"Masquerade"

Cowboy Bebop

By Amos Whirly

Chapter Four: Wish You Were Here

     She sat at the glass table, leaning forward and sipping her chocolate milkshake.  Her tall boots were crossed at the ankle under the table, the leather squeaking occasionally.  Her short leather skirt and sliming white silk blouse added to her seductive appearance without making her stand out in the crowd.

     Her red lips curled in a smile as she tapped her dark-tinted glasses with a gloved index finger.  The lenses rotated on silent gears, focusing on a man across the restaurant's main floor.

     Marlow Adirondack, bounty head of the month.  His hair was carrot red and curly, and his brown eyes were beady and narrow.  His nose was long and crooked, and his mouth hung open in a perpetual lopsided grin. He held a smoking cigar in one hand and a champagne glass filled with dark, bubbling liquid in the other.

     "Talk about a prize," the woman muttered into her bracelet.

     "He's worth 10-mil, Faye," her earring vibrated with Jet's deep voice. "Don't you spook him now."

     "Will you just calm down?" she sipped her milkshake. "He's all the way across the room.  What could possibly happen?"

     "Good afternoon, ma'am," a waiter suddenly appeared to her right, bearing a pitcher of water. "May I refill your water glass?"

     "But I haven't got any water," Faye replied sharply.

     "That's because I haven't given it to you yet," the waiter shifted nervously setting a glass on her table and pour icy water into it. "The water here is really—"

     "Would you go away, please?"

     "Could I have your number?"

     "What?  Hey!"

     The waiter was not watching and had filled her glass past the brim.  The icy liquid spilled into her lap and over the front of her shirt, splashing on her face.  The instant the water hit her glasses, they short-circuited and began to spark wildly.  With a high-pitched squeal, she ripped them off and jumped back.  The glasses landed in the puddle of water on the table and exploded.

     She could hear Jet mouthing off in her earring.

     But she looked up in time to see Adirondack stand and slowly head for the back of the room.

     She cursed out loud and pushed past the waiter who was blubbering apologies.  Adirondack spotted her instantly and dashed madly toward the kitchen.

     "Jet," she sat into her bracelet, "he's running!"

     "No, I wonder what would have made him do that."

     "Just shut up and chase him, you moron!"

     She burst into the kitchen to hear all the cooks wailing and screaming as Adirondack darted toward the exit in the back.  Muttering angrily, Faye ran after him.

     She yelped as her clunky black boots slipping on a wet patch on the tiled floor.  Stumbling, she crashed into a rack of pastries and hit the tile hard, éclairs raining down on her like a monsoon.  With an enraged shout, she scrambled to her feet and kept running.  She burst out of the kitchen's back door and into an alley.

     It was night time on Ganymede.  The sky was cold and dark and threatening to spill.  She grabbed her gun out of the back of her skirt and slowly crept through the alley.

     Thunder rumbled overhead, and the rain came, hammering on the dirty alley floor and soaking her to the bone.   The air chilled almost instantly, and her breath billowed out of her mouth like white clouds.  After a quick but thorough search of the alley, she lowered her gun.

     "Jet," she spoke into the bracelet, "he's gone."

     Jet said something sarcastic in return, but she did not hear it.  She sensed his presence behind her before she saw him.   Out of instinct rather than common sense, she whirled around, bringing her gun up.

     Adirondack was ready.  He slammed his hand into her elbow, and she dropped the gun.  It skittered across the alley floor.  But she was able to punch him squarely in the face.  He fell back against the alley wall, but he bounced back and kicked her hard.  She flew backward into the opposite wall, and he followed through with a punch that would have broken her jaw if she had not avoided it.  He howled in pain as his fist connected with the brick wall, but that did not stop him from driving his knee into her side.  She fell sideways and crashed into a trashcan.

     Furious she kicked him in the stomach and stood up, turning a perfect roundhouse kick intending to knock him senseless.

     Adirondack was quicker than she had anticipated.

     He snatched her ankle out of the air and smirked evilly at her.

