Disclaimer: I don't own anything Trigun, so don't sue me please, thank you!

Tying Up Loose Ends

Chapter Twenty-Five

Escort Service

The bar was dim, dirty, and filled with men of questionable morals; regardless, it was cheap and Providence had placed it in Wolfwood's path that night. The unwelcome stares and threatening buzz of talk deterred him not from mission: to get blitzed out of his mind. Slumped low in a booth, hovering over a bottle of what should have been whiskey but tasted more like a piss/gasoline hybrid, Wolfwood wanted to retch before he even took his first sip. The smell alone foretold of a wonderful evening centered around a pivotal waste management solution made of porcelain. Whatever it really happened to be didn't concern the priest too much because the stuff certainly did the trick. It was only a matter of time before his tongue grew thick, his brain fuzzy, and he lingered between pissed and depressed. Wolfwood downed full glasses time and time again.

Rarely in Wolfwood's life did he ever drink enough to surpass his limit and lose control, but after a month on the road with no sign of Legato, Elendira, or the Ark, Knives' airship that had taken him from plant to plant before the showdown, the priest felt he deserved to drown in his glass at least once. Apparently a quadriplegic nutcase and a murderous transvestite in a huge flying fortress wasn't remarkable enough for anyone to take note of; Neither hide nor hair had been seen of the two and if he had been the type to give up the hunt, he would; anyone else would have in his shoes. Still, Wolfwood pressed on, trying to keep to the task while attempting to shove away memories of home. (Home… Was it really mine enough to call it that, he thought to himself.)

And, oblivious to this frantic attempt to prevent disaster, the ships from Earth drew ever closer, only a month or so away.

"Bugger it all," he muttered, throwing back another drink with a grimace. He tried to ignore the catcalls and whistle that rose above the normal din, suddenly disturbing his quality wallowing time. Some broad had probably just walked in all whored up and looking for a thrill, a drink, or a client, but Wolfwood could care less. He hardly noticed, the event not even making a foot note in his novel "The Big Book of Pity Partying: How to do it Right When Everything is so Wrong." Wolfwood continued to stew in his seat, not even looking up when someone sat down across from him, sharing his booth without his permission.

If I ignore whoever it is, maybe they'll go away.

The large suitcase that firmly yet discretely lodged itself in his crotch under the table said otherwise. It was pretty hard to ignore but Wolfwood, as ever, kept his cool.

"Where is he Chapel?"

He didn't have to look up to know what the person across from him looked like. Well-dressed, tall, fair hair tucked back and curled out just below the shoulders, all beneath a pill-boxesque hat, long coat that was far too heavy for the warm climate (Perhaps the Ark's air conditioner ran extra-high to keep the plant-soaked Knives' cool, Wolfwood mused), make-up just right, firmly-set, tiny lips, and eyes that said in no uncertain terms that your existence really had no relevance. If he weren't such a cold-hearted bastard, Elendira would have made a beautiful woman; hell, even Meryl had said he made a better girl than she when she first saw him.

"It's been so long and that's all you have to say to an old co-worker," Wolfwood slurred sarcastically. "That's what bugs me about people today: no manners, no interpersonal relations. It's all so sad…"

Wolfwood's admonishing ramble was cut short by a firm nudge from Elendira's case.

"You had your job and I had mine," the other man replied, his voice professional, yet tinged with an air of dry cynicism. "I actually did mine correctly, and I'm still attempting to do so; unfortunately I have to deal with the drunken likes of you and that's setting me back a bit."

"Hey, I did my job perfectly," he responded matter-of-factly. "I made sure Vash got to Knives alive and safe. It wasn't my fault the pansy-assed bastard got beaten down."

Instead of getting mad, Elendira laughed. A particularly chilly sound, and one that gave Wolfwood the creeps.

"I had thought you held some affection for that addle-brained, spiky-headed twit, but I see how it is, Chapel. You saw Master Knives' Ark was sinking so you jumped ship and headed to the stronger one like the self-preserving rat that you are."

This comment actually struck a nerve and, probably due to the lessening of his inhibitions by the liquor, Wolfwood couldn't bite his tongue fast enough. Normally, he didn't really care what others thought, but what Elendira said made him look no better than the transvestite or Legato. Like hell, he'd be drug down to their level; regardless of how low he already was, Wolfwood would always surpass those two. He slammed his hands down, making to propel himself across the table but stopped when he heard the mechanism catch in Elendira's case. The thought of one of the "Crimsonnail's" huge spikes hurling out of his suitcase at impressive speeds, efficiently impaling his 'nads in a split second, made Wolfwood pause.

"Now, you wouldn't want to die a slow and painful death, bleeding out from a most embarrassing location, would you? We will find him without your help, but this can go much faster if you cooperate."

Elendira glanced down, his eye catching on a couple pieces of paper tucked within Wolfwood's jacket pocket. With one hand remaining on the case, Elendira reached in and plucked them out, disdaining the fact he had to get that close to the rarely washed suit. He laid the picture upon the table, examining them a moment before a predatory grin crossed his face.

"What a lovely family you two have amassed while away."

"Promise you won't touch the women and the boy," Wolfwood growled while giving in, shifting back into his seat slowly.

"You really are in no position to ask for favors, Chapel," he replied, tucking the picture away in his own coat.

"If you touch them I will find you and I will kill you. That is, if Vash doesn't beat me to it."

"Fine," Elendira sighed, "whatever. No harm will come to the darling little ones."

