Cowboy Bebop- FREELANCERS
Session one- Nostalgic Melody
The vast heavens of space almost seemed wrap around Olga Valte's ship momentarily,
creating a peaceful stillness as she entered the warp gate. Suddenly everything was shooting
by her viewport at a dizzying speed, and she breathed a short sigh of relief. Olga checked
her radar to make sure she'd lost the police tail, and grinned smugly as her radar showed
no sign of them. "Piece of cake." She mused, strapping herself tightly into the seat
as she flipped the communications switch. Olga fiddled with the tuning controls a little,
trying to get a clear signal through the static interference hyperspace transmissions always
suffered from. After a few seconds, Olga found a signal strong enough to use for private
conversation. She activated the scrambler just to be safe, and turned the speaker system on.
"This is roadrunner, repeat this is roadrunner. I'm en route to the specified location, package
in tow." Olga checked the radar again, making sure she wasn't being tracked as she waited for a
response. "Wily here." A gravely, low male voice crackled over the radio. "Message received,
roadrunner is to proceed to the drop point as planned." Olga smiled at the message, glad that
this job was almost complete. She lived for danger, and excelled at pulling off tricky contracts
like this one. But something about it wasn't sitting right with her. She was used to smuggling
weapons and drugs, stealing valubales or transporting hostages. She couldn't understand
why someone would go through all this trouble, and pay what she was being promised for
an infocard containing nothing more than a single person's data file. No one was that important,
as far as Olga was concerned. Especially not now, with the third millenium less than a decade away.
Anything that wasn't a weapon, a drug or some other means of controlling someone else had
outlived it's usefullness back in the day of the cowboys. "Understood." Olga replied at last,
chewing on her thumbnail. "Expected ETA is three hours at current speed." She assured her employer.
The low voice crackled over the speakers again, "Good work roadrunner, wily out."
Olga took the infocard from the breast pocket of her fatigues, eyeing it suspiciously.
"No one's worth 3 million wulongs.." She insisted, bending down as she felt the underside of her seat.
The submachine gun was there, just like always. If this mystery client of hers tried a double cross,
she was fully prepared to show him exactly why Olga Valte was the most feared outlaw in the solar system.
Don Decapreo held the butane lighter to his cigar, puffing heavily as he looked up at the stars.
Ten well armed, well trained men were standing guard outside the spaceport. He felt he was more than
safe enough sitting in the lobby. This Olga Valte, the woman he'd reluctantly hired to retrieve what he wanted
had a reputation for being a handful. He hadn't become the dominate power behind the strongest sysdicate in the
solar system by taking stupid chances when he could avoid it. Olga was almost as famous for her reliablity
as she was for her temper, and that is why he'd chosen her. He'd much rather have to deal with a loose cannon such
as Valte, than to have a more tame and thus less experienced courier botch the entire deal. The way the world was
now, those were the only two options left for this sort of thing. The only ones competent enough to get the job done
were savage, disloyal mercenaries that believed in nothing except money and power. "Incoming sir." One of the guards
reported, standing at the doorway with his weapon at the ready. "Put that thing away." Decapreo ordered gruffly,
standing up and waddling to the door. "But sir, you gave us specific orders to.." Decapreo brought his open hand
across the guard's face as he passed by. "I know what my orders were, idiot." Decapreo growled, blowing a cloud
of smoke in the man's face. "But I don't recall giving the order to look like you're ready to open fire when she gets here."
The guard relaxed his shotgun, hanging his head as Decapreo continued out to the landing bay.
Olga cut the engines, but left them on standby in case she needed to leave quickly. There were ten armed men waiting
for her, possibly more inside. They were all syndicate goons from the look of it, which told her the person who's file was
on the card had stepped on too many of the wrong toes. Olga opened the cockpit, shedding her fatigues and tucking the
small submachine gun into her jumpsuit before zipping it up. As she jumped to the landing deck, she saw the guards
were parting in front of the door. A short, well groomed man came out of the spaceport. He was impossibly thin,
his hair combed back so that it seemed to stick to his scalp. His suit looked expensive, as did the cigar he was
holding in one hand. His other hand held a large metal case, which Olga hoped contained her money and not
some cheap trick. She'd seen a thousand of them by now, if this scum had something up his sleeve she'd catch it.
"Right on time, I like punctuality in my women." Decapreo greeted, stopping a few feet away from Olga.
"I perfer capability in mine." Olga countered, half sneering as she showed him the card. "Where's my money?"
Decapreo frowned slightly, as if his feelings had just been hurt. A lesbian, he thought. It seemed that women didn't
come any other way nowadays. Any men that weren't syndicate or police were usually gay, which didn't leave a
girl much choice if she wanted to stay out of the line of fire. Independants were always women, and any of them
looking for romance opted for the same sex as opposed to getting shot on account of a man.
"Now now dear, don't worry. I have it right here." Decapreo eased, setting the case down in front of him.
He nodded to one of her guards, who nodded quickly back and approached Olga. He held out his hand,
his expression one of complete obidience to his employer. Olga set the card down in the man's hand, watching
him and everyone else very closely. The guard promptly turned around, walking back to Decapreo with the card
in hand. "I assume you'll understand, if I check this for validity?" Decapreo asked, smiling craftily at Olga.
"Just hurry up." Olga reluctantly agreed, crossing her arms under her breasts. Decapreo nodded obligingly,
handing the card to another of his troops. He took it and picked up the metal case at Decapreo's feet,
opening it gently. Olga tensed, ready to grab the submacine gun as she saw the case contained a small
computer. And nothing else. "You screwing with me?" Olga threatened, crouching slightly as her hand went in back of her.
Decapreo looked at her blankly, as if he didn't understand. "What? Oh, your money! I said I have it right here didn't I?"
Decapreo explained, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Three million wulong wrapped in plastic was taped to his waist,
seemingly untampered with. "You won't mind if I check that?" Olga insisted, relaxing a little. Decapreo pulled the
strip of tape from the plastic, tossing the money to Olga. "Be my guest, it's just good buisiness after all."
