Part Four: Tangled Up in Black
Jet looks out of the window of the deserted Running Rock cantina. All over the outside docks, there is a flock of men in long coats and fedoras with press passes tucked in them, standing wherever there's room to get a view at the entrance. They look back at him with a stare that has something of the essence of Hitchcock's silent crows at the end of 'The Birds.'
"At least it's stopped raining. God damn reporters," he mutters. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. He slaps his forehead. "Is the ISSP getting involved now, too?"
Perched on an empty table, using my ramshackle crutch to scratch my back, I just shrug my shoulders. "Got a radio handy? Maybe a police scanner?" He walks back behind the bar, pulling up an retro-styled audio receiver. Turning it on, he sets it to the local news station. An announcer's crisp voice crackles over the static.
"...repeat the breaking news... Jet Black, one of the famed crewmembers of the Cowboy Bebop, has been found. Following an altercation at a local café with the press, Black reputedly shot a reporter for the Weekly Ganymedian, and took another man hostage. An ISSP SWAT team is en route to negotiate a surrender." Jet gives me a look. It says to me 'you just HAD to come after me, didn't you kid?'
"Hey, don't look at me, Mr. Black. You did kind of take me hostage..." He grimaces.
"Yeah, well...you started it." He pours some water into a bowl and sets it down for Ein. "What happened, were you followed?"
"That'd be my guess. Look, sir, it really wasn't my intention to have all this happen to you."
"You mean you weren't trolling for a story?"
"Well, no, of course I was...that sounds terrible, I know...but I really admire you, sir, and I wouldn't intentionally blow your cover if you didn't want it revealed." I rub my neck awkwardly. "Probably some typesetter back at my magazine heard I'd found Edward from one of the higher-ups, and leaked it to the others." Outside, the ISSP craft is landing.
"And I thought bounty-hunters were cutthroat. Look, kid...if we don't figure out a way to defuse this situation, they're gonna start shooting tear gas in here."
I stare long and hard out the window...then it hits me. "Mr. Black, I think I have a plan..."
.......................
Jet and I exited the cantina together, just before the ISSP guys got their equipment ready to gas us out. Jet holds Ein's lead in one hand, and the little dog skitters out in front of him. In the other hand, he holds the pistol he used to shoot Panza. Flashbulbs pop as the first photos of two Bebop mates together since 2071 are taken. As for me, I hobble out on my crutches, careful not to bang my foot on anything. The crutch barely works, but barely is good enough. Jet takes the gun and lays it on the ground slowly. He seems irritated by the theatrical way this is going down. I know, of course, that the reporters will be better satiated with a dramatic finish than going out with a whimper, so when I step forward to speak, I lay it on extra-thick.
"My friends and colleagues of the press! Mr. Black and I have reached an arrangement. In return for waiving kidnaping charges against his person, Mr. Black has agreed to an exclusive interview with Beat Magazine! Mr. Black asks that the press please respect his wishes in this matter, however, he hastens to add that, if pressed on this matter, he cannot be held responsible for any actions he takes. Thank you for your presence here today, and good-bye." The SWAT team looks dumbfounded...was this a hostage situation or a press conference? As for the reporters, they are crestfallen, one and all, but no one moves to obstruct us as we hail a skiff to take us to the other side of town. I hear some of them muttering as we leave.
"How did a rag like the Beat manage an exclusive? It's not fair."
"Well, maybe we can dig up that Ed kid before they go to press with this..." I try to contain my laughter. If those guys want to try their luck on Earth, they can have it!
The skiff, sort of a modern tech version of a Venetian gondola, takes us to the other end of town in a few moments. As I've said before, Ginsburrough isn't a very big place. We end up on a dock lined with warehouses and cannery plants. Everything revolves around fish in this town. Jet nods to an abandoned-looking warehouse a block or two down.
"That's the one. C'mon, let's go." We make our slow way down the dock to Jet's building, Ein's age and my lameness impeding any kind of hasty progress. "Nice work with the reporters, by the way. How'd you figure that'd do the trick?"
A few steps behind, I'm gasping for breath, trying to keep up. "Hey...if another guy has exclusive rights for the story...there isn't much you can do other than make a counter offer. None of those guys have their own kidnaping charges against you that they can offer to drop." I stop a minute to wheeze. "Panza might have some grounds to extort some coverage by dint of assault with a deadly weapon..." I continue, "but he's probably in the hospital under heavy sedation if I know anything about his pain threshold." I pause for a moment, but not to catch my breath. "Look, Mr. Black, as far as the exclusive goes...your official statement can be 'go to hell' for all I care. I'm really sorry about all this."
Jet stops in front of the massive warehouse door, inspecting a lock. Turning a little towards me, he smiles a lopsided smile. "Well, let's see how things work out, first. We might be able to make a deal..." He's punching some numbers into a keypad. There's a rumble of machinery and a thick haze of dust getting stirred up as the huge door rolls away. Inside, gathering dust as well, is the Cowboy Bebop.
I don't say anything. I mean, it's not much to look at, but then again, I don't think that Neal Cassady's house in San Francisco is remembered for being a beacon of style, either...it's the people that lived there that gave it such history. Likewise, Abbey Road (what's left of it, anyway) would just have been a run of the mill studio if the Beatles hadn't recorded there. You can't just brush off a legend for aesthetic reasons. So, despite the fact that the Bebop is a big, ugly, rundown ship, I'm speechless at the sight of it.
Jet saunters down towards the side of the ship, pressing an exterior panel to reveal a hatchway. Ein, despite his age, dashes inside like an excited puppy, yipping manically. Jet looks back at me. "You coming in, or what, kid?" Then he disappears inside.
Well, with such a warm invitation, who can refuse? I limp up to the door and walk into history.
