Chapter Three: The Transvestite Situation

Jet Black snaps, savagely tipping the card table over, removing the only barrier between himself and Witney Hagas Matsumoto. Witney now sits in a lone chair before Jet like a political prisoner in front of an interrorgator. "What planet you from!"
"What?" Witney said petrified.
"'What' is not no planet I ever heard of! Do they speak English in 'What?'" Jet said.
"What?" Witney said near heart attack.
"English motherfucker! Do you speak it?"
"Yes."
"Then you know what i am saying! Now describe what Marsellus Vicious looks like!" Jet said.
"What?" Witney said out of fear as Jet Black takes his .45 and presses the barrel hard in Witney's cheek.
"Say "What" again! Come on, say "What" again! I dare you, I double dare you motherfucker, say "What" one more goddamn time!" He said as Witney does his best.
"Well he is ...he is...white --"
"-- go on!"
"...and he is...he is...got white hair --"
"-- does he look like a bitch?!"
"What?" Witney said without thinking. Jet's eyes go to Spike, Spike smirks, Jet rolls his eyes and shoots Witney in the shoulder. Witney screams, breaking into a shaking/trembling spasm in the chair.
"Does he look like a bitch?!" Jet said.
"No!" Witney said in agony.
"Then why did you try to fuck him like a bitch, Witney?!" Jet said.
"I did not." Witney said in spasm.
"Yes you did. Yes you did, Witney. You tried to fuck him. And Marsellus Vicious does not like to be fuck by anybody except Faye Valentine. You read the bible, Witney?" Jet said. "There is a passage I got memorized seems appropriate for this situation: Ezekiel 25:17. 'The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequites of the selfish and tyranny of evil men..." In the bathroom of the Venus apartment. The fourth man is pacing around the small room, listening hard to what Jet Black is saying to Witney on the other side of the door, tightly clutching his huge silver, .357 Magnum.
"Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Black dog when I lay my vengeance upon you.'" The fourth man freaks out. He throws himself against the back wall, gun outstretched in front of him, a look of yellow fear on his face, ready to blow in half anybody fool enough to stick their head through that door. Then he listens to them talk. The two hitmen empty their guns at the same time on the sitting Witney. When they are finished, the bullet-ridden carcass just sits there for a moment, then topples over. All is quiet. The only sound is Julius muttering in the corner.
"...goddamn...goddamn...that was fucked up...goddamn, that was cold-blooded..."
"Friend of yours, Jet?" Spike said, while pointing to the transvestite Julius.
"Yeah, Julius-Spike-Spike-Julius." Jet answered.
"Tell him to shut up, he is getting on my nerves." Spike said.
"Julius, I would knock that shit off if I was you." Jet said. Waiting for them is not the smartest move. Bursting out the door and blowing them all away while they are fucking around is the way to go. The bathroom door bursts open and the fourth man charges out, silver Magnum raised, firing six booming shots from his hand cannon.
"Die you motherfuckers! Die!" He screamed until he dry firing. Then a look of confusion crosses his face. Standing next to each other, unharmed. Amazing as it seems, none of the fourth man's shots appear have hit anybody. Spike Spiegel and Jet Black exchange looks like, "Are we hit?" They are confused at the shooter. After looking at each other, they bring their looks up to the fourth man.
"I do not fucking understand --" The fourth man is taken out of the scenario by the two men's bullets who, unlike his, hit's their marks. He drops dead. The two men lower their guns. Jet, obviously shaken, sits down in a chair. Spike, after a moment of respect, shrugs it off. Then heads toward Julius in the corner.
"Why the fuck did you not tell us about the guy in the bathroom? Slip your mind? Forget he was in there with a fucking hand cannon?" He asked Julius.
"We should be fucking dead right now." Jet said to himself. He then turned his head toward Spike and Julius. "Did you see that gun he fired at us? It was bigger than him." Jet continued.
".357 Magnum." Spike said.
"We should be fucking dead!"
"Yeah, we were lucky." Spike said as Jet rises, moving toward Spike.
"That shit was not luck. That shit was something else." Jet said as Spike prepares to leave.
"Yeah, maybe." Spike said.
"That was...divine intervention. You know what divine intervention is?" Jet asked.
"Yeah, I think so. Divine intervention means God came down from Heaven and stopped the bullets of course." Spike said.
"Yeah, man, that is what it means. That's exactly what it means! God came down from Heaven and stopped these motherfucking bullets." Jet explained.
"I think we should be going now." Spike said.
"Do not do that! Do not fucking do that, Spike! Do not blow this shit off! What just happened here was a fucking miracle!" Jet shouted.
"Chill the fuck out, Jet, this shit happens." Spike said.
"Wrong, wrong, this shit does not just happen."
"Do you wanna continue this theological discussion in the ship, or at the jailhouse with the cops?" Spike said.
"We should be fucking dead now, my friend! We just witnessed a miracle, and I want you to fucking acknowledge it!"
"Okay man, it was a miracle, can we leave now?" Spike said as he opens the door.
"Let us go nigger, come on!" Jet said as Julius gets up and does what he tells him.