He said charmingly, as the guard closed the metal case again. "It's good." He reported, handing the card back to
Decapreo. "Excellent." He replied, placing the card delicately inside his shirt pocket. Decapreo's gurards tensed up
nervously, as Olga reached into her jumpsuit. She left it half unzipped as she withdrew a knife, exposing her red lace
bra for all to see. She cut through the plastic, flipping through the bills and examining the paper. "I've heard rumors that
you freelancers can be a handful." Decapreo pointed out, moving closer to Olga. Satisfied with the money, she
tucked it inside her jumpsuit and rasied an eyebrow at Decapreo's comment. "Now, I see they're true." He added,
eyeing her chest with a smile. "Save it, we're done here." Olga snapped, glaring at Decapreo as she zipped the jumpsuit
back up. "Pity, I have a very cozy space yacht waiting." Decapreo offered, watching Olga climb back into her ship.
"Then go pick up a whore." Olga recommended with a smirk, closing the cockpit as she fired the engines back up.
"Perhaps I can hire your services again sometime?" Decapreo persisted, grinning as smoothly as he knew how.
"As long as you've got enough money, I don't come cheaply." Olga shot back, giving the suited man a smirk as she
lifted off.
"Truly a pity." Decapreo remarked, turning away as Olga's ship ascended back into space. His guards still tensely
watching Olga's ship disapear, didn't see the shadowy figure dart behind Decapreo's zip craft. "Let's get out of here."
Decapreo ordered, walking towards his craft as his driver opened the door. "Let's go find a nice place that sells
alcohol. Not the cheap stuff, mind you." Decapreo directed, sitting down in the back as the driver nodded and shut the
door after him. He lit another cigar, thinking of Olga Valte and what a waste she was. Looking like that, she could
make a good deal more money than she did smuggling. "The world doesn't make sense to me anymore."
Decapreo imparted to the driver, who was starting up the zip craft. He only nodded again, taking off much faster
than Decapreo was comfortable with. "What in the hell are you doing?! Trying to set me on fire?"
Decapreo exclaimed, brushing cigar ash from his pants. "So sorry about that, sir." A sultry voice cooed back,
as the driver's hat was tossed in the backseat with Decapreo. "Who the hell are you? Whatever this is about you're
not getting away with it!" He shouted, leaning forwward as he grabbed for the woman. He was shoved violently
into the backseat, as two bullets pierced his chest. "Sure I will." The woman cooed again, now holding the
infocard in her hand. Her jade green eyes peered out the viewport, watching the guards as they began to give chase
with their own ships. "I used to do this all the time."
Chase woke up sweating, his dream once again fading as reality took it's place. "Damn dreams." He mummbled
irritably, sitting up in his bed as he reached over to the nightstand. He put the glasses on his face, scratching his head as
his other hand put a cigarette in his mouth. He stood up slowly, and almost tripped over an empty bottle of tequliia.
"Shit!" He yelled, wincing as he stubbed his toe on the large glass bottle. He picked it up and threw it behind the bed,
walking to the light switch as he lit the cigarette. Chase was almost blinded by the sudden rush of flourescent lighting,
his small apartment a complete mess as always. Two more bottles lay near the door, with clothes and paper trash
littering the space around his computer desk. He picked things up as he found them, not taking the time to seperate the
trash but throwing all into the garbage bin. Chase made his way to the bathroom, running cold water and splashing it
onto his face. Tijuawana was always ungodly hot, but today it seemed a bit worse than usual. Chase looked at himself
in the mirror, frowning at the man staring back at him. He was too short, he thought. Not in bad shape, if not thin as a
rake. With all the running around he did that was no surprise, but he was sure he could be better. He brushed strands
of his brown, curly hair away from his face and to the side of his head. "Not even gonna bother today." He announced
groggily, eyeing the comb on the sink with disinterest. He continued to study his bare torso, finding fault after fault with
the kind of shape he was in.
Chase's comm unit beeped loudly from the bedroom, and Chase had to search a good two minutes before he finally found
it under his shoes. "Gotta stop getting so drunk.." Chase stated, looking quizically at the shoes as he answered the call.
"Chase? Get your lazy ass up man it's two thirty!" Chase frowned at the voice on the other end, sitting on his bed
as he put the shoes on. "Hey Russ, I overslept." Chase answered dryly, wishing he hadn't agreed to help his old friend Russ
track down a bounty today. If you could even call it a bounty. Cowboys had long since died out, and what took their place
was a sort of vigilante police squad. "Overslept? You been drinkin' buddy?" Chase rolled his eyes at Russ' question,
knowing what would would immediately follow his answer. "Little bit." Chase admitted, finding another empty bottle
under his favorite blue shirt. "Man, you gotta stop doin' that Chase. It's no good for you." Chase glared at the comm unit,
certain that he'd choke Russ if he were actually standing here with him. "No shit, Russ. Thanks for telling me." Chase
replied sarcastically, switching the comm unit to his other hand as he put the blue shirt on. "Are cigarettes still safe?"
Chase teased, lighting another as the pack went in his shirt pocket. "You're gonna die young, man." Russ chided,
Chase could almost see him waging a finger. "No such luck, Russ." Chase countered, giving the slow computer a kick as he
checked his e-mail. Nothing important, just the usual crap. "So Russ, are we doing this thing today or what?"
Chase asked anxiously, needing the small but decent part of the bounty he was going to get.
"Sure sure, we're stilll going." Russ assured him, sounding just a little more weasely than usual. "Ten minutes enough?"
Chase buckled the double holster to his chest, slipping his berettas in place as he nodded. "Perfect, usual place right?"
Chase asked, knowing all about Russ and his last minute changes. "See ya there." Russ confirmed, hanging up
quickly. Chase took a second to ponder how unlike Russ that was, but he was thankful that he'd been spared
the usual goodbye conversation. Chase grabbed his black trenchcoat as he was going out the door, then came back
and tucked his katana inside the coat. Something about today felt a little off from the get go, and Chase didn't
like being caught off guard.
