A/N: This is mainly another canned chapter. I spent a while writing it and
hopefully it will turn out better. I hope it keeps everyone's interest as
the plot is starting to bubble as Spike decides to head out for some R&R.
Also, the spacing comment has been noted and I am glad that some people are
enjoying my work. Let the good times roll...
"So, don't know where the car is, huh?" Mark Nextos' left cheek was swollen and red from being punched in that side of the face. Jet wasn't cruel. He knew if he punched with his left arm he might break the guy's neck and then he wouldn't be very useful.
Mark Nextos was panicking. His friend Royce had already gotten the stuffing beat out of him, and he was already getting his. "I swear I don't! If I did I would have told you by now, don't you think?" This guy was getting on Jet's nerves and that wasn't a good idea.
"Listen punk, if I wanted your opinion I'd ask for it. All I'm asking for right now is the location of the car you little jerks stole. Once I get that car back and your rears in jail I'm getting a hefty reward and that's the way my life works."
"Well your lifestyle sucks!" Mark couldn't believe he had just said that, and neither could Jet, that's why the insult would not go unnoticed as Jet punched Mark in the stomach with his left arm. It knocked the wind out of him for a few minutes. Jet sighed because he wasn't getting anywhere with these idiots and they had gotten beaten to pulps and still no information as to the whereabouts of the car. Jet just couldn't figure it out. "How the hell does a bright yellow car get stolen and no one has seen it?"
* * * * * *
After clearing up the situation with Faye's delivery, which ended up with Spike dismissing him since Faye would be gone for a few days, he decided it was time to head out. He was bored, no one was around on the Bebop and there was nothing to do. He had meditated for three hours with no breaks and he was tired of just sitting around. There was nothing for him to do around there.
The engine on Spike's Swordfish roared as he took off from the deck of the Bebop and blasted away towards a desolate part of town that very few lived in and you could buy anything from Beanie-Babies to Berettas, Pokèmon to paratroop rifles. If it ever existed you could probably find it there.
After landing on a deserted runway, Spike had no trouble finding a bar in the area. There were about twenty and the best of them all was a small Irish pub named McClure's. It was clean, wasn't too rowdy, and the liquor was never watered down. As he walked towards it he browsed around in a few shops. A few guys were selling some old cars from decades ago like they were prized possessions. The ugliest of them all was some gaudy hunk of scrap metal painted bright yellow. Spike, with the shortest attention span in the world, continued walking soon forgetting ever seeing the car and headed into the pub. It wasn't long before someone noticed him and followed him into McClure's.
Spike walked in and breathed in the smoke and liquor saturated air. He sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. Not long after the bartender turned around Spike fell to the floor semi-conscious. "Don't worry about him, he'll be fine. He just needs to rest. He had a few too many from down the street. I'll take care of him." The woman's voice was the last thing Spike remembered before he blacked out.
* * * * * *
Faye was coming up short. Her usual tricks weren't working at the high stakes table she had chosen to sit at. She was almost to the line, but that was after struggling to get there. She had lost almost half of her money when she finally won a big pot that put her near her mark. Two hands later she was slipping back to the low point.
"How much to call?" A gruff voice to Faye's left asked. Faye had put out a considerable sum and the man was trying to figure out if it was worth it. They were playing the old-fashioned Texas Hold 'Em. The man was holding an ace-jack and there was already forty thousand woolongs in the pot.
"Twenty eight thousand, Mr. Whorton." The dealer counted carefully and made a note of how much was already there. The starting bets were meager and then Faye jumped in with the raise.
Thomas D. Whorton, a businessman from Venus, was on vacation for the next two weeks. He was independently wealthy and owned his own business. The money that they were playing for now was chump change compared to his yearly salary, so he figured "what the hell?" and called the bet.
Faye was getting nervous. She was close enough to smell the package she was working towards. Now that she thought of it, the last few packages didn't have the greatest of aromas. She didn't care because inside would most likely be another link to her past and that was all she was concerned with. If it wasn't what she thought it was, she was going to the post office, find the deliveryman and give him a swift kick to the nuts with a steel-toe boot.
The rest of the people playing besides Faye and Thomas Whorton folded their hands and the pot was at sixty eight thousand woolongs. Faye needed thirty in addition to the twenty-eight she originally put in, and that was playing out well. She would be ten thousand over if the betting stopped now, but she knew it wouldn't stop at this point.
* * * * * *
Jet turned in the two guys he had "interrogated" for fifteen hundred woolongs each. "Smallest of the small..." Jet thought to himself as he walked away. The car was still missing and the only lead he had was those two guys. He was disappointed with himself. "Maybe I'm losing my edge..." Jet was beginning to question his skills that he held as a detective years ago.
Just then a black limousine pulled up in front of the police station and an eccentric old man, the one that was employing Jet, mind you, got out of the vehicle and walked up to Jet.
"I'm assuming you just turned in the men that stole my car. If you would please get inside and direct my driver to the location of it, we will be on our way." The old man was very excited to be getting his car back, but Jet had to break the bad news to him now.
"Mr. Yurianoko, I haven't exactly found the car yet. I just turned in the two guys that were suspected of it but I wasn't able to get any information from them as to the whereabouts of your stolen car."
The old man's smile was gone and was immediately replaced with a raging voice. "Mr. Black, I was expecting this to be an open and shut case for someone with your experience. Clearly I chose the wrong man for the job."
