Disclaimer: Do I look like Shinichiro Watanabe? With all due respect to Shinichiro Watanabe, I hope not.
Spoilers: I don't know where this fits into the Bebop timeline, it's before the end but pretty well into the series. If you don't want to know anything about the series and expect me to list all the spoilers as a warning, I'm not quite sure why you're bothering to read fanfiction about this.
A/N: There is no author's note, I just think it's cool to write A/N because nobody really reads them anyways. Here's the prologue of my very first Cowboy Bebop fic. Have fun reading this, I had a bit of fun writing it.
"They still are moved at once to weeping or to laughter,
Still wonder at your flights, enjoy the show they see:
A mind, once formed, is never suited after;
One yet in growth will ever grateful be."
~Faust, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Le Pari Ultime
TK
The lights of the carnival circuit were flashing simultaneous with the throbbing in his temples, red agony that refused to dull no matter how many Jack Daniels he had already imbibed. Everyone around him was in such a damned good mood, he wanted someone to just pick a fight already and let the flow of humanity continue once more. People can't progress without competition, and competition breeds violence. With 33 casinos crammed underneath gargantuan circus tents, he thought there would at least be one discrepancy in chips, one corrupt dealer, just one little argument…
But no. Everything ran like gaudy, plastic clockwork in "La Citadelle."
"Stupid neo-Cajuns and their stupid carnivals. Stupid Faye, leaving me here all alone while she wastes our bounty. Stupid Jet, letting her leave the ship with 30,000 woolongs. Stupid me for being dragged along as babysitter!" With that, he slammed his drink onto the bar and pushed himself off the tall stool. "I'm finding the damn woman and getting out of here."
He began to dig in his pocket for his wallet when a crackling voice seemed to emit from his pants. The green-haired man pulled out a small transmitter and sighed at the familiar face.
"What is it, Jet?"
The normally taciturn man had an air of excitement that permeated through the screen. "Ed just intercepted a call to all Earth's police stations and surrounding lunar sub-units. An old French guy by the name of Michel Letourneau has a new bounty of 8 million woolongs on his head for embezzlement and bank fraud. Rumour has it that he's been hiding out in one of the three major gambling circuses: L'aigle Noir, Aquitaine, or La Citadelle."
"Are you gonna tell Faye?"
"It's a big circuit, Spike. Both of you need to be searching if you want to catch him before he realizes someone's looking."
Spike sighed and stuck a hand in his pocket. "What's he look like?"
"Like someone's grandpa, blue eyes, white hair, about 6'1''."
"Pretty tall for a grandpa."
"He used to be an athlete or something before getting into the family business. His health is pretty bad now, though, he's a heavy smoker so he'll probably get winded easy."
"Hn." Spike ended the transmission and put the device away, his anger somewhat mollified at the thought of those 8 million woolongs. After a moment's hesitation, he brought the transmitter back out and pressed several buttons. A green-eyed woman appeared on the screen.
"You up for a bounty, or do I have to send you home in a barrel?"
~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*
That stupid, mop-headed idiot. I was on a roll, and he had to start yammering about some French geezer. Like we're gonna find him in this crowd, anyways.
Faye Valentine clutched her bucket of quarters and fumed silently as she wove her way through the throngs of people grouped about the various blackjack and craps tables. It wasn't often that they had any spare cash to spend, and even more rare were the opportunities when a gambling circuit was in such close proximity.
Old Frenchman, eh? That could be anybody.
Letting her violet hair fall forward so that no one could see her tiny earpiece, she spoke into the microphone clipped onto her dangling earrings.
"Spike, how are we supposed to find Letourneau if we don't have any details?"
His voice sounded terse in her ear. "Just look for a well-dressed chain smoker surrounded by beefy bodyguards."
"Stereotypical moneybags."
There was a pause as he patched through to Jet. "Can you speak French?"
"Some," she admitted.
"Jet says he has two sons that might be with him, Claude and Lucien. Lucien will be easy to spot because he has an eyebrow ring and a tattoo of an angel on his neck."
"His neck? Sounds adventurous."
"Both are the lecher types, and since that's generally your expertise…"
"Yeah, yeah," she snapped irritably. "I'll do the whore bit."
She could almost feel him grin through the airwaves, and her heart picked up just the slightest bit. "Well it wouldn't work for me…"
"I bet it would work on you, stupid pervert." Without waiting for a response, she turned her earpiece off and melted into the crowd.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*
After half an hour of fruitless searching, Faye found Lucien Letourneau at a roulette table, not playing but simply watching the gamblers as he sipped a martini. Tugging her shirt down and pulling her shorts up, she breezed over to the table, a pouty smile on her face.