     She moved to slug him, but he grabbed her hand and wrenched her shoulder brutally.  Faye swore she heard bones snapping.  He turned fluidly, slamming his elbow into the back of her knee and flinging her into the wall again.  She fell in a large puddle of dirty water and scrambled to her feet.  She stopped, though, as he snatched her gun from the dirty floor and aimed at her head.

     "Stupid cowboy," he snarled and stopped as a hand tapped on his shoulder.

     He turned, and a metallic fist slammed into his face.  Adirondack swayed for a moment before falling face first into a mud puddle.

     Faye leaned on the wall as Jet emerged from the shadows, his bearded face grim and his blue eyes accusatory.

     "What?" she snapped, green sparks in her emerald eyes.

     "I told you not to spook him!" Jet countered, kneeling and cuffing Adirondack's wrists behind his back.

     "I didn't," Faye argued. "It was that stupid waiter.  And those stupid glasses you insisted I wear.  If they'd have been waterproof—"

     "Oh, no, you're not blaming this one on me, Faye."

     "Of course, I am, Jet," she snarled. "Because it's your fault."

     Jet rolled his eyes and hauled Adirondack to his feet.  Then, he turned to look at the prim woman standing in the mud puddle.  She was dirty from head to toe, scrapes and scratches biting up her arms and legs.

     "Are you all right?" he asked more gently.

     "Like you care," Faye brushed past him. "You got your bounty, Jet.  I'm going back to the Bebop."

     Jet sighed hugely as she went, knowing better than to stop her.

     "Come on, Marlow," he dragged the man toward the street.  "Dinner's in a couple of hours, and you're buying."

* * *

     The hot water felt good on her scratched and bruised limbs.  The steam relaxed her muscles and coaxed the tightness out of her joints.

     "I'm in the wrong line of work," she muttered to the showerhead. "At this rate, I'll be an old woman by 30." 

     She laughed to herself.

     "I used to think 30 was old," she leaned against the shower wall, feeling the hot water pour down her back. "It's not that old anymore, I guess."

     She finished washing and stepped from the shower.  After drying herself off and pulling on a pair of yellow cotton pajamas, she wrapped her shoulder-length hair in a towel and regarded herself in the mirror.

     With a sigh, she took a jar of ointment and a roll of gauze from the medicine cabinet and walked to the living area of the ship.  She spent the next hour wrapping her cuts. 

     The door to the ship banged, and Jet stepped in.

     "Paid up?" she shouted up at him.

     "Yeah," he answered, shutting the door behind him and descending the stairs. 

     He watched her as she wrapped a particularly deep gash on her leg.

     "I'm sorry about earlier," he said quietly.

     "Don't be," she answered. "It was my fault.  I should have shot the waiter."

     Jet chuckled.

     "What did he want anyway?"

     "My number."

     "I see."

     Jet chuckled to himself again and disappeared into the galley to cook something for supper.  Faye finished treating her injuries and returned the items to the medicine cabinet.

     She sat down on the couch with a book to wait until the meal was ready, but she could not read.   Her eyes were drawn inexplicably to the plaque on the wall.

     Spike, she thought. If you had been there—she sighed. If you had been there, you would have taken that creep out without a second thought.

     She glanced at her scraped hands.

     You probably would have laughed at me, sitting in a mud puddle like that.  Big jerk.

     She set the book on the table and stared at the plaque.

     "I miss you, Spike," she said aloud.

     "Dinner!" Jet's big voice boomed from the galley.

     Faye started for a moment, but she stood quietly and walked to where Jet had two plates prepared.  She took her plate from him with a smile and returned to the couch.

     "Who were you talking to out here?" Jet asked as he chewed on a bean sprout.

     "Nothing," Faye answered softly. "Just thinking about Spike."

     Jet stopped chewing for a moment.

     "Yeah," he said with a laugh, "Spike would have collared that creep.  But he would have burned the restaurant down too."

     "I suppose you're right," Faye smiled sadly.

     "Spike's better off where he is, Faye," Jet swallowed another mouthful, "no matter how much we wish he were here."

     "How do you know?"

     "Just do."

     "Or you just don't think about it."

     Jet did not answer.  He only chewed his bean sprouts. 

     "That's what I thought."