The Bebop propels itself into traffic. Spike turns on the radio as "Perfect Sense" plays. Jet is behind the wheel, Spike in the passenger seat and Julius the Transvestite in the back. "...ever seen that show "Big Shot?" I was watching it once and this bounty hunter who was on it who was talking about this time he got into this gunfight with a guy named Asimov in the alleyway. He unloads on this Asimov and he does not hit anything. And these guys were in a alleyway. It is freaky guys, but it happens." Spike said to Jet and their prisoner.
"Look, if you wanna play blind man, then go walk with the Shepard. But me, my eyes are wide fucking open." Jet said.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Spike asked.
"That is it for me. For here on in, you can consider my ass retired." Jet answered.
"Jesus Fucking Christ!"
"Do not blaspheme!"
"Goddamnit, Jet --"
"-- I said do not do that --"
"-- you are fucking freaking out!" Spike said.
"I am telling Marsellus Vicious today I am through." Jet said.
"While you are at it, be sure to tell him why?"
"Do not worry, I will."
"I will bet you ten thousand woolong, he laughs his ass off."
"I do not give a damn if he does." Jet said as Spike turns to the backseat with the .45 casually in his grip.
"Julius, what do you make of all this?" he asked.
"Man, I do not even have an opinion." Julius said.
"Come on, Julius. You gotta have an opinion. I mean, do you think that God came down from Heaven and stopped ---" Spike Spiegel's .45 goes BANG! Julius is hit in the upper chest, below the throat. He gurgles blood and shakes
"What the fuck is happening? Oh shit, man!" Jet yelled.
"Oh man, I shot Julius in the throat." Spike said.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" Jet asked.
"I did not mean to do it. It was an accident."
"Oh man, I have seen some crazy-ass shit in my time but this ---" Jet said while wiping the blood off.
"-- chill out, man, it was an accident, okay? You might of went over an asteriod or something." Spike said.
"Hey, the car did not hit no motherfucking asteroid!" Jet said.
"Look! I did not mean to shoot the son of a bitch transexual, the gun just went off, do not ask me how! Now I think the humane thing to do is put him out of his misery." Spike said. Jet cannot believe what Spike just did.
"You wanna shoot him again?"
"The trans is suffering. It is the right thing to do." Julius, suffering though he is, is listening to this debate.
"This is really un fucking cool." Jet said as Spike turns to the backseat, placing the barrel of the .45 against Julius' forehead. Julius' eyes are as big as saucers. He tries to talk Spike out of this, when he opens his mouth, only gurgles come out.
"Julius, I just want to apologize. I got nothing to do with this shit. And I want you to know I think it is fucked up." Jet said.
"Okay, ISSP man, when I count three, blow the whistle. One... two... ...three." Jet blows the whistle hard and Bang. Julius was put out of his misery. The Bebop is now completely covered in blood. It is all over everything including Jet Black and Spike Spiegel.
"Jesus Fucking Christ Almighty!"
"Fuck.." Spike said to himself.
"Well look at this fucking mess, man! We are driving around a city street in broad daylight --"
"-- I know, I know, I wasn't thinking about the splatter."
"Well you better be thinking about it now, motherfucker! We got to get this ship off the road. You know cops tend to notice shit like you are driving a ship drenched in motherfucking blood." Jet yelled.
"Can we just take it to a friendly place?" Spike asked.
"This is the Valley, Spike. Marsellus Vicious does not have no friendly places in the Valley." Jet answered.
"Well, Jet, this is not my fucking town!" Spike shouted as Jet takes out a celluar phone and starts punching digits.
"Who are you calling?" he asked.
"A partner of mine in El Rey." Jet answered.
"Where is El Rey." Spike said.
"On the other side of the hill, by Sunrise Studios. If Roco's ass is not home, I do not know what the fuck we are gonna go, man. Because I do not got any other partners in 909." Jet said to Spike as he talks into the phone. "Hey Roco! How are you doing man, it is Jet Black. Listen up man, me and my friend are in some serious shit. We are in a car and we gotta get off the road, pronto! I need to use your garage for a couple hours. Roco, you know I cannot get into this shit on a celluar fucking phone. But what I can say is my ass is out in the cold and I am asking you for some sanctuary until our people can bring us in. I appreciate this, man -- -- Roco, I am aware of your situation. I am not going to fuck things up for you. I give you my word, partner, she will never know we were there." Jet said as he folds up the phone, turning to Spike. "We are set. But his sister comes home from work in an hour and a half and we gotta be out of there by then."

