The Batmobile, it lost a wheel
And the Joker got away
When Faye and Jet reached the ISSP precinct office near the mall with a handcuffed Tan, they found a long, colorful line of crooks already waiting for admittance. Faye thought she recognized a few shoppers from their stakeout. "Oh come on," said Tan. "Are you gonna make me wait in this line?"
"No," said Jet as he shoved his way up to the desk sergeant. "You get the VIP treatment." Tan rolled his eyes as Faye urged him along.
"Lucky me." He turned to Faye. "Hey, doll, I can walk you know. I don't need any additional thrust from you." Faye rapped his head with her knuckles. It was so gratifying to have a short bounty that she could push around for once.
"Shut up, freak." Tan laughed.
"Freak? Oh, that's funny coming from a woman in a Santa sweater who packs heat."
"Timothy Tan?" demanded the bored desk sergeant, looking over the counter from his perch. "Gotta hand it to you, Jet. You sure do pull in the weirdoes." Jet shrugged modestly.
"Just a talent, I guess." The sergeant picked up his hardwired comm. "I gotta call upstairs to Accounts Payable and get an okay on your bounty. Wait over there for a second, will ya?" He pointed to a row of benches.
"What about the littlest con artist?" asked Faye.
"I'll have a uniform take him to the holding cells," said the sergeant. He put his hand over the phone and bellowed, "HEY FRED!" A young rookie officer who had been wrestling with two drunken Santa elves hurried over.
"Christ, more midgets?" he demanded.
"This here ain't just any midget, this is Tiny Tim himself," said the sergeant. "Take him down to B block, would you?" Fred relieved Faye of Tan.
"Wow. Never thought I'd get to see him."
"Well take a nice long look, Junior," snarled Tan sarcastically. "In fact, I'll be posing for pictures until five o'clock." Jet rubbed his bald spot wearily.
"Get him out of here, will you?"
"Sure thing," said Fred, adding with bright-eyed excitement, "Hey, you're Jet Black! It's an—"
"Yo, gumshoe," said Tan. "Think we could move this along some time today?" Fred, still basking in the glow of his double celebrity encounter, escorted Tiny Tim towards the holding cells.
"Have fun in prison! Maybe if you're good Santa will send you a nail file!" Faye called after him. Tan turned and grinned.
"No need for that, doll. But I wouldn't mind fifteen minutes alone with you." Jet had to manually restrain Faye from leaping the counter and committing what would appear to most to be assault on a minor.
"What did he do, try to nurse?" asked Spike's voice from behind her. Faye turned on him.
"Oh you're hilarious, Spike." She looked at him more closely. "What the hell happened to your head?" Spike gave her the Look. He didn't use the Look very often, but now it perfectly expressed his disgust, fatigue, and general disbelief of the situation he had landed in.
"I'm trying out a new style for the holidays."
"It sucks," Faye declared.
"Thanks for your opinion," said Spike, sinking down on a convenient bench like a deflated scarecrow.
"Rough day?" said Jet.
"I killed Santa," said Spike morosely. "How would you feel?" Jet decided there was nothing he could possibly say to that, and before he could try his attention was caught by the Santa elves, who had ceased to sing a horribly off-key version of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' and decided to try to kill each other with the scraps of holiday decorations that the ISSP officers had put up around the waiting room. One was wielding a plastic candy cane and the other had a faux-evergreen wreath and was putting up a pretty good fight. The other criminals instantly formed a circle and began to cheer. A man who had been busted for soliciting a fake charity outside the mall started taking bets. All of the uniforms in the room including star-struck Fred jumped into the fray and tried to separate the two determined little people. Jet sighed, and turned his back.
"Yo Jet," called the desk sergeant. "They're bringin' down your payment…how you want it split up?"
"Four ways, one ten percent and the rest equal," Jet replied.
"Hey," said Faye suddenly. "Where's Tan?" Jet whipped his head around in a quick sweep and failed to locate the conman.
"Oh fuck it."
