Disclaimer: If you do not yet realize Cowboy Bebop does not belong to me by now, you are stupidJ
Sorry this took so long.
Nothing Good Comes From Earth
Chapter 10: Fury in the Darkness
The hallway was dark and empty. Dim yellow light glowed on the walnut paneling behind iron sconces. Blue and red floral commercial carpeting stretched down the corridor to the stairwell. In brighter light the stains and wear marks would have been painfully obvious, but here they appeared as nothing more than shadows. A door clicked open quietly, and a man in a rumpled blue suit reluctantly stepped out. His face was taut and his lips pressed firmly together. He ran a slender hand through dark unruly tresses, then silently pulled the door shut with an involuntary sigh.
Spike paused outside the door, resisting the urge to run back inside and say things neither of them was ready for. He knew he may not have another chance. There was always the possibility of Vicious killing him instead of vice versa. Normally the thought of death wouldn't have bothered him. But now he had something to live for. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets to avoid pushing the door open. If he was going to go, it had to be now. He took a deep, shuddering breath and made his feet walk opposite of where they really wanted to go. If he was going to have a chance to really be with her, Vicious had to die. It was the only way they could be free.
He allowed himself a bitter smile. Faye wouldn't agree and he knew it. But then, she would never understand exactly what was between him and Vicious to make them hate each other so. Sometimes he didn't comprehend it himself.
The light increased as he followed the shabby carpet down the stairs to the main lobby. He stopped at the front desk to return the key. A short, rotund man sat behind the counter. He looked up from the book he was reading, a little annoyed with Spike for so rudely interrupting him.
"Can I help you?" he demanded in a wheezy voice, adjusting the few gray hairs he had left on his shiny head.
"I'm checking out," he said, sliding the key across the brown countertop. "Don't wake up my friend. She's still sleeping."
The clerk gave him a suspicious glance as he put the key away. "Why doesn't she just check out then?"
"Because I am," Spike snarled, shooting a glare that clearly said the conversation was over.
The old clerk backed down and busied himself with punching some information into the motel computer. Spike turned without giving the man another glance. He knew Faye would be left alone. He lit a cigarette as he exited the building onto the sunlit street.
Shading his eyes with his empty hand, he watched the clouds travel across the azure sky. A dust storm was swirling in the distance towards the brown western hills. He adjusted his gaze to look at the Redtail and Swordfish sitting side by side, glinting in the sunlight. A small pang of guilt pierced his heart as he thought of her waking up alone. She'd probably think he had just left her, but he couldn't risk telling her where he was going. She'd only try to make him stay. If he got the chance, he'd explain things to her. But first he had a man to kill.
Spike dropped the smoldering butt onto the hard packed earth beneath his feet and ground it out with his toe. He marched toward his ship like a man walking to his own execution, his face a steel mask. Instinctively he knew where to find Vicious. He was on Mars, just waiting for him to take the bait he had laid and come for him. I must not be the only one eager to end this once and for all, Spike thought indignantly as he swung into the Swordfish's cockpit. He eyed the cell phone he had abandoned the day before.
"You have missed 9 calls from Jet Black," said the monotone feminine voice of the phone's digital secretary. He stared at the annoying device in his hand.
I should call Jet and tell him where I'm going, he thought, then decided against it. It would be better if nobody knew. He didn't want them coming in, guns ablaze, trying to rescue him. He threw the phone behind his seat and powered up his craft. Spike took one last wistful look at the red brick building where Faye was sleeping.
"I'll be back for you," he promised in a harsh whisper. Why was leaving her behind so difficult?
The Swordfish took off in a cloud of swirling dust that blew across the desert floor. He fired the thrusters and shot off toward the upper atmosphere, a bloody arrow piercing the pristine blue and white sky. He didn't even notice the beauty of his surroundings turning from blue to black as he entered the darkness of space. He'd seen it too many times to care. The space plane's wings dipped vertically as he turned sharply, racing toward the jump gate. He couldn't seem to get to Mars fast enough.