"This is completely unacceptable!!!" Datt Maimon bellowed, the four guards that Decapreo's killer hadn't shot down
cowering before him. He had been like Datt's father, a mentor and a friend. And no one whacked on of his
friends without paying a heavy price. "Who the hell was she? What did she look like? Do any of you oafs have any idea
where she was going?" Datt screamed question after question, pacing up and down the line of disapointing men.
He knew the answer to all of them was no, whoever killed Decapreo had snuck in and out like a pro. It had
'inside job' written all over it, and Datt refused to rest until the responsible party was found and dealt with.
"Tijuawana.." One of the men said meekly. Datt spun around on his heel, marching up to the man and staring him down.
Datt was a hulking 7 foot mass of muscle, with piercing blue eyes that would make anyone feel like a midget by comparison.
It was a well known fact throughout the syndicate, that when Datt was angry he closely ressembled the devil himself
and had all of hell's fury to compliment it. "What was that?" Datt said, his voice suddenly calm and almost abiding.
It was also a well known fact that when Datt used such a tone in his voice, someone's number was up.
"Sir, the package that was delievered...Don Decapreo was holding it personally." Datt smiled thinly, a pleased
expression gracing his chisled face. "Ah, I see. And what was this package?" Datt asked the man, putting an arm
around him. "An infocard sir, containing data on someone who's currently in Tijuawana." Datt nodded agreeably,
patting the man's head affectionately. "Now see? Brain power." Datt annonced, addressing the rest of the men.
"Continue, please." Datt offered, patting the man's shoulder as he put his hands behind his back. "Sir, we're certain
that whoever did this knew the person whose file was contained on the infocard was on our hit list. It's a good possibily
that they'd go to warn him, perhaps even help him escape." Datt smiled broadly at the man's report, chuckling heartily
as he gestured proudly to the man. "Excellent deduction, my boy. I agree." Datt complimented, his hands still behind his back.
"And this incident happend oh, about twenty four hours ago?" Datt asked, watching as all the men nodded in unison.
"And for all that time.." Datt continued, his hands coming out from behind his back. A small pistol was gripped in one of them.
"You men have done nothing to find this person, haven't gone to Tijuawana to find who they're trying to protect,
or at least checked with our contacts there to search for a person matching this man's description?!" The men all
cringed at Datt's booming voice, as he promptly shot the man who'd brought him up to date on their imcompetence.
"That's just, really impressive." Datt remarked, as the dead man fell to the ground. The gunshot had echoed terrifically
all through the main hall, and Datt smiled once again at the remaining troops. "Take care of that, and don't a one of you
show your faces here again, until this mark has been retired." Datt ordered, his voice calm again. As the men did
as they were told, Datt marched to his office and slammed the door soundy behind him. He sat lazily down at his large desk,
picking up the remote that lay atop it. Datt pushed two buttons, and tossed the remote back on the desk as soft Mozart
began to play. Datt Maimon swiveled in the chair, facing the huge window that overlooked the cities of Mars. He glanced
over at the desk briefly, and took the single framed picture from it's surface. It was a picture of himself and Don Decapreo.
When he'd first started making headway in the syndicate, Decapreo had taken Datt under his wing, nutured him, shown him
everything that he knew about organized crime. Datt swivled back to the window, gazing sadly from the picture to
the city and back again. The music swelled inside the room, as Datt decided he would have to take care of things himsef
this time. Not because the men were incompetent, but because whoever had taken his mentor out had been fool enough
to start a personal vendetta with Datt Maimon. A vendetta Datt was itching to finish. There came a knock at the office door,
and Datt yelled a loud 'enter' without even turning around. His personal assistant came in sheepishly, staying
no more than a few inches from the door. "Sir." The assistant called softly, holding sympathy for the grieving man.
"Speak." Datt responded, still facing the window. "We have the file on the mark, Mister Maimon." The assistant
cautiously approached the desk, setting a folder down on it as quickly as he could. "About time." Datt replied,
reaching back for the file without turning around. "Leave." Datt ordered, his assistant gladly obeying.
Datt's resolve hardened, and he almost laughed in spite of his grief as he read the file. This was going to be a lot of
fun, Datt could see. He stood before the giant window, leaning against it with his hands as he began to smile.
"Here I come, Spiegel."
Chase actually enjoyed the ten minutes or so it took to walk from his pad to the grimy bar where Russ always chose to meet.
It was a dive, but the people were nice enough and never asked a lot of questions. In spite of having to deal with Russ'
criticism all day long, Chase was glad to be working again. He needed a lot of money if he was ever going to reach
his dream. "And the son of the legend arrives fashionably late, as always." Russ greeted as Chase entered the bar.
"Stuff it, Russ." Chase grumbled, gritting his teeth. He hated it when anyone brought up that particular aspect of his life.
Russ held his hands up in surrender, picking up a pool cue as he continued the game. Chase picked a seat at the bar,
watching Russ shark one more sucker for everything they had. The barkeep was cute, young-looking for thirty.
She always wore the same short black skirt every day Chase saw her, with an assortment of rather skimpy tops.
"Hey Megs." Chase called to her, with as much cheer as he could spare for the moment. She saw him and
forgot all about the other customers, almost running over to take his order. "Heya Spiegel, what'll ya have?"
Chase glared rather meancingly at Megs, keeping his eyes locked on her as he lit a cigarette. "Your ass in a sling,
if you ever call me that again." Chase warned, fully aware he'd flown off the handle yet again. Megs covered her mouth
with her hand, looking truly sorry. "I forgot! Ohh, sorry cutie." Chase gave her a smile, showing her that it was fine.
"Tequilla. A double." Chase answered at last, nodding apologetically to Megs as she went to get his drink.
Chase smirked at Russ, as his opponent in pool walked out looking completely devestated. "Here ya go, I put a little
extra love in it hon." Megs cooed, sliding a full shot glass to Chase. He gave Megs a wink, smirking as he
took a gulp. "I feel so bad for people sometimes." Megs sighed, watching a depressed looking woman as she
left the bar. "Some of the guys we get in here, they've got worse issues with their parents than you."