To my surprise, the place looks lived in from inside. Everything is immaculately cleaned and polished, the walls look scrubbed. It's not terribly decorative, but it's still livable. The thing I'm most struck by is how small it all is. There's enough room in the cabin for 4 people and a dog, true...but it looks like it would be pretty crowded at times, especially with someone like Ed around. Claustrophobic...almost like Faye's apartment was... Something clicks for me as I realize this, but I put it on the back burner for now.
Jet's in the cockpit...I hear the sound of old machinery and computer systems coming to life. After a few minutes, he comes back out. "Gotta run some diagnostics before we can get this boat in the air. Be about 45 minutes. I'm gonna change out of this getup. No need to look like a Hell's Angel when everyone knows who I am now, anyway. Feel free to look around." He vanishes into a doorway, and I'm left on my own again.
Staggering through the ship, I inspect every hatch I can open, except the one Jet is changing in. The first place I look in is a small bedroom, maybe a reconditioned storeroom from when this was a fishing boat. There's a decent-sized bed, a TV, and another one of those BETA players. I notice that, though the entire ship is spotless and pristine, this room is coated with a thick layer of dust. This must have been her quarters, I think to myself. I'm probably the first person to set foot in here in years. I don't linger long there, and move on to the next place that catches my eye, a bathroom that's been converted into a makeshift greenhouse for rows and rows of bonsai trees. Like everything else on this ship, they look well taken care of, and are meticulously trimmed. Jet must have a lot of time on his hands.
Next is a hallway, a gravity turbine now inactive while on planet. From a portal here, I can see the interior hangar. The old Hammerhead is sitting here getting rusty, while two empty spaces flank it. I want to try and get in, but the door I assume leads to the hangar first opens into another storeroom. There's a bunch of old crates and random objects strewn about the dimly lit room, but nothing grabs my attention, until a glint of light reflects off of something. Rather than head for the next door and the hangar, I take a closer look, until I realize that there's a refrigerator in here. Curious to see if Jet keeps anything in here anymore, I reach to open it up.
My hand has scarcely closed around the handle, when suddenly, something heavy and metallic slams down on the door, barring me from looking inside. "Boy, have you lost your mind?!?" Jet appears beside me, gasping for breath like he ran all the way here from the cabin. He's shaved the mustache off and trimmed the rest of the beard to a manageable level, and tied the long hair back. I don't really notice this until afterwards, however, because it's impossible to pay attention to anything other than the look of fear in his eyes. "I haven't opened that door in ten years! Who knows what the hell is inside it now?"
It takes me a second to process this bizarre train of events. Then I remember. "Oh, right...you're talking about the lobster thing. Jeez...you never cleaned it out in all that time? Don't you learn anything?" Jet just folds his arms and looks down at me crossly.
"Old habits die hard, kid. Especially mine." We look back at the fridge. "It's probably not that smart to leave it in here...better dump it when we get out to space." I tap at the door with my crutch. Exploratory probing. I wonder if there are any weapons on board, in case something gets out.
"Yeah...you'd think you'd have remembered to do that years ago..." I stop in the middle of what could build into a rant if it goes unchecked and my eyes get wide. "Wait a second. *We* get out to space? You're not talking about you and Ein, are you?" An almost-smile passes over Jet's face, and he slouches a little abashedly.
"I figure you could use a lift back to Mars. And hell, if we're gonna do this interview thing, at least out in space, the rest of the leeches won't be able to barge in again."
"You're serious? You'll do the interview?"
"Well...yeah, I guess. I was kind of hoping you might..." he abruptly stops. "Never mind. It's stupid."
"You're maybe wondering if I heard anything from the other two?"
Jet grits his teeth and rubs his bald head, sighing like a straight answer will kill him, before finishing, "Well...it might be good to hear how Ed's been doing. Maybe you can fill me in."
Somehow I don't think Ed is really who's on his mind. I resist the urge to say something wry. Instead, I just grin and nod my head back towards the cabin. "A bit. Let's go sit down. To make it fair, you can interview me, too, Mr. Black." Now there's something that cannot be disputed as a smile on his face. He chuckles a bit and shakes his head, before stepping off towards the control room.
"Let's take off, first. And, hey...call me Jet."
..............
Before too long, we're in orbit around Ganymede. Jet's in the galley, cooking up something. I'm to be favored with one of his meals. Because of the constant possibility of getting discovered, he'd taken to storing supplies on-ship, and sleeping in the infirmary, the only other room with a proper bed. The Running Rock, I come to realize, is nothing more than Jet's version of Faye's great foyer, a place to go when they pretend to have a life beyond their memories. But, I can't help sneaking one question about the bar into the questioning. From my place at the table in the cabin, I holler through the doorway over the sound of something sizzling.
"So, I couldn't help but notice, that woman with the cat called you Jet, and not Charlie. Old friend of yours that you let in on the secret, or what?"
Jet returns the shout from inside the other room. "Ever heard of Ural Terpsichore?"
"Yeah. The old legendary hunter, died about 20 years back?"
"That's right." Jet sticks his head out to answer. I pick up a whiff of bell peppers and beef. This is so cool. "That woman was Victoria Terpsichore, the man's widow." I imagine my expression must be something pretty comical, because Jet coughs to hide a chortle before turning on his heel and returning to the kitchen. I slam my head on the table in frustration. I could've talked to the widow of Ural Terpsichore...that would have been a hell of a story, too...but noooo... I realize my news whore proclivities are beginning to flare up, and I take a minute to regain my composure before continuing.
"So, okay, you know Victoria Terpsichore...how? You knew her husband, or cross paths on a bounty or something?" Meanwhile, Ein has wandered out of the kitchen and is staring up at me. He seems to have calmed down since coming back to the Bebop, and in the spirit of truce, I scratch him behind the ears.
