The David Lynch Blues
Up Jumped The Devil
By Machiavelli
The bonsai must have been dead for weeks. Jet doesn't remember when he stopped watering them; must've been at least a month ago. In any case, all that's left of it is this shriveled-up stick, in dirt so dry it could have come out of a desert.
He lifts his lighter to what's left of the leaves and clicks it once. And stays to watch it burn, even as the smoke clogs the air and makes it hard to breathe.
Then he digs out his old trenchcoat, the one he bought the day he graduated from the academy, and heads out.
He passes by the living room, goes out through the hanger door onto the deck. He's almost to the dock when Spike says, from behind him:
"I see you remembered your gun this time."
Jet doesn't turn around.
"I ever tell you why I stopped being a cop ?" he says into the air.
"You said it had something to do with your arm."
"Well, yeah, that was part of it," says Jet. He's looking past the dock into the city. Not many lights out there at this time of the night, with the exception of downtown. There, it's mainly the holographic ads, playing on the sides of the buildings. Beer commercials, movie posters, shit like that. Hurts his eyes just to look at it.
"I was out for maybe a month after that. Insurance covered all the bills, plus I got disability, so I didn't have anything to do but sit around and wait.
"They had another cop in the room across the hall from me - had a whole wing for government employees right over the emergency room. I'd hear this guy screaming at night - he was even worst off than I was, got himself burned in some explosion. So one day after they'd given me the arm and I was basically okay, I walked across the hall and asked him why they weren't giving him any kind of pain meds.
"Turns out they were. Nothing less than morphine. But the guy wasn't using it - he was selling it to one of the local syndicates. He had his nurse in on it; every day she'd take it outside, sell it to his contact, and they'd split it fifty-fifty. He said something about wanting a new apartment once he got out of there.
"And I'd seen worst, you know ? I'd seen a lot worst.
"But the next day they let me out, I went straight to headquarters, and I got out of the force. And a week or so after that, my girl left me, so I bought the Bebop with my disability and left Ganymede."
Out in the distance, one of the beer commercials disappears. A second later, a music video appears in its place.
"Interesting story," says Spike.
Jet turns around. Spike's sitting on the edge of the hull, his feet dangling over the edge, smoking a cigarette. Jet looks at him straight in the eye. "Spike. Give me my gun back."
"I had my reasons for what I did," says Spike. The lights from downtown reflect off his eyes; makes it look like he's got redeye, like in a cheap photograph. "My entire life led to that place and that time."
Jet holds out his hand. "I didn't stand in your way."
There's a breeze coming off of the lake now. He feels it on his face. It's a land breeze. Heading into the city.
A little time passes. Then Spike looks away.
He reaches into his coat and pulls out the gun. He puts one of his feet back on the hull and kicks it across the deck. Jet leans down as it comes; it slides right into his hand.
He rights himself back up and sticks it into his coat pocket.
"Do you know what I'm doing here ?" says Spike.
Jet looks at him.
"Me and Vicious and Julia, one last time. That was supposed to be the end of everything."
"I don't know," says Jet. "I don't know anything anymore."
Spike's looking out away from him, cigarette in his hand. Looking down, into the water.
"You were always the smart one, you know ?" says Jet. "The one who saw things. You'll figure it out."
Spike didn't say anything. So Jet turns around, and he steps onto the dock.
He catches a bus half a block away. He figures he'll head into the city, find someplace with a nice view.
The bus is pretty much empty. A couple of kids in the back, an old lady sitting out in the front. Jet takes a window seat towards the middle, and stares out into the street as the bus starts to move again.
I gotta think of things. Alisa and her watch. Fad and his cigarettes. Things like that. Have to keep it all in my head.
But for some reason it doesn't work.
The bus stops again. Jet watches out of the corner of his eye as two more kids get on. One of them is white, red hair, and is as fat as a whale; the other guy looks vaguely Mediterranean, and a little bit younger, despite the fact he's got a beard. They sit down in the two seats across the aisle from Jet, fat kid at the window. They both have wearable computers; Mediterranean kid has a pair of goggles as a display. Fat kid seems to have an implanted screen in his hand.
Jet looks out the window again, and tries to think about his days on the force. Little while later, he hears movement off to his left; someone's just sat down behind him. He glances over quickly; now there's just the fat kid sitting on his left. And he was looking in Jet's direction, before Jet turned his head.
Fuck this. I don't have to put up with this tonight.
"Excuse me," he says to the fat kid. The fat kid snaps straight up in his seat. "There some kind of problem ?"