The Bebop pulls into the garage of a two-bedroom suburban home.
Jet Black is bent over a sink, washing his bloody hands while Spike Spiegel stands behind him. "We gotta be real fucking delicate with this Roco situation. He is one remark away from kicking our asses out the door."
"If he kicks us out, what do we do?" Spike said.
"Well, we are not leaving until we make a couple phone calls. But I never want it to reach that pitch. Roco's my friend and you do not bust in your friend's house and start telling them what is what." Jet explained as he rises and dries his hands. Spike takes his place at the sink.
"Just tell him not to be abusive. He kind of freaked out back there when he saw the transvestite." Spike said.
"Put yourself in his position. It is 7:59 in the morning. He just woke up, he was not prepared for this shit. I mean, shit, do not forget who is doing who a favor." Jet said as Spike finishes, then dries his hands on a white towel."
"It the price of that favor means I got to take shit, he can stick that favor straight up our asses for all I care." Spike said. While finishing drying his hands, the towel is stained with red in blood.
"Hey Fuck, Nigger! What the fuck did you just do to his fucking towel man?" Jet shouted as he grabs the towel.
"I was just drying my hands."
"You are supposed to wash them first."
"You watched me wash them."
"I watched you get them wet."
"I was washing them. but this blood shit is real hard to get off. Maybe if he had some Lava, I could of done a better job."
"And I used the same fucking soap you did and when I dried my hands, the towel did not look like a goddamn fucking Maxiepad. And what if he was to come in here seeing his towel looking like this, Spike? It is shit like this that is gonna bring this situation to a boil. Look, fuck it, alright. Who cares? I am telling you Spike, you best be cool. Because if I gotta get in to it with Roco on account of you....Look, I am not threatening you or anything. You know I respect you and all, just do not put me in this position all right." Jet said.
"Jet, you ask me nice like that, no problem. He is your friend, you handle him." Spike said.

