Session 17.5
The night club was crowded this evening. Men and women adorned in fashy garb littered the dance floor and the bar. Easing back in his chair in the corner, Jet Black tilted his favorite yellow fedora hat down a little more to conceal his identity. His yellow suit was in good shape after all these years. Lifting his glass to his lips he drank some of the sweet nectar that had been grown, cultivated and brewed into one of his most beloved drinks.
Upstairs the crowd was going wild as well as they anxiously looked on to the game of billards that was playing out before them. The contenders were both adept at the game and evenly matched. The hometown favorite was Willy Smites of downtown Presbouta. The visitor was a man dressed in a blue suit, his yellow shirt un-buttoned at the top and his neck-tie hanging loosely around the collar, was Spike Speigel.
Spike inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke from his cig, then bending lower he took aim with his billiard stick. Moving the stick slightly back and forth between the bottom of his index finger and the top of his middle finger, not quite touching the ball. The right amount of pressure, the correct angle and the exact moment to break his opponent's confidence all had to be timed precisely. Spike was a pool shark when it came to this game and had let ol'Willy think he had gotten the best of him.
Willy only needed to sink the six ball and then finally the eight ball to win the game, whereas Spike had the ten, eleven, fourteen, and then he'd have to sink the eight ball. Spike's shot looked crazy, impossible and more or less pointless because he was sending the que ball all the way to the other end of the table where it would do him no good… or so they thought.
Bringing his elbow back and past a ninety degree angle, Spike hit the que ball with the right amount of force and sent it down to the other end of the table. It banked off the backend, then into the side bank, back down towards him and slam into the middle of his corner where the balls he needed to sink were congregated. The fourteen ball broke first and went in the corner pocket, the eleven and eight balls went rolling down the table to the far end corners, while the ten ball went into the left corner pocket across from Spike and sank. The eleven ball went in third down in the far left corner pocket and was followed neatly by the eight ball in the far right corner pocket.
Willy's face went from smug to ashen, his jaw dropped like an anvil and his eyes bulged on the verge of popping out of his skull.
"Pretty nifty, huh?" said Spike, a smile creeping up on the corner of his lips. "Now about that 500 woolongs you said you were willing to bet on this game?"
"But I… but how did you… it was… I…" Willy couldn't begin least of all form a coherent sentence. "Victory was in my grasp and…"
"And now you owe me 500 woolongs." Said Spike, he was enjoying this immensley.
Before he could pay up though Willy just fainted right then and there on the floor. Spike chuckled and had one of Willy's soon-to-be ex-girlfriends retrieve his money. Wadding it up and putting it in his pocket Spike headed downstairs to meet up with Jet.
Meanwhile back down below, Jet had been watching their bounty all the while that Spike was busy playing around. Their target was Ambrose Taggart, a small time crime boss operating out of Presbouta, Ganymede. He dealed in red-eye, though with the syndicates being destroyed one by one he was getting into other lucrative endeavors as of late. One such business ventures was illegal gambling in his nightclubs, not the kind of stuff at casinos but the gambling done behind closed doors for the rich only.
Right now Taggart was sitting at his personal corner table taking in the show and looking his girls for the evening over. A smug fat man, Ambrose Taggart was nothing to the big-time bounty hunters and not worth the waste of time and resources, but for the crew of the Bebop it meant money for things like food and repairs. After a month of nothing but Jet's infamous mushroom ensemble meals, they were willing to do it, no matter how many body guards the twerp might have around him. So far Jet had only made out three, but there could be others placed about in the night club.
"So, you come up with a plan yet?" Asked Spike as he took a seat next to Jet.
"Nope." Replied the old cop, "How about you? You come up with anything?"
"Made some small change playing pool upstairs." Explained Spike, "I noticed some rather observant and might I add badly placed 'hidden' bodyguards down below in the club, as well as one or two upstairs."
"Yeah, this guy won't be easy, but the pay of three million woolongs is well worth the effort." Said Jet, he tilted his head up now nad eyed Ambrose Taggart across the room from them, he was getting up to head to the restroom. That was Jet's que, he'd decided. Briefly and with finger and head movements only, he disclosed what he was going to do and what he wanted Spike to do.