"Rouge six, s'tu plait," she requested.
"Noir douze." Surprised, she looked at the man who had previously been a spectator. He flashed her a grin as the dealer spun the wheel.
"Douze, noir." There was a cheer around the table, and the dealer pushed the chips towards Lucien. Before she could place another bet, he set one of his chips down by her hand.
"Française ? »
She shook her head and pushed the chip back towards him, smile in place. "Non."
He slid it to her fingers again. "Neo-Cajun?"
Back to his hand. "Non."
"Un voyageur?" This time, she picked up the chip and deposited it into the front of her shirt.
"Oui."
He grinned again, and Faye realized that he had very nice teeth. "Ah, bon? I must welcome le voyageur."
She leaned forward, giving him a good view of her exposed chest. "J'ai des idées," she purred. This seemed to strike him as humorous, because he laughed and set down his martini.
"Laissez-moi vous acheter un boisson, M'mselle le Voyageur."
Giving him a sultry smile, she nodded and gave her order to the waiter hovering at Lucien's elbow. Within moments, he had brought her a dry double martini.
She offered him her hand, lowering her eyelashes demurely. "Faye Valentine."
He kissed the proffered hand. "Lucien Moiteau."
That's strange…He didn't take his father's name. Under the pretense of tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Faye subtly switched on the communicator. There was a moment's silence before the slight static that let her know Spike was listening. She adjusted her earrings, smiling beatifically at the French man.
Lucien reached a hand into the front of her shirt, graceful fingers quickly extracting the chip he had given her. Faye felt herself blush at his forwardness, but the warmth in her cheeks wasn't entirely uncomfortable.
Several minutes into the next game, Lucien's cell phone rang. He gave Faye the universal 'one minute' sign, turning slightly to take the call.
"'Allo? Ouai. Quoi?! L'idiot, que'st-ce qu'il a pensé a fait? Non, attends-moi. Je te chercherai."
He snapped the phone shut and turned towards Faye with a forced grin. "I 'ave…some personal affairs that I must see to. Excusez-moi."
She smiled and nodded as he stalked off through the crowd, flanked by three men in business suits. Once she had judged him a safe distance away, Faye began to follow his silk-tailored form through the casino, speaking softly to herself as she quickened her steps.
"Spike, can you hear me?"
"Yeah, and I heard our boy leave. What happened?"
"He got a call," she explained while dodging gamblers, "and now he and his cronies are headed towards the south side of the Center Ring." She heard the beep that signaled an end to the transmission and paused to check her earpiece. "Jeez, nobody says goodbye anymore."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Out of the corner of his eye, Spike could make out the figure of Lucien, hurrying in his general direction. He noticed that the young man didn't seem too pleased to be running through a crowded casino.
Or that phone call was a bad one.
Spike followed the line of Lucien's vision, spotting a door marked "Privé." He took note of the doors marked "Sortir," in case either he or Faye needed to make a quick exit, should any of the Letourneaus attempt to leave the premises. Lucien was just about three yards away now, but before Spike could make any moves to intercept him, a purple-haired woman broke free of the masses and latched onto Lucien's arm, holding a gun to his head. Cursing, Spike tackled the three burly men who had begun to take out their own guns as soon as Faye had grabbed their boss.
One creep grabbed his throat from behind, so he bent his legs and threw him onto a blackjack table, scattering chips and sending women screaming out of their seats. A shot was fired into the air, and suddenly everyone was in a hurry to leave. Sirens went off as the electricity was cut, and huge spotlights began to sweep the casinos. A warning alert was grating in French through the loudspeakers, and within a matter of minutes the entire room was devoid of gamblers.
That left Spike, Faye, Lucien, and about 7 other men. One carried a briefcase, all of them had their guns out except the one Spike had thrown. He was getting to his feet groggily, clutching his head and cursing fluently. Spike inched his foot towards him, and 6 guns were suddenly aimed at his chest. Lucien turned to the man holding the briefcase, and spoke with him for a brief moment before all traces of anger melted from his face. He seemed pleased with the contents of the briefcase, and Spike wondered if it was money.
The sirens had ceased, but the lights were still out. One beam from the spotlights caught Lucien's face briefly, and Spike could have sworn he was grinning.
"Bien. You've caught me," Lucien said softly. The irony in that statement was the 7 men who had apparently caught them. He had Faye now, with her gun in his left hand pressed to her temple and his right arm encircling her waist. "Let me congratulate you by inviting you to a vair' special meeting."