Golden rain zipped around the Swordfish. He'd been flying through the hyperspace forever it seemed. He pulled out his Jericho for the millionth time, checking and rechecking his ammo. His gun was always well maintained; he was just wasting time until he could point it at Vicious' ugly head and blow it off his shoulders. Crooked lips turned up at the corners into a cynical smile. Like killing Vicious is going to be that easy, he thought. Not that he wanted it to be. Vicious deserved more than a quick death. After what he had done to him, to Julia, to Faye…
Images of Faye bombarded him:
Her tattered, nearly unrecognizable body lying in the street, blood congealing on her skin, her clothing shredded, barely covering her broken figure. Faye lying unconscious in the blue and white hospital gown; green eyes wide in fear every time he approached her. Tears burning red streaks onto her white skin…
His fist smashed against the cold glass. He pulled his knuckles away, warm blood dripping down the windshield and across the console. He stared at the oozing red trail with blazing eyes, his hate amplified by the sting of his wound. Vicious would never have touched her if it hadn't been for him. Cold fingers wound themselves around his heart. Killing Vicious wouldn't be enough. He wanted to watch the bastard suffer at his hands, wanted to hear him scream and beg for a quick bullet until the life finally drained out of him. Only then would justice be satisfied.
Spike stopped in the middle of the bustling sidewalk and looked at the grey sky. Clouds had started to gather and the scent of ozone was thick in the Martian air. A sardonic smile crossed his face briefly. There must be something about me and Vicious that attracts storms, he thought, pulling the collar of his trenchcoat up.
He looked around at the various establishments lining the street; almost all of them were syndicate owned. The Red Dragons weren't picky about the kind of businesses they used as cover-ups. Everything from the Rainbow Tot Daycare to Jack's Tavern, one of the seediest bars in town, were on the list. He couldn't just run into the main office gunning for Vicious. That was a sure way to a casket. He'd have to plan a little, gather some info, and try to catch him outside of the protection of his thugs.
He looked up at the daycare building across the street. It was covered in bright rainbows and smiley faces that reminded him of Ed. There was no way he was going to hunt down Vicious in a place full of dirty, squalling brats. Jack's it was. He could use a drink anyway.
A light rain started to fall as Spike continued down the street toward the bar. He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it. He liked smoking in the rain. His feet pounded the pavement as the drizzle turned into a downpour. He sloshed through the growing puddles unhurriedly. By the time he arrived at his destination he looked more like a drowned rat than a man. But his cigarette was still glowing as he pulled open the heavy glass door.
It was dark inside the bar, despite the windows in the front. To his right were a few unused pool tables and dart boards. Four heavy, square wooden tables were lined up by the windows to the left. A few more round tables covered the small area before the bar. Smoke clung to the overhead lights like a dense fog. Losers of every type were there, most of them seated at the counter. Old men, young men—all drowning their sorrows in cheap alcohol. Along the edges he spotted a few men obviously on Red Dragon payroll. A tall skinny redhead, a stocky blonde, and a short black man with a goatee. All were dressed in the usual syndicate apparel of black suits and white shirts. They were very clean cut compared to the rest of the tavern's occupants. He shook his head in disappointment. These men were either really overconfident or really stupid. They stuck out like a woman dressed in a bikini at a formal dinner. This was not a suit and tie establishment, yet there they sat, trying to blend in.
He took a table beside them, his back facing the group, and ordered a whiskey. He sat there listening to their conversation. Yep, definitely idiots, he thought as they openly discussed syndicate business. He slouched a bit in his seat, trying to look more like the rest of the depressed patrons.
"Yeah, I heard about that. That was pretty stupid," one of the men was saying, his voice a deep baritone.
"Hey, Jathan, I wouldn't go saying that aloud if I were you. Vicious might take it out on your hide if he hears you calling him stupid," a slightly shaky voice responded.
"Yeah, whatever. Like he's gonna find out. I just go in, do my job, and hope I don't screw up while he's around."
"You'd be surprised what he can find out. And how quickly he does it. That bitch was only on the search list for a week before he found her. How he knew she was going to New San Fran is a mystery to me. I was just there to pick her up a few days before she even arrived. It was like he knew she was gonna be there. It's creepy, I tell ya," the nervous man said gulping his drink.
Spike's fists white-knuckled around his glass. Faye, they were talking about Faye. And one of those bastards had kidnapped her. He stopped himself from turning around and putting a bullet in the guy's head. He couldn't attract attention to himself just yet. He needed to know more.
"I know what you mean," a new voice piped up.
"Weren't you there when he dumped her body, Ty?" asked the kidnapper.
"Yeah, I don't even like thinking about it. She looked awful! It was almost like he threw her into a meat grinder, she was pulverized so bad. I've done some sick shit, but never to a woman! She must have really pissed him off," Ty gave a nervous laugh.
"Shit, man! That's gross!" Jathan again.