"Nah. Never met the old man. I didn't even know VT until after that book of Faye's came out. I was lying low working as a guard for a factory on Io, and she was on that moon dropping off some freight. We wound up at the same bar by chance. Some TV show was running a feature about Spike that night, and when it came on, we both yelled at the guy behind the bar to change it. She must have recognized me from the photos of me that were seemingly everywhere back then, even with the huge poncho and bad toupee I was wearing at the time. Trouble with scars like these," he points his finger to his right eye, "They make it pretty hard to just blend in. 'You must've been his partner,' she said, and we started talking. Guess she'd crossed Spike's path during one of our bounty hunts." He pauses for a minute. "VT knows what it's like to hide out, not wanting to be known by who you used to be and who you used to be it with. She won't blow my cover for a little fame, because she doesn't want it herself; and she won't harass me about what it was like to be a bounty hunter on the Bebop, because she's already been through it with her husband." He stops again, there's the sound of some dishes clattering. "It's good to have at least one person you can count on like that." He comes out, holding two steaming trays. Bell peppers and beef, and two bottles of beer. "She makes a point to get out to the Running Rock whenever she's in the area...I don't know exactly what I'm going to do with that place when your story goes to print. Sell it, move on again, I guess." He cracks open his bottle and has a big gulp.
"Why are you so resistant to people knowing who you really are, anyway?" I ask through a mouthful of food.
"I said I wanted to be left alone, didn't I?" There's a look of exasperation in his eyes, but I press on anyways.
"Yeah, but is that the whole reason? Why is it so important that you stay solitary?"
He sighs. "Look...I did fine for five years on my own. I could still be Jet Black, private citizen, and nobody gave two craps about it. Then that damn book comes out, and anyone who read it has to ask me all about what happened, whether or not Faye told the truth, why I wasn't still doing it, and all sorts of other questions, when the last thing I wanna do is think about those times." He over at me. "Present company excluded," he mutters. "Provisionally, anyway.
"What's even worse, though, are the dumb shavers who think that they've got what it takes to be the new Spike Spiegel. It took me all of six months after this idiot trend took off to finally give up being myself in public, and I had to do it because every Tom, Dick and Mary who finds out who I am starts following me around and declares himself my new partner! Christ, half the time I'm doing regular work, like security and bartending. I don't need a partner for that! And even if I did go back to bounty- hunting, which I don't see happening in the near future...the last thing I need is some goofy kid in a bad suit getting in the line of fire." He sets his bottle down with a slam.
"Whoo." I whistle. "Maybe you oughta take a turn and ask me something now."
He nods. "Might be a good idea. How is Ed doing?" It's obviously not the question he really wants an answer to, but I'm not going to push him into anything yet. I take a drink myself before answering.
"Doing the map-making thing her father was into. She's older. Bit frantic, but I think she might have calmed down a little. She was calling herself Francoise Appledelhi when I found her. Take that for what you will."
Jet rumbles. "You don't make it sound like the two of you hit it off."
"You could say that. I was kind of hoping to get her to come out of this exile she's in...but she's bound and determined to carry on her father's work." I wave a hand, annoyed. "Kind of a letdown. I was half-expecting the kid I'd read about in the book....instead I get a moody woman with a fixation on a completely futile crusade."
Jet's eyes close, and he nods sagely. "Sounds familiar." He sighs. "I don't know, kid. Maybe she's got it better than the rest of us. For Ed, the past ten years have been spent with her pop and his plan, crazy as it was. She hasn't had to dwell on the way things were back then...she's been able to move on and do something new. The past doesn't drag her down. I imagine that Faye, with all her fame and fortune centering around a year and a half spent on a ship with two bums and a lunatic, can't help but obsess over it. And me..." He lets it die as he says it. But he doesn't have to finish. It's obvious that running from his past for all these years has made it impossible to live with anything else. "Your turn."
"What have you been doing for the past ten years? Where've you been? You mentioned security and bartending...anything else?"
He polishes off the rest of his plate before answering. "Whatever it takes to pay the bills. The bottom had dropped out of bounty-hunting, and my heart wasn't in it, either. The first job I took when the money first started to run low was a gig as a cook on Iapetus. Some work camp harvesting timber from the woods there. I wasn't qualified or anything, but there wasn't anyone else who knew a skillet from a wok, so I did that for a spell. Wasn't really the same, though, more like slopping hogs than feeding people. Real impersonal.
"I bounced around from place to place for awhile after that, just doing odd jobs and work-for-hire gigs. Nothing steady for several years. I was a bodyguard for a politician at a space station for about a year, then I took the guard gig on Io. That lasted long enough to keep me until I heard about the book, then it got impossible to be Jet Black in public. I was a merc for about five minutes on Deimos, but then word leaked out, and the crew wanted me to come up with tactics and plans, since they somehow got the idea that I was the brains on the Bebop. Which was just moronic...most of the time there wasn't a plan, just us doing whatever felt right at the time, and on the few times there was, everything inevitably went to hell before the plan could work." He shook his head, amazed. "I split that scene. Had a real nice job as a gardner for a guy on an asteroid colony...but then some reporter tracked me down and I had to drop it, too. This kept happening until the latest thing in Ginsburrough. Which was a shame, 'cause I actually liked bartending a lot. You hear a lot of people pouring their hearts out, and every once and awhile, you might even be able to give them some good advice. I always was pretty good at listening.
"Guess that my plan is that, if I set the record straight, maybe I can go back to it, and be left in peace for once."
I push my now-empty plate to the center of the table. It was good--but not great--food. The novelty made it worthwhile, though. "Isn't it your turn?"
He opens his mouth to say something, then stops. "I...I'll give you a freebie. Maybe next time."
Far be it for me to express displeasure with an interviewee, especially one of my heroes, but the man really needs to just bite the bullet. But I figure he'll ask when he's ready. "Okay...so, what did you think of 'Hard Luck Woman'? You did read it, right?"
He shrugs. "Yeah. Didn't really want to, but how often do you get a book written about your life?"