Chase looked somberly down at the liquid in his glass, his eyes holding just a touch of sadness.
"I don't have any parent issues." He corrected, downing the rest of the alcohol in one breath. Megs gave
him a worried look as she walked away, and Chase thought for a second how the empty glass in front
of him ressembled his life. "I don't have..Any parents." He stated, throwing a few bills on the counter.
"Ready?" Russ prompted suddenly, as Chase turned to regard his friend. He looked like he had
been waiting a while, Chase knew he must have spaced out with his thoughts again. "Yeah."
Chase responded, standing up and following Russ out the door. They walked down the street past the
stores and shops Tijuawana was infamous for. The kind of sidewalk merchants that would scam you
in a second if you let them. "So who's this guy you're after?" Chase inquired, as Russ stopped in front
of a fruit stand. Russ said something in spanish to the owner, who led them both into a backroom where
two men were waiting. They looked sweaty and miserable, probably out of towners who had just now
been introduced to T.J's sweltering weather. One of them was pretty damn tall, seven feet at least with
really big blue eyes. He was a lot better dressed than the other guy, who was sweating his balls off in
khaki suit pants and a tan jacket. Chase knew now why he'd thought Russ had seemed odd today, normally
the pudgy dark skinned cowboy wannabe would have come knocking at Chase's door if he'd overslept even
five seconds. Add to that what Russ had said to the fruit vendor, and the obvious strangers to T.J.
that Russ had brought him to.. Chase knew he had been royally set up. "Hey, this may come as
a shock.." Russ began, drawing his gun on Chase. "But you've got a pretty price on your head, and I'm collecting."
Chase nodded, keeping his cool but staying on guard. "Shit Russ.." Chase replied, drawing the katana.
"I always kinda liked you. Ok well..No I didn't." Russ frowned, insulted at Chase's response.
They were in a standoff now, with the two sweaty suits not making any move at all. Chase wondered what
the hell they were waiting for. "Gun against blade, Chase." Russ pointed out, getting shaky from all the
tension in the room. It was more like an overgrown closet really, just two chairs and a table.
"I don't wanna upset you." Russ continued, his hand shaking slightly. "But I told you you'd die young."
Chase smirked, his front foot moving slightly closer to Russ. "And I told you, no such luck."
Chase reminded him, moving his back foot slightly. He had now moved a good foot or two
closer to Russ without him noticing, the poor guy was too worried about getting cut. "And I don't wanna
upset you either, old pal." Chase said, smirking wider as he saw Russ would shoot any second. "But I'm better
with a sword." Russ pulled the trigger, just as Chase dodged to the right. He quickly stepped
to Russ' side and swung like he was at the ballpark. Blood stained both men as Russ' arm came off at the
shoulder, and he fell with little more than a squeak. Chase frowned down at him, shaking his head before
turning to the other two men. Only now did they stand up, the tall one with the shorts clapping
and grinning at him. "That was poetry, simply poetry." Datt Maimon complimented, his voice calm amd
abiding. His friend had stood up too, but drew no gun. "I don't think we've been properly introduced."
Chase commented dryly, sweeping the sword down in a half circle motion before stopping it at his side.
"You know, you're absolutely right." Datt admitted, still grinning at Chase in a way that made him think
he was in for a really good fight. "This man is my personal assistant, you see." Datt explained, gesturing
to the man who still hadn't drawn any weapon. Neither of them had, and it made Chase very nervous.
"And who might you be, I wonder?" Chase asked smugly, hoping he had time to draw the guns.
That would be the deciding factor for this fight. "Well as if it hardly matters.." Datt began.
"You see, I am the man who is going to make your death as slow and torturous as I can manage."
Chase took a nervous gulp, as he realized just who Russ had sold him out to. Datt Maimon, one of the
head men for pretty much the largest and meanest syndicate out there. What could they possibly want with him?
"And you." Datt continued, smiling wider with every breath as he cracked his knuckles. "You're going to
tell me who it was that told you we were coming. Obviously you were prepared, so out with it."
Chase scoffed comically, seeing that big bad Datt had things a tad backwards. "No clue, I never trusted this sod."
Chase explained, gesturing to Russ' body. "I've got nothing against you guys, guess he duped you too huh?"
Chase continued, knowing that even he couldn't talk his way out of this if Datt Maimon wanted his hide.
"Chase Spiegel." Datt said, his smile fading. "You are one hell of a character, a testament to your fatther's
legend if ever there was one." Chase gritted his teeth, and had to try hard to stop himself from slicing Datt's throat
right then and there. "I have no attachment to that name.." Chase corrected, trying to hide the anger until it's time
came. "My name's Valentine, looks like you were misinformed." Datt shook his finger at Chase, stepping closer
until his chin was right over Chase's blade. Chase's instinct told him to swing up, no one was that fast.
But his more experienced mind voted against it, he knew Datt wouldn't have put himself in a situation he
couldn't get out of just as easily. "I know who you are, my dear dear boy." Datt chided, staring Chase
down with those huge eyes of his. Chase stared right back, his hazel eyes matching Datt's both in seriousness
and fierceness. "No, apparentely you don't." Chase countered, seeing that this was all somehow tied to his
parents. That was typical, all he'd ever gotten from them was trouble. "Then why don't you show me, little
boy?" Datt egged Chase on, grinning once again with his hands behind his back. "Show me just who you are, I'd really
like to know. Before I kill you." A gunshot rang out, making Chase jump back and slice for Datt's throat.
Datt backed away in shock, as his assistant suddenly had only half a head. Datt's gun was also no longer in
his hand, it was being held by the very woman who'd killed his mentor. "He's my son." Faye Valentine said.
"And you won't lay a finger on him." Datt stood staring at her, amazed that he hadn't seen or heard
her come in. "Mom?!" Chase blurted out, completely amazed as well. She held Datt's gun in one hand,
and a considerably bigger glock .30 in the other. Both were pointed at Datt Maimon, who'd had the tables severly
turned against him in a matter of seconds. Faye gazed at Chase tenderly, smiling as she spoke. "Young man,
where -have- you been?"