Since Lucien obviously had the upper hand, Spike chose to stay silent. Lucien bared his teeth in a grin that was less than friendly, giving the henchmen closest to him a quiet order. Spike found himself with two men on either side of him, both gripping his arms as they began to haul him towards the "Privé" door. Lucien followed, towing Faye in the same position as before.
The room they entered was as large and as dark as the previous one, this time with the absence of spotlights. Spike could only make out slightly darker shadows in the windowless room, and he knew Faye was right beside him only because he could smell her perfume, mixed with Lucien's cologne. A stronger stench permeated through scents that were distinctly human.
A voice spoke very close to his ear. "I know it is my father you want, but I regret to inform you he is already dead." Lucien didn't sound like a son in mourning, rather as if he were stating the weather. "For your troubles, let me challenge you to a friendly game."
Spike's voice was terse. "What kind of game."
There was a metallic click, like that of a briefcase being opened. Something was taken out and inserted into a hole on the wall, close to Faye's head. Machinery began to hum to life, and Spike felt Lucien's hand upon his shoulder.
The shadows were beginning to jerk about erratically, and just as Spike was about to repeat his question, red lights burst from the floor to reveal a scene that could only be defined as truly horrific.
In all four corners of the room, solid gold poles stretched to the ceiling, adorned with barbed wire that held one masked figure apiece. Spike thought at first that they were statues until they began to writhe and scream while the wire cut into their flesh. Tables were set up everywhere, ordinary gambling tables that housed abnormal games. There was Russian Roulette, with five small children kneeling on the floor, also masked, waiting to play. A twisted sort of blackjack table was set up next to it, but upon further inspection, the stools were made out of iron and human bones. The chips stacked on each table were simply bracelets made of tiny bones fitted together, painted either red, blue, or left dirty white. The cloth of the table was human skin, stretched out and stitched together. Some were dyed red, others dyed black. The dealers were all wearing grotesque porcelain masks, and each one of them, including the children by the Russian Roulette table, was naked. Spike heard the clink of chains wrapped around each dealer's ankles. The whole room had a nauseating smell to it, and the walls were gilded in gold and some kind of copper-colored paint that was artfully applied into beautiful drawings. Spike swallowed the bile that choked in his throat when he realized the beautiful drawings were actually done in blood. Beside him, he heard Faye gasp in shock as a huge circular table began to rise up from the floor.
It was ordinary roulette, but instead of slots for the ball to fall into, there were children. A huge iron spike was fixed in the center, hinged so that when the wheel stopped, it would fall into the stomach of a child. The roulette black and red numbers were painted onto the chests of the unconscious kids, some of them looking to be only 4 years of age. The oldest had to be only 9. One little girl tied to the table woke up, and upon realizing where she was, began to cry. This added to the anguished wails of those wired to the golden poles, and Spike fought the urge to fall on the floor and cover his ears. Eerie carnival music cranked up and began to drown out the screams.
All around the room, side panels were beginning to open, revealing about 20 or so middle aged men in business suits. They began to circulate the tables, but none of them went near the human roulette wheel. From their previously stationary positions, more masked figures came forward to bring them drinks and serve out hor d'ouevres.
Faye couldn't control her body's impulses any longer, and dropped to her knees to retch violently. A bodyguard pulled her roughly to her feet and clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Hey! You're gonna choke her!" Spike yelled, moving towards her. Lucien nodded to the guard and he let Faye drop once more. Spike waited until she had emptied her stomach onto the plush red carpet, and averted his eyes as a little boy came to clean up her mess. She croaked out an apology and tried to take the rags from him, but Lucien stepped on her hands.
"They are here to serve. You are here to play."
Faye looked up at him, jade eyes wide in horror. "I don't want to play, you sick bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing, what kind of game is this?!"
Lucien chuckled and stepped off her hands. Faye remained crouched on the floor, her eyes shut tight from the gruesome scene in front of them.
"M'mselle Valentine," he purred, and with a nod to Spike, "Monsieur, bienvenue au Pari Ultime."
There is no money used here to bet, but the entrance fee is 5 million woolongs. 3 million woolongs less than the bounty set out for my father, yes? You are fortunate to be able to play for free."
"If you don't bet money," Faye spat out from her seat on the floor, "how do you play?"
"Good question, M'mselle." Lucien's brown eyes shone as he turned to survey the gamblers. Spike watched him, wary of the answer.
"You bet lives."
~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Thus, in our booth's contracted sphere,
The circle of Creation will appear,
And move, as we deliberately impel,
From Heaven, across the World, to Hell!"