He sees
you when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows when you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake
After a moment when he couldn't breath, Spike realized it wasn't Julia. This girl was shorter, and thinner. She had brown eyes instead of blue, and they held the same slightly exotic tilt as Timothy Tan's. But God, the resemblance was uncanny.
"Sorry," said Spike to Margaret Tan, while his mind still screamed Julia!
"No problem…" said Margaret, now regarding him as if he was a little off center. Which he was, Spike was the first to admit. "You Spike?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Margaret Tan."
"I figured."
"And on the note of that somewhat Bogart-esque exchange," said Margaret with a sarcastic smirk. "Would you like to come in?" Spike pinched the bridge of his nose once and then nodded.
"Yeah."
Inside Margaret's apartment was not any more cheerful than the fluorescent hallway. There were no holiday decorations, and the whole place was dark from the pulled blinds.
"Sorry for the lack of seasonal cheer," said Margaret. "But that stuff drives me up the wall."
"No problem," said Spike. "I'm not a big fan of Christmas myself." Margaret threw a glance at him as she settled herself in an armchair made of an indeterminate beige material. Spike realized all the furniture he was seeing must have come with the apartment. It was too ugly for anyone to actually purchase.
"So you're here about my brother," Margaret stated. Spike nodded.
"Mind if I smoke?"
"No," said Margaret. Spike lit up and exhaled towards the stained ceiling. One of the stains kind of looked like the Swordfish, and he found himself wishing he was in it, going somewhere else. "I suppose you're wondering why I contacted you guys," said Margaret. Spike shrugged.
"I don't ask a lot of questions about anyone. I don't feel I have the right."
"Well, I found out there was a bounty on Tim and I ran a search on you people. Bounty hunters. Some of you actually have Web sites, did you know that?" Spike didn't, but it figured, so he nodded. "Anyway," said Margaret, "you guys popped up a lot. You don't have a lot of captures, and you don't even usually pull in the big money, but all your crooks were…well…special. They were the odd ones, the ones nobody else could get to. Like those sea rat activist people. And the guy who robbed the gates."
"We didn't actually bring him in," said Spike. "In point of fact, we never told anyone about him. How did you know?"
"You bounty hunters are a gossipy bunch," said Margaret. "So, in spite of your dubious record of destroying pretty much everything you come into contact with on a job…"
"Hey," Spike protested.
"A church on Mars, a score of ships, casino guards, ISSP agents, the list goes on," said Margaret. "Shall I continue?" Spike glowered at her over his cigarette.
"If you're so worried about us blowing shit up then why pick on us?"
"Because you're the only ones who can catch my brother," said Margaret. "He's too smart for the other lunkheads. But you people are just weirdo enough yourselves to pull him in." Spike ignored the fact that he had been called a weirdo and asked what had been on his mind since the beginning.
"Why do you want your brother caught?"
"Because he's dangerous," said Margaret matter-of-factly. "When we were children he was downright cruel—I won't go into details, but suffice to say that pulling these cons will only satisfy him for so long. I follow his news-making stunts, Mr. Spiegel. The last couple he conned had another kid. A thirteen-year-old son." She fixed Spike with her enormous eyes. "He beat the boy almost to death getting away."
"Another kid…that's not his MO," said Spike.
"His MO is changing, then," said Margaret shortly. "I know my brother, Mr. Spiegel. He's almost devilishly smart, but he has a mean streak that the intelligence can only suppress for so long. I don't want to see anyone hurt." To Spike, it sounded like a hollow reason at best and more like a soap opera monologue, but like he said, it wasn't his right to ask questions. Not yet, anyway.
"Okay," he said. "So for ten percent of the bounty, what do you have to offer us?"
"His fence on Ganymeade is an Earth expatriate, a German named Hans Claus. His alias is…"
"Don't tell me," said Spike, fighting a groan. "'Santa' Claus." Margaret nodded.
"Once my brother makes a score he'll go to Hans to unload the booty."
"And you know this how?" said Spike, deciding he was permitted one question. Margaret stood and walked past him to the door. Spike breathed in. She smelled so much like her…exactly like her…
"I just do," said Margaret as she opened the door. "If you need more information, Mr. Spiegel, feel free to drop by. Otherwise I'll expect you with a check when you catch him." Spike stopped impulsively as he was leaving and turned to her.
"Have you ever been to Mars?"
"No," said Margaret. Somewhere down the hall the barking dog began to howl. Spike suddenly felt heavy, as if he were walking through deep mud and had been for days. "Why?" asked Margaret.