Three men are standing in Roco's kitchen, each with a mug of coffee. Spike Spiegel, Jet Black, and Roco Bonnaro, a spirited young man in his early-20's dressed in a bathrobe.
"Goddamn, Roco, this is some serious gourmet shit. Me and Spike would of been satisfied with some freeze-dried Tasters Choice. You spring this gourmet fucking shit on us. What flavor is this?"
"Knock it off, Jet Black. I am not a cobb or corn, so you can stop buttering me up. I do not need you to tell me how good my coffee is. I am the one who buys it, I know how fucking good it is. When Stella goes shopping:, she buys shit. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it, I want to taste it. But what is on my mind at this moment is not the coffee in my kitchen, it is the dead transexual in my garage." Roco said.
"Roco --"
"-- I am talking. Now let me ask you a question, Jet. When you came driving in here, did you notice a sign out the front of house that said "Dead Transexual Storage?" Roco asked as Jet starts to "Roco" him --
"-- answer the question. Did you notice a sign out in the front of my house that said. "Dead Transexual Storage?" Roco repeated.
"No Roco, I did not." Jet answered.
"You know why you did not see that sign?" he asked.
"Why?"
"Because it is not there cause storing dead transexuals are not my fucking business that is why!" Roco yelled as Jet started to "Roco" him again.
"--- I am not through! Now do you not realize that if Stella comes home and finds a dead transexual in her house, I am gonna get divorced. No marriage counselor, no trial separation -- fucking divorced. And I do not wanna get fucking divorced. The last time me and Stella talked about this shit was gonna be the last time me and Stella talked about this shit. Now, fuck. I wanna help you out, Jet, I really do. But I am not gonna lose Stella doing it." Roco said.
"Roco--"
"--do not fucking Roco me, man, I cannot be Rocoed. There is nothing you can say that is gonna make me forget I love Stella. Now she is working the graveyard shift at the hospital. She will be coming home in less than an hour and a half. Make your phone calls, talk to your people, then get the fuck out of my house before she gets here." Roco said.
"Rolling Stones, That is all we want. We do not want to fuck up your shit. We just need to call our people to bring us in."
"You are fucking my shit up, you are fucking my shit up right now. You are gonna fuck my shit up big time when Stella gets here. Then I suggest you get to it. The phone is in my bedroom." Roco said as Jet crosses the room, exiting.
"You are a friend, Roco, you are a good fucking friend." Jet called behind Roco.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I am a real good friend. Good friend, bad brother, soon to be ex-brother." Roco said to himself. He looks up and sees Spike. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked Spike.
"I am Spike Spiegel. And Roco, thanks a bunch." Spike said as the two laugh.
"Do not mention it." Roco said.

Marsellus Vicious sits at his dining table in a comfortable robe, eating his breakfast, while talking on the phone. "...well, say she comes home. What do you think she will do?" Vicious paused a moment, wiping his mouth off with a paper towel and continued. "Well, no fucking shit she will freak. That is no kind of answer. You know her, I do not. How bad. a lot or a little?"

Jet Black paces around in Roco's bedroom on the phone. "You have got to appreciate what an explosive element this Stella situation is. If she comes home from a hard day's work and find's a bunch of gangsters doing a bunch of gangster shit in her kitchen, there is no telling what she is apt to do." Jet said.
"Let us speak of the unspeakable." Vicious said.
"Probably exists, but unlikely."
"Why possible but unlikely?"
"Because if push met shove, you know I will take care of business. But push is not never gonna meet shove. Because you are gonna solve this shit for us. You are gonna take our asses out of the cold and bring it inside where it is warm. Because if I gotta get into it with my friend about his sister over your boy Spike, I am gonna have bad feelings." Jet said.
"I have grasped that, Jet. All I am doing is contemplating the 'ifs.'" Vicious said.
"I do not wanna hear about no motherfucking "ifs". All I wanna hear from your ass is: 'You have got no problems, Jet. I am on the motherfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggers out and wait for the calvary, which should be coming directly.'" Jet said.
"You have got no problems, Jet Black. I am on the motherfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggers out and wait for Mao Yenrai, who should be coming directly."
"You are sending Mao Yenrai?" Jet asked.
"Oh, you feel better, motherfucker?" Vicious asked.
"Shit Vicious, that is all you had to say." Jet said as hangs up the phone.

A crap game is being played on a fancy crap table by gambles in tuxedos and lucky ladies in fancy evening gowns. In the bedroom, the tuxedo-clad Mao "The Wolf" Yenrai is sitting on a bed, phone in hand, and a small notepad that he jots details in. "Is she the hysterical type? When is she due? Give me the principals' names?" Mao said as he jots down on his notepad. The page has written on it: Park Avenue, El Rey, 1 body (no head) Bloody shot-up car, Jet Black (White) "Jet... ...Spike...Roco...Stella...." He writes: Spike Spiegel (Lone Wolf) Roco (Indy) Stella (9:30). Expect a call around 11:30. It is about thirty minutes away. I will be there in five." Mao said as he hangs up.