Session one- Nostalgic Melody
The vast heavens of space almost seemed wrap around Olga Valte's ship momentarily,
creating a peaceful stillness as she entered the warp gate. Suddenly everything was shooting
by her viewport at a dizzying speed, and she breathed a short sigh of relief. Olga checked
her radar to make sure she'd lost the police tail, and grinned smugly as her radar showed
no sign of them. "Piece of cake." She mused, strapping herself tightly into the seat
as she flipped the communications switch. Olga fiddled with the tuning controls a little,
trying to get a clear signal through the static interference hyperspace transmissions always
suffered from. After a few seconds, Olga found a signal strong enough to use for private
conversation. She activated the scrambler just to be safe, and turned the speaker system on.
"This is roadrunner, repeat this is roadrunner. I'm en route to the specified location, package
in tow." Olga checked the radar again, making sure she wasn't being tracked as she waited for a
response. "Wily here." A gravely, low male voice crackled over the radio. "Message received,
roadrunner is to proceed to the drop point as planned." Olga smiled at the message, glad that
this job was almost complete. She lived for danger, and excelled at pulling off tricky contracts
like this one. But something about it wasn't sitting right with her. She was used to smuggling
weapons and drugs, stealing valubales or transporting hostages. She couldn't understand
why someone would go through all this trouble, and pay what she was being promised for
an infocard containing nothing more than a single person's data file. No one was that important,
as far as Olga was concerned. Especially not now, with the third millenium less than a decade away.
Anything that wasn't a weapon, a drug or some other means of controlling someone else had
outlived it's usefullness back in the day of the cowboys. "Understood." Olga replied at last,
chewing on her thumbnail. "Expected ETA is three hours at current speed." She assured her employer.
The low voice crackled over the speakers again, "Good work roadrunner, wily out."
Olga took the infocard from the breast pocket of her fatigues, eyeing it suspiciously.
"No one's worth 3 million wulongs.." She insisted, bending down as she felt the underside of her seat.
The submachine gun was there, just like always. If this mystery client of hers tried a double cross,
she was fully prepared to show him exactly why Olga Valte was the most feared outlaw in the solar system.
Don Decapreo held the butane lighter to his cigar, puffing heavily as he looked up at the stars.
Ten well armed, well trained men were standing guard outside the spaceport. He felt he was more than
safe enough sitting in the lobby. This Olga Valte, the woman he'd reluctantly hired to retrieve what he wanted
had a reputation for being a handful. He hadn't become the dominate power behind the strongest sysdicate in the
solar system by taking stupid chances when he could avoid it. Olga was almost as famous for her reliablity
as she was for her temper, and that is why he'd chosen her. He'd much rather have to deal with a loose cannon such
as Valte, than to have a more tame and thus less experienced courier botch the entire deal. The way the world was
now, those were the only two options left for this sort of thing. The only ones competent enough to get the job done
were savage, disloyal mercenaries that believed in nothing except money and power. "Incoming sir." One of the guards
reported, standing at the doorway with his weapon at the ready. "Put that thing away." Decapreo ordered gruffly,
standing up and waddling to the door. "But sir, you gave us specific orders to.." Decapreo brought his open hand
across the guard's face as he passed by. "I know what my orders were, idiot." Decapreo growled, blowing a cloud
of smoke in the man's face. "But I don't recall giving the order to look like you're ready to open fire when she gets here."
The guard relaxed his shotgun, hanging his head as Decapreo continued out to the landing bay.
Olga cut the engines, but left them on standby in case she needed to leave quickly. There were ten armed men waiting
for her, possibly more inside. They were all syndicate goons from the look of it, which told her the person who's file was
on the card had stepped on too many of the wrong toes. Olga opened the cockpit, shedding her fatigues and tucking the
small submachine gun into her jumpsuit before zipping it up. As she jumped to the landing deck, she saw the guards
were parting in front of the door. A short, well groomed man came out of the spaceport. He was impossibly thin,
his hair combed back so that it seemed to stick to his scalp. His suit looked expensive, as did the cigar he was
holding in one hand. His other hand held a large metal case, which Olga hoped contained her money and not
some cheap trick. She'd seen a thousand of them by now, if this scum had something up his sleeve she'd catch it.
"Right on time, I like punctuality in my women." Decapreo greeted, stopping a few feet away from Olga.
"I perfer capability in mine." Olga countered, half sneering as she showed him the card. "Where's my money?"
Decapreo frowned slightly, as if his feelings had just been hurt. A lesbian, he thought. It seemed that women didn't
come any other way nowadays. Any men that weren't syndicate or police were usually gay, which didn't leave a
girl much choice if she wanted to stay out of the line of fire. Independants were always women, and any of them
looking for romance opted for the same sex as opposed to getting shot on account of a man.
"Now now dear, don't worry. I have it right here." Decapreo eased, setting the case down in front of him.
He nodded to one of her guards, who nodded quickly back and approached Olga. He held out his hand,
his expression one of complete obidience to his employer. Olga set the card down in the man's hand, watching
him and everyone else very closely. The guard promptly turned around, walking back to Decapreo with the card
in hand. "I assume you'll understand, if I check this for validity?" Decapreo asked, smiling craftily at Olga.
"Just hurry up." Olga reluctantly agreed, crossing her arms under her breasts. Decapreo nodded obligingly,
handing the card to another of his troops. He took it and picked up the metal case at Decapreo's feet,
opening it gently. Olga tensed, ready to grab the submacine gun as she saw the case contained a small
computer. And nothing else. "You screwing with me?" Olga threatened, crouching slightly as her hand went in back of her.
Decapreo looked at her blankly, as if he didn't understand. "What? Oh, your money! I said I have it right here didn't I?"
Decapreo explained, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Three million wulong wrapped in plastic was taped to his waist,
seemingly untampered with. "You won't mind if I check that?" Olga insisted, relaxing a little. Decapreo pulled the
strip of tape from the plastic, tossing the money to Olga. "Be my guest, it's just good buisiness after all."