"No reason," said Spike as he ground his cigarette into the gravy-brown carpet of the hallway and walked away. "Merry Christmas."
"We've been at this mall for five fucking hours," said Faye slowly and succinctly. "And if I have to hear 'Silver Bells' piped through these damn speakers one more time I am going to lose it and start gunning down happy holiday shoppers." Jet, who was sitting on a bench next to her, admitted that he was starting to feel the same way. They'd been observing the corner where Tiny Tim had last worked on Ganymeade for nearly that long, and a variety of homeless men, women and children had shown up. He'd seen men with no legs, children competing for who could look the most pathetic and women with flocks of even more pathetic-looking kids. All in all, the sight was depressing him greatly.
That ungrateful little bastard better show was his latest and most venomous thought.
"He's not gonna show," said Faye. "This whole thing was a waste of time. I can't believe I actually let you two talk me into it."
"Faye," said Jet wearily and with great patience. "Shut. Up." Faye opened her mouth and Jet was sure she said something biting and sarcastic in retort, but his comm rang and he was thankfully saved.
"It's me," said Spike.
"What'd you get from the sister?" asked Jet.
"Not much," said Spike. Jet, in a eerie sort of Twilight Zone experience, could hear the tinny 'Silver Bells' coming from Spike's end of the call as well as his. It creeped him out.
"Well, what is not much?" he snapped. Spike sighed, and Jet knew he was probably leaning against the Swordfish smoking and basking in his cool. He sure as hell wasn't in a mall in a sweaty Impotent Banker suit surrounded by salespeople with test spritzers and trays of sample Christmas meat. Jet began to hate Spike.
"Apparently Tan goes to a fence named Hans 'Santa' Claus after a score," said Spike. "I'm gonna go check him out."
"Santa Claus?!" exclaimed Jet, causing Faye and several passing shoppers to look at him. One little girl approached.
"Are you talking to Santa?"
"No kiddin', he's still in business?" Jet asked Spike.
"Apparently," said Spike. Jet laughed.
"Well damn! I was sure someone would've shot that fat bastard by now." The little girl's face crumpled like tissue and she began to sob. Her mother hurried her away, while telling Jet he should be ashamed. "Be careful," said Jet, totally oblivious to the child he had just scarred for life. "Claus ain't no jolly old Saint Nick."
"No, I don't suppose he would be," said Spike dryly. "I'm out. How's the mall angle holding up?"
"Would you like to taste our delicious Homestyle Christmas Seasoning sausage?!" chirped a perky salesgirl, shoving a platter under Jet's nose. Jet sighed.
"Don't ask."
"Alright," said Spike, and hung up.
"Is it free?" Faye was asking the girl.
"Yes ma'am, and if you buy ten or more link meat products it's ten percent off!" said the girl. Faye swept half of the sausage pieces into her hand and shoved them into her mouth. Jet felt like he was going to be sick, and the salesgirl looked amazed that anyone, never mind someone as skinny as Faye, could stomach that much Homestyle Christmas Seasoning at once.
"Oh come on!" said Faye when she saw Jet looking. "It's free food!"
"That," said Jet, pointing at the platter. "Is cayenne pepper and pig innards. It is not food." Faye flipped a hand and turned away from him, only to freeze and choke.
"See?" said Jet. Faye swallowed rapidly and swatted Jet.
"No! Over there!" She extended her finger dramatically. "It's Tan!" Jet followed her pointing, and sure enough, there was the little waif riding in an old model push wheelchair and sporting a ratty overcoat about six sizes too big and a watch cap. Jet forgot about how miserable he was and sized up Tiny Tim. He had his hand out in a supplicating gesture and people were dropping money into it. A lot of people. Almost everyone who passed. Jet was amazed, and then tried to look at Tan as if he were a normal middle-class shopper. Jesus. The guy looked like a kid to cute and helpless for words.
"That is just sick," said Faye, giving voice to Jet's thoughts. "I mean, it's one thing to con people legitimately, but trading on your looks like that…"
"Don't go any further with that thought or you'll wind up looking stupid," Jet warned her. She glared, but turned her attention back to Tan. His pockets were already bulging with change. Every time someone gave him money his sweet, high voiced piped up above the crowds, and Jet could hear his thank-you.
"God bless us, every one." Jet settled one hand on his well-concealed pistol.
"That's just pushing it. I cannot wait to nail this bastard." Faye adjusted her own gun in her waistband.
"Then let's get to it, so we can get out of this awful place."
"Merry Christmas! God bless!" chirped Tan as an elderly woman passed him what looked to Jet to be at least fifty woolong. Faye and Jet grinned at each other as they began moving through the crowd.