"In your case, I think the current tally is somewhere around 26 times, once "Jet Black: Soul of an Old Machine" comes out this fall." He winces. I don't blame him, it's a godawful title.
"Jesus... Well, at the time, it was the first time this sort of thing happened. Couldn't help but take a look." Probably didn't hurt that you were wondering about the author, either, I don't add.
"It was okay. I didn't care for the ending. I mean, it was true enough...but to let it end with Spike's last words, and a little 'Where are they now?' epilogue which basically focused on Faye; with a 'the current whereabouts of Radical Edward and Jet Black are unknown' tacked on at the end. Nothing worse than being a footnote in your own story," he grouses.
"Yeah, I can see why that'd upset you."
"Other than that, it was alright. She left some stuff out, like about Ed leaving-why it happened, I mean. It just has her come back and Ed is gone, some quickie little explanation. But that's not surprising, she wasn't around, and we never did get around to talking about the why of Ed taking off anyway." He shakes his head, eyes narrow.
"Do you want a turn?" I ask. C'mon, you old coward...ask about her...
"No. I'll live." Out of nowhere, he adds. "There was way too much focus on Spike for a book called 'Hard Luck *Woman*,' I think. Struck me as odd. If she wanted to just write about him, she should have called it 'Man of Constant Sorrow.'"
Yeah...except that doesn't really sound like Spike, so much as someone else on the ship, I don't say. He continues. "I'm probably just bitter." I neither protest nor chuckle emptily along with him.
"What's up with that, anyway?" He looks up at me. "Why should you be bitter about how much page time Spike got in Faye's book?"
"Huh? What are you talking about, kid?" There's a nasty undertone to his voice. Something inside screams that I shouldn't be going this direction. But screw it. If he isn't going to get to the heart of the matter, I will.
"Shouldn't you have said jealous, really?" I point at him, bottle in hand.
"Watch it, Mendoza..." he cautions.
"I mean, bitter's not quite what you're getting at here, is it?"
He's standing now, furious and in my face. I almost expect him to punch me. Instead he just rages.
"Why the hell should I be jealous of a dumb bastard who goes and throws everything good he had down the chute, just to go get himself sliced up over some bad blood!" I just stare up at him, resolute. A small part of me is particularly proud of this fact...last time Jet started hollering and I was fully conscious, I wound up curled into a ball in a corner, hoping the storm would blow over. The fact that I can at least match him look for look (if not shout for shout) is encouraging proof of my evolution past the 'journalistic pansy' stage. Maybe the company I've been keeping is rubbing off. But it's only a small part of me that notes this, the rest of which is too busy trying to negotiate some reason into Jet.
"Well, look, pal. As far as throwing away everything good, just to get cut up over bad blood...you did that yourself. I don't know if you remember this part, but there was a lot about Udai Taxim in that 'damn book,' and it sure sounds like you were doing the same thing Spike did. What's really pissing you off, Jet? Because it sure as hell isn't Spike doing the same thing you would have done if you were in his shoes."
"Shut the hell up, kid! You think you know me, because you read a few books, written by people I maybe had five words with, three of which being 'go fuck yourself?' Screw you, you damn leech!"
"No, Jet. I think I know you because I read just one book, the one written by someone who was around you for every day of the most important year of your life. I know that you're a cranky guy with a bad arm and a worse temper...but you were also a good man, who just had a run of bad luck with the people you trusted. The 'soul of the ship' that's what Faye called you- "
"Stop talking about her!"
"-the soul of the ship, the glue that held it all together..." I am remarkably steady, like a lighthouse in a storm. "...but then at the end, all the glue in the universe couldn't keep it all from falling apart, and you couldn't take it anymore."
"If you keep this up, partner, I swear I'll..."
"Whatever, Jet. The reason you were jealous of Spike didn't have anything to do with the number of pages dedicated to him. You know what it is. You said he threw away everything good he had...well, the only things he had on the Bebop worth anything were your friendship..."
I'm interrupted when his bionic fist hammers into the wall to the left of me. I flinch, but I don't stop. "Goddamn, you..." he roars.
"...and her love," I finish.
"You could've thrown your life away too, easy. It didn't matter about what they thought about you, because Spike understood, and Faye...well, you already knew it wasn't you that Faye was in love with."
Jet's back is turned. He's deadly silent.
"But when Spike went and faced Vicious, knowing how she felt, and left her alone anyway...that's what you can't forgive, isn't it? Because if things were different, and it was you who Faye loved...you'd never have gone off to meet Taxim. Because she was too important to you to leave by herself." Jet says nothing. "Now look at yourself...you're so fixated on running from your past, that you can't even live in the present, let alone the future. You're as bad as Spike was."
He still hasn't spoke. "You know I'm right, Jet."
Jet turns. His eyes are the saddest things I'll ever see. "So what if you are?" His voice is choked. Man like that doesn't cry... but if he could... "Like you said, she didn't love me. And no matter what I did to take care of her, anything I tried to do to make her happy, nothing changes that fact." He swallows, looking like a mask, some kind of caricature of grief and rage, and slams his fist into the table, putting a deep crack into it. "No sooner did I fix her ship up, than she up and flew away."
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" He looks up, confusion creeping in on the edges of pain and anger. "Jet...my god, you stupid, crazy, wonderful people...she thought you threw her out!"
"What?" Confusion gone. Pain gone. Anger...yeah, anger gone, too. Shock is the new primary inhabitant of Jet's face.
"You fixed her ship. She told me that the only thing you told her after Spike died, was that you'd repaired the Redtail. She thought you were trying to get rid of her, and she took the hint. Jesus Christ...you fucked- up people!" I laugh out loud. "I swear I love all of you, but, God in Heaven, do you have communication issues!"
Jet remains silent. In fact, he sits there, like he's processing, for a few long minutes, while I just shake my head, astounded. I try a few remarks to try and get him to open up again, but I don't think he's heard a word I said since I told him her story. Finally he stands up. "I think I need something else to drink."
