffs enough to know without looking that she was in them now.
"Ahh... I do believe I see some signs of life," the voice was feminine, and almost matronly. "You're a lucky girl, you know that? Dimitri has a terrible temper." She continued.
Faye tried to sit up, straining against her bonds.
"No, don't do that, you really should rest a little more first, before you try to get up... besides, I don't have the key to those cuffs, Dimitri does."
"Dimitri can go to hell," Faye whispered, as she drifted back off to sleep.
Jet looked at the number on the apartment building, and saw that it echoed the one on the slip of paper in his hand. This, according to Ed, was the apartment of one Nicholas Greene, and here, Jet would get some answers.
The building was a bit rundown. Inside the door, the lobby was laid with trampled red carpeting, and the wallpaper was peeling and stained with smoke. But it had once been expensive wallpaper, and the dusty chandelier spoke that the building had seen better days.
Jet walked by an unoccupied security desk, and up two flights of stairs. There was an elevator in the lobby, but judging by the shape of the ground floor, he really didn't want trust his life to whoever did the upkeep on this place. He felt much better when he wasn't swinging from old cables.
As he reached the second landing, he paused. His hand was already on the door to the hallway, but on the other side he could hear voices.
"She didn't say anything about me, or about trying to bust up our operation?"
"Nope, just that she was looking for Corbin."
Jet pressed his ear to the door... were they talking about Faye?
"Did you tell her anything?"
"No way, that guy is too close to us right now, having just finished up a job for you. I didn't want to do anything that might get us involved with the police."
"Good thinking Nick... You're sure she didn't notice you?"
"Nah, never even looked in my direction."
Jet stiffened as he realized the voices were getting closer. He reluctantly left the door, and the conversation, and headed another flight up. He pressed himself against the fourth flight of stairs, and waited until he heard the hall door open, and the footsteps that retreated down the stairs.
He breathed a sigh of relief, and heaved himself off the steps.
Once again before the second floor hall door, he stopped to listen, then, satisfied that there was no one there, he turned the handle and stepped into the hallway. He walked half way down it, on orange shag carpet, and stopped in front of 207. He lightly rapped the door with his knuckles.
"Coming," he heard form far away.
Jet ripped the door from its hinge. "Don't worry," he called, "I let myself in."
Jet heard a muffled "oh, shit," and headed in that direction.
He pulled his gun, and kicked in a door that he assumed was to the bathroom. Nicky looked rather undignified sitting on the toilet with a newspaper spread across his lap.
"Um... can I help you?"
Jet grinned "why I believe you can. You see I work with a Miss Valentine, and we were looking for this man," Jet tossed a photo at him, "Who is he, and when was the last time you saw him?"
Nick shook his head, "shit, I thought I was going to get outta this one." He cleared his throat, and continued "He calls himself Corbin 26. The first time I saw him, and the last, was about two days ago. He did a little bodyguard work for a friend of mine,"
"Your boss, Townsend." Jet filled in.
He grinned weakly back at Jet. "Yeah, anyway, I delivered his payment."
"Did he tell you anything... where he was staying, where he was headed next?"
"I don't know where he's going, but he was staying in a hotel in the shipping district, a place called Romania. It's a real rat hole... I doubt he's still there."
"We'll see," Jet said, and left the dazed man on the toilet. "We'll see."
Corbin tied his boots, and opened his pillow mint. He turned off the television, and pulled his suitcase off the bed. A moment later he was shutting the door to his room, and walking down the hall, spinning the room key around his finger.
He'd drop these by the desk, and check out, then off to god knows where, to do god knows what, all for the sake of earning a little cash, so he could once again move on. He smirked, what a way to live his life.
"So you're Corbin 26?"
He stopped in his tracks, as a drop of sweat trickled down his neck.
"That's what I go by, yes."
Corbin turned around. The first thing he noticed was the gun aimed at his head. It was a standard army issue 1911, a classic design. He then moved his gaze up the barrel of the gun to the metal hand that gripped the handle, to the broad shoulders, and imposing figure, and finally to the stern face.
It was a rugged face, Corbin mused, a face that had seen a lot of heart ache, a lot of pain. Under different circumstances, he might have respected that face, but right now it belonged to the man training a gun on his nose. It was hard to feel anything but hatred, and bitterness... and maybe fear.
"I don't know who you are, but I know who you're not, and there is no way you're Spike. He's dead, and I guess I'm dealing with that, but now she might be dead too." The man's stone face cracked. "Are you Spike?"
Spike? Some one had called him by that name before, hadn't they? He couldn't remember. Was he Spike? Corbin shook his head, and gave him the best answer he could.
"I don't know."