IX. Coda and Refrain
Julia's face had barely faded from the LED when the comm. buzzed again, and Spike groaned. He was busy savoring the few moments of pleasant conversation with her, aware of the danger inherent in his rekindled attraction, but not yet ready to feel the guilt. He glared at Vicious' number blinking on the screen and pressed the answer key, making no attempt to hide his expression.
"The Van wants to meet with us both," Vicious announced. "Good news."
Spike flopped backward on the couch. "I'm in my sweats."
It was a joke, but Vicious looked at the camera like he was staring into a vortex of insanity. "Get dressed, then!"
"It's ten-thirty, Vicious. How can it be good news in the middle of the goddamned night?"
"Perhaps you would like to talk to Mao," Vicious snarled.
Spike sat up again, trying not to laugh. "No need to get out the hand grenades. I'm coming. Give me half an hour." He hung up the comm. before Vicious could respond.
Stretching, he looked around his new room. Quarters were no tighter than at the old apartment, and it had windows on two sides, a story up off the sidewalk where looking out felt like floating just above the heads of the people walking below. The walls were a dove gray, the baseboards and windowsills white – Julia had painted it the second week she lived there, he remembered.
He opened the closet and pulled out the only suit without a bullet hole, thinking to himself that he either had to stop getting shot, or find a cheaper tailor. When he'd dressed, he loaded the Jericho and pocketed it, and gave his hair a rough mussing as he passed the mirror on the top of the dresser.
Annie looked up from her book when he swept through the kitchen. "Got a date?" she called hopefully after him.
"Yeah. With a bunch of old men." He waved at her, digging in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. "Don't wait up for me!"
He could see her laughing through the window as he headed down the sidewalk toward the tower.
***
Mao greeted Spike in the anteroom. "The session has begun," he said in a hushed voice. "Although they have not yet spoken of the matters pertaining to you and Vicious."
Spike gave him a questioning look, but Mao just held out a hand to usher him into the auditorium. He didn't look worried, so Spike took the cue and walked in, trying to make as little noise as possible in his boots. Spotting Vicious' white head near the front of the assembled group, he made his way through the crowd until he could lean in and whisper in his partner's ear. "What's up?"
Vicious didn't turn and gave a curt headshake. Spike jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked forward on his toes, listening to the last half of some impossibly long diatribe that made no sense without its beginning. He was about to go back out to find coffee when he heard a change in tone, and looked up to see Sou Long leaning forward.
Sou surveyed the room and began, "Vicious has brought us an invitation from Ganymede to enter into a transportation agreement with a Red Eye manufacturer."
Spike elbowed him and gave him a thumbs-up, but Vicious stared straight ahead, not even wasting energy on a disdainful look in return.
"This agreement would allow us to put into action our plan to bring the White Tiger into our debt. We will be able to obtain and distribute so much more product, they will have only two choices: give up the trade to us altogether, or purchase from us in order to continue supplying their own customers."
Murmurs of approval ran through the crowd. Sou moved back, yielding the discussion to Hung.
Hung continued, "It is the Van's belief that we should extend an offer to the White Tiger for cooperation before we begin to saturate the marketplace. If one hopes to walk in front of one's enemy, one must be willing to agree to the rules of combat."
Spike saw the tic in Vicious' cheek, and saw him fight to control it. Hung droned on.
"Mao Yenrai has recommended that we establish teams of ambassadors" – Spike raised an eyebrow at the term and leaned forward – "to make contact with the landowners' property managers and the street-level White Tiger forces. We have adopted this suggestion. Also on his recommendation, we are assigning the leadership of these teams to Vicious, Spike Spiegel, and Mato Yenrai."
Spike smirked inwardly; the old man had finally managed to get his son a commanding assignment. Mato had been his playmate as a child, but in comparison to him now, Spike seemed like a disciplined businessman. The boy had grown up thinking he would be handed his power, and so he had none to wield.
"The three of you will remain to discuss your task. The meeting is adjourned." All three of the Longs sat back in shadow, and the cluster began to break up, people pairing off and talking, a few of them patting Spike on The Bad Shoulder or murmuring a word or two to Vicious as they departed. After a few minutes of polite chatter, the room emptied as if on cue, and the three young Red Dragons were left alone with Mao Yenrai and the Van.
Mao spoke first. "I have sponsored you for this assignment because I believe the faces of this overture will be the faces of leadership in the decades to come. It is therefore fitting that you be familiar and respected."
Ping Long moved forward. "This is not a call to arms. You have been the claw and breath of the Dragon, but now you must be its eye and its speaking mouth. The White Tiger will not lie down before you, but it will listen to the sense you speak. Do not taunt your foe, but neither turn your back when he is angry." He faded back out of the light and the four men stood waiting, but the Van had nothing else to say.