He said charmingly, as the guard closed the metal case again. "It's good." He reported, handing the card back to
Decapreo. "Excellent." He replied, placing the card delicately inside his shirt pocket. Decapreo's gurards tensed up
nervously, as Olga reached into her jumpsuit. She left it half unzipped as she withdrew a knife, exposing her red lace
bra for all to see. She cut through the plastic, flipping through the bills and examining the paper. "I've heard rumors that
you freelancers can be a handful." Decapreo pointed out, moving closer to Olga. Satisfied with the money, she
tucked it inside her jumpsuit and rasied an eyebrow at Decapreo's comment. "Now, I see they're true." He added,
eyeing her chest with a smile. "Save it, we're done here." Olga snapped, glaring at Decapreo as she zipped the jumpsuit
back up. "Pity, I have a very cozy space yacht waiting." Decapreo offered, watching Olga climb back into her ship.
"Then go pick up a whore." Olga recommended with a smirk, closing the cockpit as she fired the engines back up.
"Perhaps I can hire your services again sometime?" Decapreo persisted, grinning as smoothly as he knew how.
"As long as you've got enough money, I don't come cheaply." Olga shot back, giving the suited man a smirk as she
lifted off.
"Truly a pity." Decapreo remarked, turning away as Olga's ship ascended back into space. His guards still tensely
watching Olga's ship disapear, didn't see the shadowy figure dart behind Decapreo's zip craft. "Let's get out of here."
Decapreo ordered, walking towards his craft as his driver opened the door. "Let's go find a nice place that sells
alcohol. Not the cheap stuff, mind you." Decapreo directed, sitting down in the back as the driver nodded and shut the
door after him. He lit another cigar, thinking of Olga Valte and what a waste she was. Looking like that, she could
make a good deal more money than she did smuggling. "The world doesn't make sense to me anymore."
Decapreo imparted to the driver, who was starting up the zip craft. He only nodded again, taking off much faster
than Decapreo was comfortable with. "What in the hell are you doing?! Trying to set me on fire?"
Decapreo exclaimed, brushing cigar ash from his pants. "So sorry about that, sir." A sultry voice cooed back,
as the driver's hat was tossed in the backseat with Decapreo. "Who the hell are you? Whatever this is about you're
not getting away with it!" He shouted, leaning forwward as he grabbed for the woman. He was shoved violently
into the backseat, as two bullets pierced his chest. "Sure I will." The woman cooed again, now holding the
infocard in her hand. Her jade green eyes peered out the viewport, watching the guards as they began to give chase
with their own ships. "I used to do this all the time."
Chase woke up sweating, his dream once again fading as reality took it's place. "Damn dreams." He mummbled
irritably, sitting up in his bed as he reached over to the nightstand. He put the glasses on his face, scratching his head as
his other hand put a cigarette in his mouth. He stood up slowly, and almost tripped over an empty bottle of tequliia.
"Shit!" He yelled, wincing as he stubbed his toe on the large glass bottle. He picked it up and threw it behind the bed,
walking to the light switch as he lit the cigarette. Chase was almost blinded by the sudden rush of flourescent lighting,
his small apartment a complete mess as always. Two more bottles lay near the door, with clothes and paper trash
littering the space around his computer desk. He picked things up as he found them, not taking the time to seperate the
trash but throwing all into the garbage bin. Chase made his way to the bathroom, running cold water and splashing it
onto his face. Tijuawana was always ungodly hot, but today it seemed a bit worse than usual. Chase looked at himself
in the mirror, frowning at the man staring back at him. He was too short, he thought. Not in bad shape, if not thin as a
rake. With all the running around he did that was no surprise, but he was sure he could be better. He brushed strands
of his brown, curly hair away from his face and to the side of his head. "Not even gonna bother today." He announced
groggily, eyeing the comb on the sink with disinterest. He continued to study his bare torso, finding fault after fault with
the kind of shape he was in.
Chase's comm unit beeped loudly from the bedroom, and Chase had to search a good two minutes before he finally found
it under his shoes. "Gotta stop getting so drunk.." Chase stated, looking quizically at the shoes as he answered the call.
"Chase? Get your lazy ass up man it's two thirty!" Chase frowned at the voice on the other end, sitting on his bed
as he put the shoes on. "Hey Russ, I overslept." Chase answered dryly, wishing he hadn't agreed to help his old friend Russ
track down a bounty today. If you could even call it a bounty. Cowboys had long since died out, and what took their place
was a sort of vigilante police squad. "Overslept? You been drinkin' buddy?" Chase rolled his eyes at Russ' question,
knowing what would would immediately follow his answer. "Little bit." Chase admitted, finding another empty bottle
under his favorite blue shirt. "Man, you gotta stop doin' that Chase. It's no good for you." Chase glared at the comm unit,
certain that he'd choke Russ if he were actually standing here with him. "No shit, Russ. Thanks for telling me." Chase
replied sarcastically, switching the comm unit to his other hand as he put the blue shirt on. "Are cigarettes still safe?"
Chase teased, lighting another as the pack went in his shirt pocket. "You're gonna die young, man." Russ chided,
Chase could almost see him waging a finger. "No such luck, Russ." Chase countered, giving the slow computer a kick as he
checked his e-mail. Nothing important, just the usual crap. "So Russ, are we doing this thing today or what?"
Chase asked anxiously, needing the small but decent part of the bounty he was going to get.
"Sure sure, we're stilll going." Russ assured him, sounding just a little more weasely than usual. "Ten minutes enough?"
Chase buckled the double holster to his chest, slipping his berettas in place as he nodded. "Perfect, usual place right?"
Chase asked, knowing all about Russ and his last minute changes. "See ya there." Russ confirmed, hanging up
quickly. Chase took a second to ponder how unlike Russ that was, but he was thankful that he'd been spared
the usual goodbye conversation. Chase grabbed his black trenchcoat as he was going out the door, then came back
and tucked his katana inside the coat. Something about today felt a little off from the get go, and Chase didn't
like being caught off guard.