Jet flew off the handle at that last comment. "Well if you don't like the way I'm working, go find yourself another guy for the job! I'm a bounty hunter and I go after people, not someone's stupid car that no one liked when it was brand new!"
"So, don't know where the car is, huh?" Mark Nextos' left cheek was swollen and red from being punched in that side of the face. Jet wasn't cruel. He knew if he punched with his left arm he might break the guy's neck and then he wouldn't be very useful.
Mark Nextos was panicking. His friend Royce had already gotten the stuffing beat out of him, and he was already getting his. "I swear I don't! If I did I would have told you by now, don't you think?" This guy was getting on Jet's nerves and that wasn't a good idea.
"Listen punk, if I wanted your opinion I'd ask for it. All I'm asking for right now is the location of the car you little jerks stole. Once I get that car back and your rears in jail I'm getting a hefty reward and that's the way my life works."
"Well your lifestyle sucks!" Mark couldn't believe he had just said that, and neither could Jet, that's why the insult would not go unnoticed as Jet punched Mark in the stomach with his left arm. It knocked the wind out of him for a few minutes. Jet sighed because he wasn't getting anywhere with these idiots and they had gotten beaten to pulps and still no information as to the whereabouts of the car. Jet just couldn't figure it out. "How the hell does a bright yellow car get stolen and no one has seen it?"
* * * * * *
After clearing up the situation with Faye's delivery, which ended up with Spike dismissing him since Faye would be gone for a few days, he decided it was time to head out. He was bored, no one was around on the Bebop and there was nothing to do. He had meditated for three hours with no breaks and he was tired of just sitting around. There was nothing for him to do around there.
The engine on Spike's Swordfish roared as he took off from the deck of the Bebop and blasted away towards a desolate part of town that very few lived in and you could buy anything from Beanie-Babies to Berettas, Pokèmon to paratroop rifles. If it ever existed you could probably find it there.
After landing on a deserted runway, Spike had no trouble finding a bar in the area. There were about twenty and the best of them all was a small Irish pub named McClure's. It was clean, wasn't too rowdy, and the liquor was never watered down. As he walked towards it he browsed around in a few shops. A few guys were selling some old cars from decades ago like they were prized possessions. The ugliest of them all was some gaudy hunk of scrap metal painted bright yellow. Spike, with the shortest attention span in the world, continued walking soon forgetting ever seeing the car and headed into the pub. It wasn't long before someone noticed him and followed him into McClure's.
Spike walked in and breathed in the smoke and liquor saturated air. He sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. Not long after the bartender turned around Spike fell to the floor semi-conscious. "Don't worry about him, he'll be fine. He just needs to rest. He had a few too many from down the street. I'll take care of him." The woman's voice was the last thing Spike remembered before he blacked out.
* * * * * *
Faye was coming up short. Her usual tricks weren't working at the high stakes table she had chosen to sit at. She was almost to the line, but that was after struggling to get there. She had lost almost half of her money when she finally won a big pot that put her near her mark. Two hands later she was slipping back to the low point.
"How much to call?" A gruff voice to Faye's left asked. Faye had put out a considerable sum and the man was trying to figure out if it was worth it. They were playing the old-fashioned Texas Hold 'Em. The man was holding an ace-jack and there was already forty thousand woolongs in the pot.
"Twenty eight thousand, Mr. Whorton." The dealer counted carefully and made a note of how much was already there. The starting bets were meager and then Faye jumped in with the raise.
Thomas D. Whorton, a businessman from Venus, was on vacation for the next two weeks. He was independently wealthy and owned his own business. The money that they were playing for now was chump change compared to his yearly salary, so he figured "what the hell?" and called the bet.
Faye was getting nervous. She was close enough to smell the package she was working towards. Now that she thought of it, the last few packages didn't have the greatest of aromas. She didn't care because inside would most likely be another link to her past and that was all she was concerned with. If it wasn't what she thought it was, she was going to the post office, find the deliveryman and give him a swift kick to the nuts with a steel-toe boot.
The rest of the people playing besides Faye and Thomas Whorton folded their hands and the pot was at sixty eight thousand woolongs. Faye needed thirty in addition to the twenty-eight she originally put in, and that was playing out well. She would be ten thousand over if the betting stopped now, but she knew it wouldn't stop at this point.
* * * * * *
Jet turned in the two guys he had "interrogated" for fifteen hundred woolongs each. "Smallest of the small..." Jet thought to himself as he walked away. The car was still missing and the only lead he had was those two guys. He was disappointed with himself. "Maybe I'm losing my edge..." Jet was beginning to question his skills that he held as a detective years ago.
Just then a black limousine pulled up in front of the police station and an eccentric old man, the one that was employing Jet, mind you, got out of the vehicle and walked up to Jet.
"I'm assuming you just turned in the men that stole my car. If you would please get inside and direct my driver to the location of it, we will be on our way." The old man was very excited to be getting his car back, but Jet had to break the bad news to him now.
"Mr. Yurianoko, I haven't exactly found the car yet. I just turned in the two guys that were suspected of it but I wasn't able to get any information from them as to the whereabouts of your stolen car."
The old man's smile was gone and was immediately replaced with a raging voice. "Mr. Black, I was expecting this to be an open and shut case for someone with your experience. Clearly I chose the wrong man for the job."
Jet flew off the handle at that last comment. "Well if you don't like the way I'm working, go find yourself another guy for the job! I'm a bounty hunter and I go after people, not someone's stupid car that no one liked when it was brand new!"