Jet looks out of the window of the deserted Running Rock cantina. All over the outside docks, there is a flock of men in long coats and fedoras with press passes tucked in them, standing wherever there's room to get a view at the entrance. They look back at him with a stare that has something of the essence of Hitchcock's silent crows at the end of 'The Birds.'
"At least it's stopped raining. God damn reporters," he mutters. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. He slaps his forehead. "Is the ISSP getting involved now, too?"
Perched on an empty table, using my ramshackle crutch to scratch my back, I just shrug my shoulders. "Got a radio handy? Maybe a police scanner?" He walks back behind the bar, pulling up an retro-styled audio receiver. Turning it on, he sets it to the local news station. An announcer's crisp voice crackles over the static.
"...repeat the breaking news... Jet Black, one of the famed crewmembers of the Cowboy Bebop, has been found. Following an altercation at a local café with the press, Black reputedly shot a reporter for the Weekly Ganymedian, and took another man hostage. An ISSP SWAT team is en route to negotiate a surrender." Jet gives me a look. It says to me 'you just HAD to come after me, didn't you kid?'
"Hey, don't look at me, Mr. Black. You did kind of take me hostage..." He grimaces.
"Yeah, well...you started it." He pours some water into a bowl and sets it down for Ein. "What happened, were you followed?"
"That'd be my guess. Look, sir, it really wasn't my intention to have all this happen to you."
"You mean you weren't trolling for a story?"
"Well, no, of course I was...that sounds terrible, I know...but I really admire you, sir, and I wouldn't intentionally blow your cover if you didn't want it revealed." I rub my neck awkwardly. "Probably some typesetter back at my magazine heard I'd found Edward from one of the higher-ups, and leaked it to the others." Outside, the ISSP craft is landing.
"And I thought bounty-hunters were cutthroat. Look, kid...if we don't figure out a way to defuse this situation, they're gonna start shooting tear gas in here."
I stare long and hard out the window...then it hits me. "Mr. Black, I think I have a plan..."
.......................
Jet and I exited the cantina together, just before the ISSP guys got their equipment ready to gas us out. Jet holds Ein's lead in one hand, and the little dog skitters out in front of him. In the other hand, he holds the pistol he used to shoot Panza. Flashbulbs pop as the first photos of two Bebop mates together since 2071 are taken. As for me, I hobble out on my crutches, careful not to bang my foot on anything. The crutch barely works, but barely is good enough. Jet takes the gun and lays it on the ground slowly. He seems irritated by the theatrical way this is going down. I know, of course, that the reporters will be better satiated with a dramatic finish than going out with a whimper, so when I step forward to speak, I lay it on extra-thick.
"My friends and colleagues of the press! Mr. Black and I have reached an arrangement. In return for waiving kidnaping charges against his person, Mr. Black has agreed to an exclusive interview with Beat Magazine! Mr. Black asks that the press please respect his wishes in this matter, however, he hastens to add that, if pressed on this matter, he cannot be held responsible for any actions he takes. Thank you for your presence here today, and good-bye." The SWAT team looks dumbfounded...was this a hostage situation or a press conference? As for the reporters, they are crestfallen, one and all, but no one moves to obstruct us as we hail a skiff to take us to the other side of town. I hear some of them muttering as we leave.
"How did a rag like the Beat manage an exclusive? It's not fair."
"Well, maybe we can dig up that Ed kid before they go to press with this..." I try to contain my laughter. If those guys want to try their luck on Earth, they can have it!
The skiff, sort of a modern tech version of a Venetian gondola, takes us to the other end of town in a few moments. As I've said before, Ginsburrough isn't a very big place. We end up on a dock lined with warehouses and cannery plants. Everything revolves around fish in this town. Jet nods to an abandoned-looking warehouse a block or two down.
"That's the one. C'mon, let's go." We make our slow way down the dock to Jet's building, Ein's age and my lameness impeding any kind of hasty progress. "Nice work with the reporters, by the way. How'd you figure that'd do the trick?"
A few steps behind, I'm gasping for breath, trying to keep up. "Hey...if another guy has exclusive rights for the story...there isn't much you can do other than make a counter offer. None of those guys have their own kidnaping charges against you that they can offer to drop." I stop a minute to wheeze. "Panza might have some grounds to extort some coverage by dint of assault with a deadly weapon..." I continue, "but he's probably in the hospital under heavy sedation if I know anything about his pain threshold." I pause for a moment, but not to catch my breath. "Look, Mr. Black, as far as the exclusive goes...your official statement can be 'go to hell' for all I care. I'm really sorry about all this."
Jet stops in front of the massive warehouse door, inspecting a lock. Turning a little towards me, he smiles a lopsided smile. "Well, let's see how things work out, first. We might be able to make a deal..." He's punching some numbers into a keypad. There's a rumble of machinery and a thick haze of dust getting stirred up as the huge door rolls away. Inside, gathering dust as well, is the Cowboy Bebop.
I don't say anything. I mean, it's not much to look at, but then again, I don't think that Neal Cassady's house in San Francisco is remembered for being a beacon of style, either...it's the people that lived there that gave it such history. Likewise, Abbey Road (what's left of it, anyway) would just have been a run of the mill studio if the Beatles hadn't recorded there. You can't just brush off a legend for aesthetic reasons. So, despite the fact that the Bebop is a big, ugly, rundown ship, I'm speechless at the sight of it.
Jet saunters down towards the side of the ship, pressing an exterior panel to reveal a hatchway. Ein, despite his age, dashes inside like an excited puppy, yipping manically. Jet looks back at me. "You coming in, or what, kid?" Then he disappears inside.
Well, with such a warm invitation, who can refuse? I limp up to the door and walk into history.