"Mr. Jet Black," says the Mediterranean kid from behind Jet. "Retired ISSP, currently an officially sanctioned bounty hunter, owner of the fishing trawler Cowboy Bebop, until recently the partner and traveling companion of the hacker Radical Edward."
Jet shuts his eyes and leans back in the seat. "Let me guess. Hackers."
"Correct," says the fat kid. "I am currently known as Wintermute. If I may introduce my partner Hal 2000 ?"
Christ. I don't have time for this. "What the fuck do you want ?"
"Information," says HAL 2000 from behind Jet. "We were wondering if you knew Radical Edward's current whereabouts and activities."
"If I did, why the hell would I tell you ?"
"As far as we can tell, Edward has not been online for the past month," says Wintermute. "Given his past accomplishments, we see reason for concern, especially as there seems to be a complete dearth of information regarding his events and activities."
"In essence, he has completely disappeared," says HAL.
"Sorry to hear that," says Jet.
"Do you have any idea what Edward's plans when you parted company three months ago ?" says HAL.
Jet snorts. "I don't think Ed's had a plan in her life."
"Have you had any personal contact in the last two months ?" says Wintermute. "We know that he has not contacted you by electronic means since his departure."
"Look, are you sure she hasn't just changed her email address or something ?" asked Jet. He opens his eyes, just a little, in time to see both the hackers wince.
"Like most among our number, Edward changes handles on a frequent basis," says Wintermute. "However, those in our profession tend to have particular styles that are recognizable to the trained eye."
"Edward's iconography, for example, is particularly unique," says HAL.
"Edward has shown himself in the past to be particularly resistant to capture by the authorities. And our other contacts on Earth have confirmed that there has been no special effort on behalf of either the local authorities or the ISSP to capture Edward or hackers in general."
"As such, if Edward has been silenced, it has been by a third power that we have yet to identify. Such an organization if it exists would require impressive electronic resources, both to physically track down Edward and to escape our detection."
"You therefore see the reason for our concern," says Wintermute.
"Uh-huh," says Jet. "Look, do either of you guys need a bus pass ?"
"No thanks," says the Mediterranean kid. "Rigged the metro system a while back. We ride for free."
"Which is how we also, by the way, tracked you down to this particular bus at this particular time," says the fat kid.
"Should you be contacted by Ed in the future, we request that you contact us," says HAL. "You can contact us at this address." He reaches his arm past the little gap between the seat and the window, a business card held professionally between his index finger and thumb.
Jet takes the card and shoves it in his pocket. "Fine. I'll do that."
The hackers fall silent. Jet stares out the window again; they're nearly into downtown.
"I'm sorry," says the fat kid, "but did you say 'her' ?"
Jet throws out the business card as soon as he gets off the bus. It's starting to drizzle a little. He pulls up the collar of the coat. Should've worn the hat.
He sees this old guy playing a sax a little further up the street, out in front of a subway station. He stops and listens to the song for a little bit, then tosses his bus card into the open sax case.
The guy stops playing and lowers the sax. "Hey, mister, pick that back up. I don't take cards."
"Keep it," says Jet.
"Don't want to," says the old guy. "Trust me, man, I got reasons."
Jet gives up. "Have it your way." He bends down and picks the card back up. "Nice song."
"Yeah, thanks. You take care, okay, man ?"
"Yeah. You too." Jet turns away and starts walking up the street again.
He can hear the sax behind him for about half a block. Then it stops; sounds like the old guy's starting to sing. Jet can't make out the words from here, so he just keeps moving.
He found his way onto the roof of a high-class apartment building just outside of town. He through the door he just jimmied, out onto the rooftop. View's not bad from here. He can see most of the city, plus outside the shield wall a little ways. Not a bad view at all.
He walks to the very edge. Lets the toe of his shoe stand over the fifty stories of so between him and the parking lot. Pulls out his gun; puts it to the temple of his head. Shuts his eyes.
Remember the names right now, even you can't remember anything else. Alisa. Fad. The faces of my parents and Grand-dad, before he died. That girl I saw this one time, out of the corner of my eye, that one night I was driving down the highway. Ein. Ed. What the hell, Spike. And why not, even the woman.
Remember that song from last night.
Slowly he lets his finger pull back the trigger.
We've all gone to look for America….
"Open your eyes."
Keats' voice. Right behind him.
***
I did not intend to offend anyone by my description of Wintermute. For some reason, he and the other hacker looked like Harry and Moriarty of Ain't It Cool News fame.
Just to make sure everyone knows: Udai Taxim is the hitman who cut off Jet's arm.