"This is completely unacceptable!!!" Datt Maimon bellowed, the four guards that Decapreo's killer hadn't shot down
cowering before him. He had been like Datt's father, a mentor and a friend. And no one whacked on of his
friends without paying a heavy price. "Who the hell was she? What did she look like? Do any of you oafs have any idea
where she was going?" Datt screamed question after question, pacing up and down the line of disapointing men.
He knew the answer to all of them was no, whoever killed Decapreo had snuck in and out like a pro. It had
'inside job' written all over it, and Datt refused to rest until the responsible party was found and dealt with.
"Tijuawana.." One of the men said meekly. Datt spun around on his heel, marching up to the man and staring him down.
Datt was a hulking 7 foot mass of muscle, with piercing blue eyes that would make anyone feel like a midget by comparison.
It was a well known fact throughout the syndicate, that when Datt was angry he closely ressembled the devil himself
and had all of hell's fury to compliment it. "What was that?" Datt said, his voice suddenly calm and almost abiding.
It was also a well known fact that when Datt used such a tone in his voice, someone's number was up.
"Sir, the package that was delievered...Don Decapreo was holding it personally." Datt smiled thinly, a pleased
expression gracing his chisled face. "Ah, I see. And what was this package?" Datt asked the man, putting an arm
around him. "An infocard sir, containing data on someone who's currently in Tijuawana." Datt nodded agreeably,
patting the man's head affectionately. "Now see? Brain power." Datt annonced, addressing the rest of the men.
"Continue, please." Datt offered, patting the man's shoulder as he put his hands behind his back. "Sir, we're certain
that whoever did this knew the person whose file was contained on the infocard was on our hit list. It's a good possibily
that they'd go to warn him, perhaps even help him escape." Datt smiled broadly at the man's report, chuckling heartily
as he gestured proudly to the man. "Excellent deduction, my boy. I agree." Datt complimented, his hands still behind his back.
"And this incident happend oh, about twenty four hours ago?" Datt asked, watching as all the men nodded in unison.
"And for all that time.." Datt continued, his hands coming out from behind his back. A small pistol was gripped in one of them.
"You men have done nothing to find this person, haven't gone to Tijuawana to find who they're trying to protect,
or at least checked with our contacts there to search for a person matching this man's description?!" The men all
cringed at Datt's booming voice, as he promptly shot the man who'd brought him up to date on their imcompetence.
"That's just, really impressive." Datt remarked, as the dead man fell to the ground. The gunshot had echoed terrifically
all through the main hall, and Datt smiled once again at the remaining troops. "Take care of that, and don't a one of you
show your faces here again, until this mark has been retired." Datt ordered, his voice calm again. As the men did
as they were told, Datt marched to his office and slammed the door soundy behind him. He sat lazily down at his large desk,
picking up the remote that lay atop it. Datt pushed two buttons, and tossed the remote back on the desk as soft Mozart
began to play. Datt Maimon swiveled in the chair, facing the huge window that overlooked the cities of Mars. He glanced
over at the desk briefly, and took the single framed picture from it's surface. It was a picture of himself and Don Decapreo.
When he'd first started making headway in the syndicate, Decapreo had taken Datt under his wing, nutured him, shown him
everything that he knew about organized crime. Datt swivled back to the window, gazing sadly from the picture to
the city and back again. The music swelled inside the room, as Datt decided he would have to take care of things himsef
this time. Not because the men were incompetent, but because whoever had taken his mentor out had been fool enough
to start a personal vendetta with Datt Maimon. A vendetta Datt was itching to finish. There came a knock at the office door,
and Datt yelled a loud 'enter' without even turning around. His personal assistant came in sheepishly, staying
no more than a few inches from the door. "Sir." The assistant called softly, holding sympathy for the grieving man.
"Speak." Datt responded, still facing the window. "We have the file on the mark, Mister Maimon." The assistant
cautiously approached the desk, setting a folder down on it as quickly as he could. "About time." Datt replied,
reaching back for the file without turning around. "Leave." Datt ordered, his assistant gladly obeying.
Datt's resolve hardened, and he almost laughed in spite of his grief as he read the file. This was going to be a lot of
fun, Datt could see. He stood before the giant window, leaning against it with his hands as he began to smile.
"Here I come, Spiegel."
Chase actually enjoyed the ten minutes or so it took to walk from his pad to the grimy bar where Russ always chose to meet.
It was a dive, but the people were nice enough and never asked a lot of questions. In spite of having to deal with Russ'
criticism all day long, Chase was glad to be working again. He needed a lot of money if he was ever going to reach
his dream. "And the son of the legend arrives fashionably late, as always." Russ greeted as Chase entered the bar.
"Stuff it, Russ." Chase grumbled, gritting his teeth. He hated it when anyone brought up that particular aspect of his life.
Russ held his hands up in surrender, picking up a pool cue as he continued the game. Chase picked a seat at the bar,
watching Russ shark one more sucker for everything they had. The barkeep was cute, young-looking for thirty.
She always wore the same short black skirt every day Chase saw her, with an assortment of rather skimpy tops.
"Hey Megs." Chase called to her, with as much cheer as he could spare for the moment. She saw him and
forgot all about the other customers, almost running over to take his order. "Heya Spiegel, what'll ya have?"
Chase glared rather meancingly at Megs, keeping his eyes locked on her as he lit a cigarette. "Your ass in a sling,
if you ever call me that again." Chase warned, fully aware he'd flown off the handle yet again. Megs covered her mouth
with her hand, looking truly sorry. "I forgot! Ohh, sorry cutie." Chase gave her a smile, showing her that it was fine.
"Tequilla. A double." Chase answered at last, nodding apologetically to Megs as she went to get his drink.
Chase smirked at Russ, as his opponent in pool walked out looking completely devestated. "Here ya go, I put a little
extra love in it hon." Megs cooed, sliding a full shot glass to Chase. He gave Megs a wink, smirking as he
took a gulp. "I feel so bad for people sometimes." Megs sighed, watching a depressed looking woman as she
left the bar. "Some of the guys we get in here, they've got worse issues with their parents than you."