To my surprise, the place looks lived in from inside. Everything is immaculately cleaned and polished, the walls look scrubbed. It's not terribly decorative, but it's still livable. The thing I'm most struck by is how small it all is. There's enough room in the cabin for 4 people and a dog, true...but it looks like it would be pretty crowded at times, especially with someone like Ed around. Claustrophobic...almost like Faye's apartment was... Something clicks for me as I realize this, but I put it on the back burner for now.
Jet's in the cockpit...I hear the sound of old machinery and computer systems coming to life. After a few minutes, he comes back out. "Gotta run some diagnostics before we can get this boat in the air. Be about 45 minutes. I'm gonna change out of this getup. No need to look like a Hell's Angel when everyone knows who I am now, anyway. Feel free to look around." He vanishes into a doorway, and I'm left on my own again.
Staggering through the ship, I inspect every hatch I can open, except the one Jet is changing in. The first place I look in is a small bedroom, maybe a reconditioned storeroom from when this was a fishing boat. There's a decent-sized bed, a TV, and another one of those BETA players. I notice that, though the entire ship is spotless and pristine, this room is coated with a thick layer of dust. This must have been her quarters, I think to myself. I'm probably the first person to set foot in here in years. I don't linger long there, and move on to the next place that catches my eye, a bathroom that's been converted into a makeshift greenhouse for rows and rows of bonsai trees. Like everything else on this ship, they look well taken care of, and are meticulously trimmed. Jet must have a lot of time on his hands.
Next is a hallway, a gravity turbine now inactive while on planet. From a portal here, I can see the interior hangar. The old Hammerhead is sitting here getting rusty, while two empty spaces flank it. I want to try and get in, but the door I assume leads to the hangar first opens into another storeroom. There's a bunch of old crates and random objects strewn about the dimly lit room, but nothing grabs my attention, until a glint of light reflects off of something. Rather than head for the next door and the hangar, I take a closer look, until I realize that there's a refrigerator in here. Curious to see if Jet keeps anything in here anymore, I reach to open it up.
My hand has scarcely closed around the handle, when suddenly, something heavy and metallic slams down on the door, barring me from looking inside. "Boy, have you lost your mind?!?" Jet appears beside me, gasping for breath like he ran all the way here from the cabin. He's shaved the mustache off and trimmed the rest of the beard to a manageable level, and tied the long hair back. I don't really notice this until afterwards, however, because it's impossible to pay attention to anything other than the look of fear in his eyes. "I haven't opened that door in ten years! Who knows what the hell is inside it now?"
It takes me a second to process this bizarre train of events. Then I remember. "Oh, right...you're talking about the lobster thing. Jeez...you never cleaned it out in all that time? Don't you learn anything?" Jet just folds his arms and looks down at me crossly.
"Old habits die hard, kid. Especially mine." We look back at the fridge. "It's probably not that smart to leave it in here...better dump it when we get out to space." I tap at the door with my crutch. Exploratory probing. I wonder if there are any weapons on board, in case something gets out.
"Yeah...you'd think you'd have remembered to do that years ago..." I stop in the middle of what could build into a rant if it goes unchecked and my eyes get wide. "Wait a second. *We* get out to space? You're not talking about you and Ein, are you?" An almost-smile passes over Jet's face, and he slouches a little abashedly.
"I figure you could use a lift back to Mars. And hell, if we're gonna do this interview thing, at least out in space, the rest of the leeches won't be able to barge in again."
"You're serious? You'll do the interview?"
"Well...yeah, I guess. I was kind of hoping you might..." he abruptly stops. "Never mind. It's stupid."
"You're maybe wondering if I heard anything from the other two?"
Jet grits his teeth and rubs his bald head, sighing like a straight answer will kill him, before finishing, "Well...it might be good to hear how Ed's been doing. Maybe you can fill me in."
Somehow I don't think Ed is really who's on his mind. I resist the urge to say something wry. Instead, I just grin and nod my head back towards the cabin. "A bit. Let's go sit down. To make it fair, you can interview me, too, Mr. Black." Now there's something that cannot be disputed as a smile on his face. He chuckles a bit and shakes his head, before stepping off towards the control room.
"Let's take off, first. And, hey...call me Jet."
..............
Before too long, we're in orbit around Ganymede. Jet's in the galley, cooking up something. I'm to be favored with one of his meals. Because of the constant possibility of getting discovered, he'd taken to storing supplies on-ship, and sleeping in the infirmary, the only other room with a proper bed. The Running Rock, I come to realize, is nothing more than Jet's version of Faye's great foyer, a place to go when they pretend to have a life beyond their memories. But, I can't help sneaking one question about the bar into the questioning. From my place at the table in the cabin, I holler through the doorway over the sound of something sizzling.
"So, I couldn't help but notice, that woman with the cat called you Jet, and not Charlie. Old friend of yours that you let in on the secret, or what?"
Jet returns the shout from inside the other room. "Ever heard of Ural Terpsichore?"
"Yeah. The old legendary hunter, died about 20 years back?"
"That's right." Jet sticks his head out to answer. I pick up a whiff of bell peppers and beef. This is so cool. "That woman was Victoria Terpsichore, the man's widow." I imagine my expression must be something pretty comical, because Jet coughs to hide a chortle before turning on his heel and returning to the kitchen. I slam my head on the table in frustration. I could've talked to the widow of Ural Terpsichore...that would have been a hell of a story, too...but noooo... I realize my news whore proclivities are beginning to flare up, and I take a minute to regain my composure before continuing.
"So, okay, you know Victoria Terpsichore...how? You knew her husband, or cross paths on a bounty or something?" Meanwhile, Ein has wandered out of the kitchen and is staring up at me. He seems to have calmed down since coming back to the Bebop, and in the spirit of truce, I scratch him behind the ears.