Up Jumped The Devil
By Machiavelli
The bonsai must have been dead for weeks. Jet doesn't remember when he stopped watering them; must've been at least a month ago. In any case, all that's left of it is this shriveled-up stick, in dirt so dry it could have come out of a desert.
He lifts his lighter to what's left of the leaves and clicks it once. And stays to watch it burn, even as the smoke clogs the air and makes it hard to breathe.
Then he digs out his old trenchcoat, the one he bought the day he graduated from the academy, and heads out.
He passes by the living room, goes out through the hanger door onto the deck. He's almost to the dock when Spike says, from behind him:
"I see you remembered your gun this time."
Jet doesn't turn around.
"I ever tell you why I stopped being a cop ?" he says into the air.
"You said it had something to do with your arm."
"Well, yeah, that was part of it," says Jet. He's looking past the dock into the city. Not many lights out there at this time of the night, with the exception of downtown. There, it's mainly the holographic ads, playing on the sides of the buildings. Beer commercials, movie posters, shit like that. Hurts his eyes just to look at it.
"I was out for maybe a month after that. Insurance covered all the bills, plus I got disability, so I didn't have anything to do but sit around and wait.
"They had another cop in the room across the hall from me - had a whole wing for government employees right over the emergency room. I'd hear this guy screaming at night - he was even worst off than I was, got himself burned in some explosion. So one day after they'd given me the arm and I was basically okay, I walked across the hall and asked him why they weren't giving him any kind of pain meds.
"Turns out they were. Nothing less than morphine. But the guy wasn't using it - he was selling it to one of the local syndicates. He had his nurse in on it; every day she'd take it outside, sell it to his contact, and they'd split it fifty-fifty. He said something about wanting a new apartment once he got out of there.
"And I'd seen worst, you know ? I'd seen a lot worst.
"But the next day they let me out, I went straight to headquarters, and I got out of the force. And a week or so after that, my girl left me, so I bought the Bebop with my disability and left Ganymede."
Out in the distance, one of the beer commercials disappears. A second later, a music video appears in its place.
"Interesting story," says Spike.
Jet turns around. Spike's sitting on the edge of the hull, his feet dangling over the edge, smoking a cigarette. Jet looks at him straight in the eye. "Spike. Give me my gun back."
"I had my reasons for what I did," says Spike. The lights from downtown reflect off his eyes; makes it look like he's got redeye, like in a cheap photograph. "My entire life led to that place and that time."
Jet holds out his hand. "I didn't stand in your way."
There's a breeze coming off of the lake now. He feels it on his face. It's a land breeze. Heading into the city.
A little time passes. Then Spike looks away.
He reaches into his coat and pulls out the gun. He puts one of his feet back on the hull and kicks it across the deck. Jet leans down as it comes; it slides right into his hand.
He rights himself back up and sticks it into his coat pocket.
"Do you know what I'm doing here ?" says Spike.
Jet looks at him.
"Me and Vicious and Julia, one last time. That was supposed to be the end of everything."
"I don't know," says Jet. "I don't know anything anymore."
Spike's looking out away from him, cigarette in his hand. Looking down, into the water.
"You were always the smart one, you know ?" says Jet. "The one who saw things. You'll figure it out."
Spike didn't say anything. So Jet turns around, and he steps onto the dock.
He catches a bus half a block away. He figures he'll head into the city, find someplace with a nice view.
The bus is pretty much empty. A couple of kids in the back, an old lady sitting out in the front. Jet takes a window seat towards the middle, and stares out into the street as the bus starts to move again.
I gotta think of things. Alisa and her watch. Fad and his cigarettes. Things like that. Have to keep it all in my head.
But for some reason it doesn't work.
The bus stops again. Jet watches out of the corner of his eye as two more kids get on. One of them is white, red hair, and is as fat as a whale; the other guy looks vaguely Mediterranean, and a little bit younger, despite the fact he's got a beard. They sit down in the two seats across the aisle from Jet, fat kid at the window. They both have wearable computers; Mediterranean kid has a pair of goggles as a display. Fat kid seems to have an implanted screen in his hand.
Jet looks out the window again, and tries to think about his days on the force. Little while later, he hears movement off to his left; someone's just sat down behind him. He glances over quickly; now there's just the fat kid sitting on his left. And he was looking in Jet's direction, before Jet turned his head.
Fuck this. I don't have to put up with this tonight.
"Excuse me," he says to the fat kid. The fat kid snaps straight up in his seat. "There some kind of problem ?"