Chase looked somberly down at the liquid in his glass, his eyes holding just a touch of sadness.
"I don't have any parent issues." He corrected, downing the rest of the alcohol in one breath. Megs gave
him a worried look as she walked away, and Chase thought for a second how the empty glass in front
of him ressembled his life. "I don't have..Any parents." He stated, throwing a few bills on the counter.
"Ready?" Russ prompted suddenly, as Chase turned to regard his friend. He looked like he had
been waiting a while, Chase knew he must have spaced out with his thoughts again. "Yeah."
Chase responded, standing up and following Russ out the door. They walked down the street past the
stores and shops Tijuawana was infamous for. The kind of sidewalk merchants that would scam you
in a second if you let them. "So who's this guy you're after?" Chase inquired, as Russ stopped in front
of a fruit stand. Russ said something in spanish to the owner, who led them both into a backroom where
two men were waiting. They looked sweaty and miserable, probably out of towners who had just now
been introduced to T.J's sweltering weather. One of them was pretty damn tall, seven feet at least with
really big blue eyes. He was a lot better dressed than the other guy, who was sweating his balls off in
khaki suit pants and a tan jacket. Chase knew now why he'd thought Russ had seemed odd today, normally
the pudgy dark skinned cowboy wannabe would have come knocking at Chase's door if he'd overslept even
five seconds. Add to that what Russ had said to the fruit vendor, and the obvious strangers to T.J.
that Russ had brought him to.. Chase knew he had been royally set up. "Hey, this may come as
a shock.." Russ began, drawing his gun on Chase. "But you've got a pretty price on your head, and I'm collecting."
Chase nodded, keeping his cool but staying on guard. "Shit Russ.." Chase replied, drawing the katana.
"I always kinda liked you. Ok well..No I didn't." Russ frowned, insulted at Chase's response.
They were in a standoff now, with the two sweaty suits not making any move at all. Chase wondered what
the hell they were waiting for. "Gun against blade, Chase." Russ pointed out, getting shaky from all the
tension in the room. It was more like an overgrown closet really, just two chairs and a table.
"I don't wanna upset you." Russ continued, his hand shaking slightly. "But I told you you'd die young."
Chase smirked, his front foot moving slightly closer to Russ. "And I told you, no such luck."
Chase reminded him, moving his back foot slightly. He had now moved a good foot or two
closer to Russ without him noticing, the poor guy was too worried about getting cut. "And I don't wanna
upset you either, old pal." Chase said, smirking wider as he saw Russ would shoot any second. "But I'm better
with a sword." Russ pulled the trigger, just as Chase dodged to the right. He quickly stepped
to Russ' side and swung like he was at the ballpark. Blood stained both men as Russ' arm came off at the
shoulder, and he fell with little more than a squeak. Chase frowned down at him, shaking his head before
turning to the other two men. Only now did they stand up, the tall one with the shorts clapping
and grinning at him. "That was poetry, simply poetry." Datt Maimon complimented, his voice calm amd
abiding. His friend had stood up too, but drew no gun. "I don't think we've been properly introduced."
Chase commented dryly, sweeping the sword down in a half circle motion before stopping it at his side.
"You know, you're absolutely right." Datt admitted, still grinning at Chase in a way that made him think
he was in for a really good fight. "This man is my personal assistant, you see." Datt explained, gesturing
to the man who still hadn't drawn any weapon. Neither of them had, and it made Chase very nervous.
"And who might you be, I wonder?" Chase asked smugly, hoping he had time to draw the guns.
That would be the deciding factor for this fight. "Well as if it hardly matters.." Datt began.
"You see, I am the man who is going to make your death as slow and torturous as I can manage."
Chase took a nervous gulp, as he realized just who Russ had sold him out to. Datt Maimon, one of the
head men for pretty much the largest and meanest syndicate out there. What could they possibly want with him?
"And you." Datt continued, smiling wider with every breath as he cracked his knuckles. "You're going to
tell me who it was that told you we were coming. Obviously you were prepared, so out with it."
Chase scoffed comically, seeing that big bad Datt had things a tad backwards. "No clue, I never trusted this sod."
Chase explained, gesturing to Russ' body. "I've got nothing against you guys, guess he duped you too huh?"
Chase continued, knowing that even he couldn't talk his way out of this if Datt Maimon wanted his hide.
"Chase Spiegel." Datt said, his smile fading. "You are one hell of a character, a testament to your fatther's
legend if ever there was one." Chase gritted his teeth, and had to try hard to stop himself from slicing Datt's throat
right then and there. "I have no attachment to that name.." Chase corrected, trying to hide the anger until it's time
came. "My name's Valentine, looks like you were misinformed." Datt shook his finger at Chase, stepping closer
until his chin was right over Chase's blade. Chase's instinct told him to swing up, no one was that fast.
But his more experienced mind voted against it, he knew Datt wouldn't have put himself in a situation he
couldn't get out of just as easily. "I know who you are, my dear dear boy." Datt chided, staring Chase
down with those huge eyes of his. Chase stared right back, his hazel eyes matching Datt's both in seriousness
and fierceness. "No, apparentely you don't." Chase countered, seeing that this was all somehow tied to his
parents. That was typical, all he'd ever gotten from them was trouble. "Then why don't you show me, little
boy?" Datt egged Chase on, grinning once again with his hands behind his back. "Show me just who you are, I'd really
like to know. Before I kill you." A gunshot rang out, making Chase jump back and slice for Datt's throat.
Datt backed away in shock, as his assistant suddenly had only half a head. Datt's gun was also no longer in
his hand, it was being held by the very woman who'd killed his mentor. "He's my son." Faye Valentine said.
"And you won't lay a finger on him." Datt stood staring at her, amazed that he hadn't seen or heard
her come in. "Mom?!" Chase blurted out, completely amazed as well. She held Datt's gun in one hand,
and a considerably bigger glock .30 in the other. Both were pointed at Datt Maimon, who'd had the tables severly
turned against him in a matter of seconds. Faye gazed at Chase tenderly, smiling as she spoke. "Young man,
where -have- you been?"