"Yeah. You could here her screaming all the way down the fuckin' hall where we were waiting for him to finish with her. Rumor has it he fucked six ways from Sunday while he cut her up."
"Well, I can't blame him for that. She was pretty damn hot before he worked her over. Probably would have done her myself," Faye's abductor remarked.
They all laughed a bit.
"What a waste of a good piece of ass. Too bad Vicious isn't into sharing his toys," it was Jathan again
Grunts and chuckles of agreement were exchanged by the three thugs.
Spike's stomach lurched, hot bile rising in his gorge. You did it to her, all of you, he silently accused them. No one touched Faye, his Faye especially, and laughed about it. .
Something inside him cracked, unleashing a fury, raw and red, that was impossible to contain. They didn't know it, but Vicious' three lackeys had signed their own death sentences the moment they had mentioned her.
"That's no way to treat a woman," he said flatly, cold fire flashing in his eyes as he turned to look at them over the back of his chair.
"What the fuck's your problem?" said the nameless blonde, Faye's kidnapper.
Without a word Spike stood and pulled his gun from his pocket. He emptied the first two rounds into the man's forehead, bloody brains splattering the window behind him as the bullets exploded out the back of his blonde head.
Satisfaction flowed through Spike in a warm wave as he
watched the monster who had fed Faye to Vicious meet his death. The sound of guns being cocked sent him
ducking.
Ty and Jathan had their
guns out and fired, a moment too late.
Spike dove under the table just as the back of the wooden chair he'd
been standing in front of splintered.
Jathan leaped onto the top of the heavy oak table. He fell flat, belly first, and hung over the side, shooting blindly underneath. A bullet grazed Spike's arm as he rolled out of the way. Jathan didn't pull his head up fast enough. Spike's next two shots blew his jaw off, teeth and blood raining onto the floor. Jathan's body dangled limp over the side, dripping red.
Ty was still standing next to the table, cranking off shots into the thick wooden top. A skinny leg flew out from where Spike was hiding, sweeping the red head's legs out from under him. Ty collapsed with a thud, knocking the air out of him.
Spike slid out from under the busted table, his fist landing in Ty's face. Blood spurted under his knuckles as the man's nose splintered. He twisted his gunhand, breaking his wrist and elbow with a sickening crunch. Ty's gun clattered to the floor.
Blood spotted Spike's face and suit in dark blotches. He smelled the other man's fear, thick and acrid. Ty cowered before him, cradling his busted arm, blue eyes wide in terror. Spike raised his Jericho and cracked off two more bullets into his leg and shoulder.
Ty slumped at his feet, watching his leg bleed in disbelief.
"What the hell! You fucking shot me!" he yelled, panicking from the sight of so much of his own blood pooling onto the dirty white floor.
Spike yanked him up by the collar of his black suit jacket and hauled him outside into the back alley.
He threw him against the brick wall and watched him slide down to the wet cement, his blood mixing with the rain water.
"I-I'm sorry, man! Whatever I said, I'm real sorry!" Ty was begging for his life, and Spike knew it.
The reek of ammonia filled his nostrils. He cast an uncaring glance at the young man who had just pissed himself from the look of the dark splotch spreading across his pants. He didn't care. No amount of begging was going to save him.
"Tell me what I want to know and I'll kill you quick," Spike said, leaning into the boy's frightened face.
"And," he gulped, "if I don't?"
Spike pulled a knife out of his trenchcoat and waved it under the guy's sniveling nose.
"I'll do you the way he did her," he was dead serious.
Ty nodded, unable to speak.
"Where does Vicious hang out these days when he wants to be alone?"
"I…I don't know…"
"Not good enough!" Spike hissed pushing the point of his dagger into his left nostril.
"Hell…um…oh shit, man…don't! Let me think!" he was crying now.
"Think fast. Real fast." Spike drawled, pushing the blade hard enough to slice the septum.
"There's this park he goes to, mostly on days like today, when it's raining."
"And…" Spike urged.
"It's in the center of town, um, Wendfield Memorial, I think." He never took his eyes off the blade floating in front of his face.
"You've been very helpful." Spike grimaced as he slit a deep gash into the man's throat. Blood, hot and sticky gushed over his hand with every beat of Ty's dying heart.
He wiped his blood soaked hand and blade on the dead man's jacket. Spike stood, turned on his heel, and nonchalantly walked out onto the street. Wendfield Memorial, he thought, lighting another cigarette. Perfect.
That's it for now! Please let me know what you think!