"He's over there," said Spike calmly, pointing to another bench, which was in danger of being engulfed by the fight. Tan was standing on it, trying to maintain balance with his handcuffed hands.
"You know, if we could get him into the brawl we'd have ourselves a pay-per-view event," grumbled the desk sergeant as he left his post and ambled over to the clot of miscreants. "Okay, lunkheads! That's enough! The Christmas décor is not to be used as lethal weapons! Read the sign!" No one paid him any attention except Tan, who grabbed the sergeant's key ring expertly with the toe of his shoe, flipped it in the air and caught it by the handcuff key. He slipped his bonds before anyone, including Spike had a chance to do anything but think, Jesus, he's fast. Hands free, Tan grabbed the sergeant's pistol and fired a shot into the ceiling.
Two hookers dressed like naughty Mrs. Clauses screamed and dove to the floor. Everyone else froze in their spot, including the drunken Santa's helpers, one of who was paused in the middle of strangling the other with his candy cane.
"Alright," said Tan calmly. "Here's how it's going to work." Spike drew his pistol and aimed at Tan's head.
"You're gonna put the gun down and go to your room like a good little boy." Tan smiled slightly.
"So you're the real brains, huh? I knew the chick and the old guy couldn't be."
"I'm thirty-seven, you little rat bastard…" Jet started. Tan turned and pulled the trigger of his gun once. Fred the cop fell with a red, bloody hole in the front of his uniform.
"Here's how it's going to work," said Tan once again. "You're going to put the pistol down nice and easy, or I'll shoot someone else. You try any kung-fu, booby-traps or any of that other flashy shit and I'll shoot everyone I can." He checked his clip. "Full, minus one. Fourteen shots. And you know I'm fast." He turned to Spike and the group, still aiming. The rest of the population of the waiting room ducked as the barrel of the gun swept over their heads. Spike didn't flinch as it came to rest on him. "So here's your choice," said Tan. "You drop the gat, I take my leave, you live and have enough time to call the paramedics for the dumb blue line over there. You want to stand here like a cowboy and reenact the last scene from Fistful of Dollars, fine by me. He'll die, but I've got all night." Spike shrugged and dropped his gun.
"Where do you plan to go, Tan? There's a lot more besides us after you." Tan shrugged.
"My little secret. You'll understand." He jumped as a door from the innards of the station opened and whipped his gun around to cover a small man with glasses who was entering the room. The man screamed. Tan pulled back the hammer.
"Who the hell are you—make it fast, and you better not be a cop."
"I'm Arnold Pless!" said the man, putting his hands up. One was holding a blue Inter-System Bank book. Spike groaned inwardly as he recognized what it was.
"And you do…?" said Tan in a voice that let Pless know it better be the right answer.
"I'm an accountant! That's all! I was just bringing out a bounty to pay to some folks…" It belatedly dawned on Pless what was going on. "Oh dear. Oh crap." Tan jerked his gun once.
"Bring it here." Pless, knees knocking, came forward.
"Please don't kill me, please please please, I have a wife and a family and two dogs and I own a Lexus and it's not paid for…"
"I could care less about you, you dumb shit," said Tan. "Get out of here." He opened the bankbook and looked and the credit chips inside.
"200 million woolong? Wow. Had no clue I was worth that much."
"He can't take our money!" Faye screamed as she started for him.
"Whoa, Bessie," said Tan. "Just because I got the cash doesn't mean I won't still shoot your ass." Spike put a hand on Faye's shoulder. It rested heavily. It let her know that if she moved she'd likely die. Faye forced herself to relax, but it didn't do anything for the seething rage.
Tan hopped off his bench and skipped merrily to the door. Actually skipped. The Bebop crew fought a collective urge to dogpile on the little runt and beat the shit out of him. At the door, Tan paused and turned, the cold wind of the Ganymeade night blowing his coat around him like some sort of Old West bank robber. "That's all, folks!" he caroled. "Merry Christmas to all, and too all a good night!"