Jet got up from the table and headed to the restroom as well. Taggart's bodyguards stood in front of the door, however. Putting up a hand to stop Jet from entering, the guard stepped forward and blocked his path. "I'm sorry, sir, but the restroom is unavailable at the moment. Come back in five and you can use it then."
"Huh? What?" Said Jet, throwing on his look of stunned surprise that usually worked on goons. "I can't hold it for five minutes man. I just got done drinking my fifth cup and gotta go bad."
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir, but the restroom is reserved at the moment and will be available shortyly."
"Reserved?" Said Jet astonished that someone would actually reserve a toilet. "Come on man, I'm praire doggin' it here."
"Praire doggin' it?" Asked the guard, this time it was his turn to look befuddled. "What's that?"
"You know, like when a praire dog pokes it's head up and down out of it's little hole." Said Jet, "I gotta take a serious dump too man, and it's gonna come one way or another so you gotta let me fo in there or this room is going to start smelling ripe."
Just the thought of someone shitting their pants and the stench that would ensue and engulf the room caused the guard to let down his guard and allow Jet in the restroom. Once in Jet found Taggart, or rather the stall that he was in, a guard stood in front of the door to it.
"Hiya, This stall taken?" asked Jet motioning to the stall next Taggart's.
"Go ahead." Said the guard, obviously realizing that if his partners had let this man in he mustn't be considered a threat. Jet moved towards the stall but right as he began to open the door he spun and let his cybernetic arm swing around and lay the goon out cold.
"Ambrose Taggart, come on out with your hands up, I'm taking you in." Said Jet in a menacing tone he hadn't used since he'd been a cop. Taggart reluctantly came out of the stall, his pants and boxers down around his ankles. "Pull up your pants you moron, god you're obnoxious."
"You may have captured me and even taken out my personal bodyguard, but how do you expect to waltz out of here past my other guards." The wormy little man asked.
"Trust me, it's been taken care of." Replied Jet with a smile on his face.
They walked to the door and Jet had Taggart go first. As Taggart walked out his two goons that had been guarding the door turned to look at him to make sure everything was alright, that was their first mistake. As they turned their heads the guard on the left to a fist to the back of his neck knocking him to his knees, the other guard recieved Spike's left foot as he spun around from his first attack and made contact with the other guards jaw. The guard's head twisted to the side, blood and spit flying from his mouth, he flew backwards and it the wall. The first guard began to get up but met the business end of Jet's boot as it sent him reeling backwards and into unconsciousness.
"Spike above you!" Jet screamed as his eyes began targeting more and more bodyguards converging on the area and some on the second level drawing semi-automatic weapons. But Spike was faster than the best of them and had his gun out before they could even begin to aim. He shot twice and three guards fell, which left Jet stunned as to how two bullets could take down three men. Spike ducked and rolled forward towards some advancing guards but pivoted and turned to shoot two more guards on the upper balcony.
By this time Jet had pulled out his gun and was laying down fire at the advancing mob on the ground floor but knew it was pointless, so going for the easier way out he placed it to Ambrose Taggart's head. "Tell them to drop their guns and to back off." He whispered into the crime boss's ear.
"Back off!" screamed Taggart. "He's got a gun to my head you idiots!" The goons did as they were told and even dropped their weapons to the ground knowing that either way Ambrose Taggart wouldn't be their boss any longer and it was probably better not to get shot at anymore.
At the local police station
"What! You've got to be kidding me!" Screamed Jet in defiance to what the officer had just told him. "How can the bounty on this guy go down to a measly one point five million woolongs?"
"Hey, I'm not the one who set the bounty or changed it." Quipped the officer. "Now do you want the one point five or are you going to be a good citizen and just turn him in for the good of the planet?"
"Give me the one point five." Jet said dejectedly, then after handing his credit chit to the officer who made the quick bounty transfer over to Jet's account gave it back. As he began to walk away, Jet was mumbling and the guard heard him and told him to quit bitching about it. "Yeah, well, did I ever tell you that you're obnoxious, because you are."