"Mr. Jet Black," says the Mediterranean kid from behind Jet. "Retired ISSP, currently an officially sanctioned bounty hunter, owner of the fishing trawler Cowboy Bebop, until recently the partner and traveling companion of the hacker Radical Edward."
Jet shuts his eyes and leans back in the seat. "Let me guess. Hackers."
"Correct," says the fat kid. "I am currently known as Wintermute. If I may introduce my partner Hal 2000 ?"
Christ. I don't have time for this. "What the fuck do you want ?"
"Information," says HAL 2000 from behind Jet. "We were wondering if you knew Radical Edward's current whereabouts and activities."
"If I did, why the hell would I tell you ?"
"As far as we can tell, Edward has not been online for the past month," says Wintermute. "Given his past accomplishments, we see reason for concern, especially as there seems to be a complete dearth of information regarding his events and activities."
"In essence, he has completely disappeared," says HAL.
"Sorry to hear that," says Jet.
"Do you have any idea what Edward's plans when you parted company three months ago ?" says HAL.
Jet snorts. "I don't think Ed's had a plan in her life."
"Have you had any personal contact in the last two months ?" says Wintermute. "We know that he has not contacted you by electronic means since his departure."
"Look, are you sure she hasn't just changed her email address or something ?" asked Jet. He opens his eyes, just a little, in time to see both the hackers wince.
"Like most among our number, Edward changes handles on a frequent basis," says Wintermute. "However, those in our profession tend to have particular styles that are recognizable to the trained eye."
"Edward's iconography, for example, is particularly unique," says HAL.
"Edward has shown himself in the past to be particularly resistant to capture by the authorities. And our other contacts on Earth have confirmed that there has been no special effort on behalf of either the local authorities or the ISSP to capture Edward or hackers in general."
"As such, if Edward has been silenced, it has been by a third power that we have yet to identify. Such an organization if it exists would require impressive electronic resources, both to physically track down Edward and to escape our detection."
"You therefore see the reason for our concern," says Wintermute.
"Uh-huh," says Jet. "Look, do either of you guys need a bus pass ?"
"No thanks," says the Mediterranean kid. "Rigged the metro system a while back. We ride for free."
"Which is how we also, by the way, tracked you down to this particular bus at this particular time," says the fat kid.
"Should you be contacted by Ed in the future, we request that you contact us," says HAL. "You can contact us at this address." He reaches his arm past the little gap between the seat and the window, a business card held professionally between his index finger and thumb.
Jet takes the card and shoves it in his pocket. "Fine. I'll do that."
The hackers fall silent. Jet stares out the window again; they're nearly into downtown.
"I'm sorry," says the fat kid, "but did you say 'her' ?"
Jet throws out the business card as soon as he gets off the bus. It's starting to drizzle a little. He pulls up the collar of the coat. Should've worn the hat.
He sees this old guy playing a sax a little further up the street, out in front of a subway station. He stops and listens to the song for a little bit, then tosses his bus card into the open sax case.
The guy stops playing and lowers the sax. "Hey, mister, pick that back up. I don't take cards."
"Keep it," says Jet.
"Don't want to," says the old guy. "Trust me, man, I got reasons."
Jet gives up. "Have it your way." He bends down and picks the card back up. "Nice song."
"Yeah, thanks. You take care, okay, man ?"
"Yeah. You too." Jet turns away and starts walking up the street again.
He can hear the sax behind him for about half a block. Then it stops; sounds like the old guy's starting to sing. Jet can't make out the words from here, so he just keeps moving.
He found his way onto the roof of a high-class apartment building just outside of town. He through the door he just jimmied, out onto the rooftop. View's not bad from here. He can see most of the city, plus outside the shield wall a little ways. Not a bad view at all.
He walks to the very edge. Lets the toe of his shoe stand over the fifty stories of so between him and the parking lot. Pulls out his gun; puts it to the temple of his head. Shuts his eyes.
Remember the names right now, even you can't remember anything else. Alisa. Fad. The faces of my parents and Grand-dad, before he died. That girl I saw this one time, out of the corner of my eye, that one night I was driving down the highway. Ein. Ed. What the hell, Spike. And why not, even the woman.
Remember that song from last night.
Slowly he lets his finger pull back the trigger.
We've all gone to look for America….
"Open your eyes."
Keats' voice. Right behind him.
***
I did not intend to offend anyone by my description of Wintermute. For some reason, he and the other hacker looked like Harry and Moriarty of Ain't It Cool News fame.
Just to make sure everyone knows: Udai Taxim is the hitman who cut off Jet's arm.