"Nah. Never met the old man. I didn't even know VT until after that book of Faye's came out. I was lying low working as a guard for a factory on Io, and she was on that moon dropping off some freight. We wound up at the same bar by chance. Some TV show was running a feature about Spike that night, and when it came on, we both yelled at the guy behind the bar to change it. She must have recognized me from the photos of me that were seemingly everywhere back then, even with the huge poncho and bad toupee I was wearing at the time. Trouble with scars like these," he points his finger to his right eye, "They make it pretty hard to just blend in. 'You must've been his partner,' she said, and we started talking. Guess she'd crossed Spike's path during one of our bounty hunts." He pauses for a minute. "VT knows what it's like to hide out, not wanting to be known by who you used to be and who you used to be it with. She won't blow my cover for a little fame, because she doesn't want it herself; and she won't harass me about what it was like to be a bounty hunter on the Bebop, because she's already been through it with her husband." He stops again, there's the sound of some dishes clattering. "It's good to have at least one person you can count on like that." He comes out, holding two steaming trays. Bell peppers and beef, and two bottles of beer. "She makes a point to get out to the Running Rock whenever she's in the area...I don't know exactly what I'm going to do with that place when your story goes to print. Sell it, move on again, I guess." He cracks open his bottle and has a big gulp.
"Why are you so resistant to people knowing who you really are, anyway?" I ask through a mouthful of food.
"I said I wanted to be left alone, didn't I?" There's a look of exasperation in his eyes, but I press on anyways.
"Yeah, but is that the whole reason? Why is it so important that you stay solitary?"
He sighs. "Look...I did fine for five years on my own. I could still be Jet Black, private citizen, and nobody gave two craps about it. Then that damn book comes out, and anyone who read it has to ask me all about what happened, whether or not Faye told the truth, why I wasn't still doing it, and all sorts of other questions, when the last thing I wanna do is think about those times." He over at me. "Present company excluded," he mutters. "Provisionally, anyway.
"What's even worse, though, are the dumb shavers who think that they've got what it takes to be the new Spike Spiegel. It took me all of six months after this idiot trend took off to finally give up being myself in public, and I had to do it because every Tom, Dick and Mary who finds out who I am starts following me around and declares himself my new partner! Christ, half the time I'm doing regular work, like security and bartending. I don't need a partner for that! And even if I did go back to bounty- hunting, which I don't see happening in the near future...the last thing I need is some goofy kid in a bad suit getting in the line of fire." He sets his bottle down with a slam.
"Whoo." I whistle. "Maybe you oughta take a turn and ask me something now."
He nods. "Might be a good idea. How is Ed doing?" It's obviously not the question he really wants an answer to, but I'm not going to push him into anything yet. I take a drink myself before answering.
"Doing the map-making thing her father was into. She's older. Bit frantic, but I think she might have calmed down a little. She was calling herself Francoise Appledelhi when I found her. Take that for what you will."
Jet rumbles. "You don't make it sound like the two of you hit it off."
"You could say that. I was kind of hoping to get her to come out of this exile she's in...but she's bound and determined to carry on her father's work." I wave a hand, annoyed. "Kind of a letdown. I was half-expecting the kid I'd read about in the book....instead I get a moody woman with a fixation on a completely futile crusade."
Jet's eyes close, and he nods sagely. "Sounds familiar." He sighs. "I don't know, kid. Maybe she's got it better than the rest of us. For Ed, the past ten years have been spent with her pop and his plan, crazy as it was. She hasn't had to dwell on the way things were back then...she's been able to move on and do something new. The past doesn't drag her down. I imagine that Faye, with all her fame and fortune centering around a year and a half spent on a ship with two bums and a lunatic, can't help but obsess over it. And me..." He lets it die as he says it. But he doesn't have to finish. It's obvious that running from his past for all these years has made it impossible to live with anything else. "Your turn."
"What have you been doing for the past ten years? Where've you been? You mentioned security and bartending...anything else?"
He polishes off the rest of his plate before answering. "Whatever it takes to pay the bills. The bottom had dropped out of bounty-hunting, and my heart wasn't in it, either. The first job I took when the money first started to run low was a gig as a cook on Iapetus. Some work camp harvesting timber from the woods there. I wasn't qualified or anything, but there wasn't anyone else who knew a skillet from a wok, so I did that for a spell. Wasn't really the same, though, more like slopping hogs than feeding people. Real impersonal.
"I bounced around from place to place for awhile after that, just doing odd jobs and work-for-hire gigs. Nothing steady for several years. I was a bodyguard for a politician at a space station for about a year, then I took the guard gig on Io. That lasted long enough to keep me until I heard about the book, then it got impossible to be Jet Black in public. I was a merc for about five minutes on Deimos, but then word leaked out, and the crew wanted me to come up with tactics and plans, since they somehow got the idea that I was the brains on the Bebop. Which was just moronic...most of the time there wasn't a plan, just us doing whatever felt right at the time, and on the few times there was, everything inevitably went to hell before the plan could work." He shook his head, amazed. "I split that scene. Had a real nice job as a gardner for a guy on an asteroid colony...but then some reporter tracked me down and I had to drop it, too. This kept happening until the latest thing in Ginsburrough. Which was a shame, 'cause I actually liked bartending a lot. You hear a lot of people pouring their hearts out, and every once and awhile, you might even be able to give them some good advice. I always was pretty good at listening.
"Guess that my plan is that, if I set the record straight, maybe I can go back to it, and be left in peace for once."
I push my now-empty plate to the center of the table. It was good--but not great--food. The novelty made it worthwhile, though. "Isn't it your turn?"
He opens his mouth to say something, then stops. "I...I'll give you a freebie. Maybe next time."
Far be it for me to express displeasure with an interviewee, especially one of my heroes, but the man really needs to just bite the bullet. But I figure he'll ask when he's ready. "Okay...so, what did you think of 'Hard Luck Woman'? You did read it, right?"
He shrugs. "Yeah. Didn't really want to, but how often do you get a book written about your life?"
"In your case, I think the current tally is somewhere around 26 times, once "Jet Black: Soul of an Old Machine" comes out this fall." He winces. I don't blame him, it's a godawful title.