Wolfwood sighed and thought for a moment, the internal debate that raged inside blatantly played out upon his face; at last he signaled for the other man to move in closer. Elendira leaned forward to meet him over the table. Closer and closer Wolfwood leaned until they were almost nose to nose. He opened his mouth, but instead of a whispered answer to Elendira's original question, a really nice, fat glob of phlegm was spat out on to his pretty little face; it was a really sticky one, nice and thick from the hours of whiskey downing.

Every gun in the room was cocked at the same time, deafening in the sudden silence. Slowly, trying to play it cool, Wolfwood turned to see that not only was every gun in the room cocked, they were all pointed at his head.

He had to be there somewhere, the freak…

Turning a little bit more, Wolfwood found Legato, snug in his metal casket with the scythe-like arm propping him up, in the doorway. Knives sure did a number on the monster when Legato shouted madly for Vash's death right before the Fifth Moon incident; the plant had crushed the madman easily beneath his hand.

With what he hoped to be a smug grin, the priest turned back and poured another drink, emptying the last of the bottle. Not a word was spoken for a full five minutes, Wolfwood willing to die to keep the others from these two and Elendira not so willing to kill him before he got the information he needed. Changing his tactics, Elendira gave a glance and a nod to Legato and the guns shifted to point at anyone but the three former colleagues.

Whimpers and pleas began to filter through the shock, grown men begging to whatever god in the heavens dared to listen to spare their lives. Not a soul wanted to die in this place, least of all Wolfwood, but he could let it happen it the need arose; no other man in the room had such a purpose. No other man had any amount of beauty in their life that made death worthwhile. Wolfwood knew this as a fact without knowing and a change came over his demeanor as he tensed, listening to their confusion, their desperate need.

He scowled, his palms slick upon the tabletop, his mind shuddering to a halt. The entire saloon was not his to gamble away for the lives of a handful, no matter how much more they meant to Wolfwood than this room of strangers. This turn of events should have been noticeable far off on the horizon of the confrontation, a tiny yet recognizable speck noticed early on and watched for as it drew ever closer.

Why couldn't they have come in a couple hours before when I had just started the bottle?

"An answer as belligerent as that usually gets a person killed," Elendira drawled pretentiously. "I know you don't want to go limping home to your family, a significant part of your anatomy missing like a sad little character in a disaster porno film, and have to explain to them why all these men died so your precious little life could continue. The other one, Vash, he wouldn't like that very much. You would be in the dog house for sure; that is, until I came and destroyed it as well as the family."

"Who says we haven't parted ways for good," Wolfwood asked in reply, trying to stall for time. No neurons could fire fast enough in the alcohol-induced soup that was his brain at that moment; that meant no escape plan could be formulated.

"That would only happen when you are dead, if I'm not mistaken. You were far too sentimental a person for this job Chapel and I saw it from the beginning. Master Knives may have ignored the warning signs but I could tell from the start you were the wrong man for the assignment."

"Questioning your almighty god? Oh how he would smite you if he heard such words," Wolfwood said, breaking into a grin, "if he could hobble fast enough to catch up with you."

"He doesn't care a whit about a human's opinion, unless it contains thoughts centered around killing him or his brother."

Silence in response; Wolfwood noticed that Legato had lurched forward, somehow maneuvering through the crowd. A chill passed over the priest; Legato was a crazy little shit when they last faced off, Wolfwood attempting to send the monster back to whatever maker deemed it necessary to be spawned, but he looked completely around the bend now. Not even a hint of humanity peeked out from those half-lidded, golden eyes.

"All this talk bores me," Legato drawled in a voice that could probably kills puppies if its own so chose, it was that soaked in sadistic mirth, "may I kill them all now?"

"You really want to end the sniveling so soon? I thought you would revel in it," Elendira replied, bored and sarcastic as ever. The quadriplegic didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, it is quite lovely, isn't it? Still, we have what we need to free Master and I would hate to let this opportunity slip from my hands. I can only imagine the wonderful sounds their skulls will make when I force them to pop each other's brittle little skulls like the odious pimples they are…"

Wolfwood and Elendira just stared in mixed queasiness/horror/what-the-fuckness. Neither man could dredge up any sort of response from either of their stalled brains for a few moments.

"I should have sat there and made sure he was dead. Who knew he would be so tenacious. I could have sworn I emptied a whole round in to him; the bastard's face even went splat on the floor for Christ's sake," Wolfwood at last muttered to himself when he pried his jaw off the table. Elendira managed to regain his composure, but he never took his eye off of Legato for the rest of the night.

"Legato, no squishing, please," said Elendira. "Chapel, I'm not a man to ask for much, but obviously these men have little time left, that amount decreasing with every second he remains here. I extend an offer to finish this discussion on the ship; decline, then we will unfortunately see whether or not these men have pus for brains."

"Alright," Wolfwood sighed, shuddering at the unwanted mental image, "I'll give you no more trouble, just leave everyone else out of it. Don't know how helpful I'll be, seeing as I don't know much that I'd be willing to share with you, but if it keeps death down to a minimum…"

The guns dropped and confused, frightened men scattered, scrambling for any available way out. The three left behind made a much more leisurely-paced exit, almost strolling around the over-turned tables and chairs, avoiding puddles of spilt booze and broken bottles. One was maddeningly (and quite mad) smug with success, the second all business, and the third trying to come up with a way to keep the Gardeners and Vash safe and alive.

All in all, Wolfwood decided this was one of the crappiest nights of his life.

No more booze, ever.