"Jesus... Well, at the time, it was the first time this sort of thing happened. Couldn't help but take a look." Probably didn't hurt that you were wondering about the author, either, I don't add.
"It was okay. I didn't care for the ending. I mean, it was true enough...but to let it end with Spike's last words, and a little 'Where are they now?' epilogue which basically focused on Faye; with a 'the current whereabouts of Radical Edward and Jet Black are unknown' tacked on at the end. Nothing worse than being a footnote in your own story," he grouses.
"Yeah, I can see why that'd upset you."
"Other than that, it was alright. She left some stuff out, like about Ed leaving-why it happened, I mean. It just has her come back and Ed is gone, some quickie little explanation. But that's not surprising, she wasn't around, and we never did get around to talking about the why of Ed taking off anyway." He shakes his head, eyes narrow.
"Do you want a turn?" I ask. C'mon, you old coward...ask about her...
"No. I'll live." Out of nowhere, he adds. "There was way too much focus on Spike for a book called 'Hard Luck *Woman*,' I think. Struck me as odd. If she wanted to just write about him, she should have called it 'Man of Constant Sorrow.'"
Yeah...except that doesn't really sound like Spike, so much as someone else on the ship, I don't say. He continues. "I'm probably just bitter." I neither protest nor chuckle emptily along with him.
"What's up with that, anyway?" He looks up at me. "Why should you be bitter about how much page time Spike got in Faye's book?"
"Huh? What are you talking about, kid?" There's a nasty undertone to his voice. Something inside screams that I shouldn't be going this direction. But screw it. If he isn't going to get to the heart of the matter, I will.
"Shouldn't you have said jealous, really?" I point at him, bottle in hand.
"Watch it, Mendoza..." he cautions.
"I mean, bitter's not quite what you're getting at here, is it?"
He's standing now, furious and in my face. I almost expect him to punch me. Instead he just rages.
"Why the hell should I be jealous of a dumb bastard who goes and throws everything good he had down the chute, just to go get himself sliced up over some bad blood!" I just stare up at him, resolute. A small part of me is particularly proud of this fact...last time Jet started hollering and I was fully conscious, I wound up curled into a ball in a corner, hoping the storm would blow over. The fact that I can at least match him look for look (if not shout for shout) is encouraging proof of my evolution past the 'journalistic pansy' stage. Maybe the company I've been keeping is rubbing off. But it's only a small part of me that notes this, the rest of which is too busy trying to negotiate some reason into Jet.
"Well, look, pal. As far as throwing away everything good, just to get cut up over bad blood...you did that yourself. I don't know if you remember this part, but there was a lot about Udai Taxim in that 'damn book,' and it sure sounds like you were doing the same thing Spike did. What's really pissing you off, Jet? Because it sure as hell isn't Spike doing the same thing you would have done if you were in his shoes."
"Shut the hell up, kid! You think you know me, because you read a few books, written by people I maybe had five words with, three of which being 'go fuck yourself?' Screw you, you damn leech!"
"No, Jet. I think I know you because I read just one book, the one written by someone who was around you for every day of the most important year of your life. I know that you're a cranky guy with a bad arm and a worse temper...but you were also a good man, who just had a run of bad luck with the people you trusted. The 'soul of the ship' that's what Faye called you- "
"Stop talking about her!"
"-the soul of the ship, the glue that held it all together..." I am remarkably steady, like a lighthouse in a storm. "...but then at the end, all the glue in the universe couldn't keep it all from falling apart, and you couldn't take it anymore."
"If you keep this up, partner, I swear I'll..."
"Whatever, Jet. The reason you were jealous of Spike didn't have anything to do with the number of pages dedicated to him. You know what it is. You said he threw away everything good he had...well, the only things he had on the Bebop worth anything were your friendship..."
I'm interrupted when his bionic fist hammers into the wall to the left of me. I flinch, but I don't stop. "Goddamn, you..." he roars.
"...and her love," I finish.
"You could've thrown your life away too, easy. It didn't matter about what they thought about you, because Spike understood, and Faye...well, you already knew it wasn't you that Faye was in love with."
Jet's back is turned. He's deadly silent.
"But when Spike went and faced Vicious, knowing how she felt, and left her alone anyway...that's what you can't forgive, isn't it? Because if things were different, and it was you who Faye loved...you'd never have gone off to meet Taxim. Because she was too important to you to leave by herself." Jet says nothing. "Now look at yourself...you're so fixated on running from your past, that you can't even live in the present, let alone the future. You're as bad as Spike was."
He still hasn't spoke. "You know I'm right, Jet."
Jet turns. His eyes are the saddest things I'll ever see. "So what if you are?" His voice is choked. Man like that doesn't cry... but if he could... "Like you said, she didn't love me. And no matter what I did to take care of her, anything I tried to do to make her happy, nothing changes that fact." He swallows, looking like a mask, some kind of caricature of grief and rage, and slams his fist into the table, putting a deep crack into it. "No sooner did I fix her ship up, than she up and flew away."
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" He looks up, confusion creeping in on the edges of pain and anger. "Jet...my god, you stupid, crazy, wonderful people...she thought you threw her out!"
"What?" Confusion gone. Pain gone. Anger...yeah, anger gone, too. Shock is the new primary inhabitant of Jet's face.
"You fixed her ship. She told me that the only thing you told her after Spike died, was that you'd repaired the Redtail. She thought you were trying to get rid of her, and she took the hint. Jesus Christ...you fucked- up people!" I laugh out loud. "I swear I love all of you, but, God in Heaven, do you have communication issues!"
Jet remains silent. In fact, he sits there, like he's processing, for a few long minutes, while I just shake my head, astounded. I try a few remarks to try and get him to open up again, but I don't think he's heard a word I said since I told him her story. Finally he stands up. "I think I need something else to drink."