Mao bowed first, the other three following suit, and they turned to leave the chamber.
Outside the double doors, Mao said, "We will meet at my house tomorrow morning for breakfast to speak in more detail. The three of you will come alone." He shot a look at Vicious. "We will discuss the configuration of teams at that time, and not before."
Vicious did not acknowledge the directness of the comment, but all three bowed again and Mao regained a little of his jovial demeanor. "Go out and celebrate," he suggested. "We'll eat at ten."
He turned down the hallway toward his office.
Mato hesitated a moment, and then mumbled an apology and followed his father. Spike and Vicious traded a knowing look and turned to leave, crossing the anteroom in long strides, coats flowing behind them.
No discussion was required; they headed for the Hangman. As soon as they were through the sliding doors of the tower, Spike burst out, "What the hell was that bullshit about agreeing to rules of combat and not ... what did he say? ... 'taunting' our foe?"
"Art of War," Vicious replied sullenly.
Spike rolled his eyes. "What about if our foe throws a punch at us? Can we shoot him then?"
Vicious' mouth was a tight line and he gave no answer. They swept through the door of the bar, ignoring the waves and hellos from the bartender and waitresses, making a beeline for the back table. Only after the waitress had brought them a bottle of sake and a complimentary sailboat of sushi did he speak.
"Mao did this on purpose. He's sending us out to play at politics because he knows neither of us believes in this foolhardy idea."
"I'm a little surprised it bothers you so much," Spike said around a mouthful of Ganymede unagi. "I mean, this is the way to shut down the White Tiger, right?"
Vicious shook his head. "At best, it amounts to keeping a dangerous predator as a pet. At worst, it means the Van are moving toward a compromise with the Tigers. We have the stronger forces, the better businesses, larger coffers. Why should we offer a laurel of peace to an enemy we could simply defeat?"
Spike nodded, conceding the difference. He picked up a piece of Maki roll and examined it. "So what do you suppose we do? Walk around downtown shaking hands with every White Tiger we see and pitching our little business plan?"
"Apparently." Vicious selected a slab of Sea Rat sashimi and bathed it in soy and wasabe. "I think it's idiotic. I say we go straight to the distributors and let them break the news."
Comprehension spread across Spike's face and he jabbed his chopsticks in the air for emphasis as he exclaimed, "That's why Mato's the third!"
Vicious frowned at him, not understanding.
"Mato would never go along with it if we decided to go straight to the dealers. And if he didn't go along with it, and went to the White Tigers, we'd end up getting killed. You're right, Mao did this on purpose."
Vicious chewed and swallowed before he replied. "At least he gave us enough credit to think we would figure it out before we started."
"Hey. Technically, I figured it out." Spike grinned.
A small smile cracked through Vicious' dour expression. "You saved up your one intelligent thought for the week until Friday."
"Don't start with me," Spike warned, but he fought to control a laugh. "I'm already mad at you. You made me get all dressed up and come out when I was ready to go to sleep."
"Oh, you had to come all the way down the elevator. I have no sympathy for you."
"No!" Spike shot back. "I had to walk! From my apartment!"
Vicious narrowed his eyes. "You did not walk from your apartment in fifteen minutes."
"I did too." Spike's eyes positively glittered, and Vicious glared.
"I give up."
"Moved into Julia's old room at Annie's." Spike finished off his sake and waved to the waitress.
"Oh, I'm sorry, you had to come four blocks." Vicious shook his head. "How did you get your suit?"
"I climbed out the window up to the roof at Rina's after she locked me in."
Vicious fought it, but finally laughed, and as Spike joined in the waitress came with another bottle. "You two are in a good mood tonight," she said as she waited for a tip.
"No, not really," Vicious replied, "but we find our foul mood amusing." She frowned and turned on her heel, stalking off with the twenty-Woolong bill Spike handed her.
"Why do you always do that?" Spike moaned.
"What?"
"Scare off the pretty waitresses." He slouched in his chair. "I can never get a phone number when I'm out with you."
Vicious rolled his eyes. "I haven't seen you try to get a phone number in years."
"Well, now you know why."
Their banter continued, bottles of sake coming and going, until the bartender announced last call and came over to see them.
"I was worried when I had not seen either of you in so long," he said with a bow. "I am glad you have returned."
The two men, the two claws of the Dragon, exchanged a look that echoed his sentiment and rose to go.
***
Back in his sweatpants and shirtless, Spike lay in bed, spinning a little from the alcohol. The buzz came from the mood of the evening, as well. It had been months since he and Vicious had had a simple, friendly conversation, and longer than that since they'd verbally sparred so easily. Whatever had happened on Ganymede would have been fun to watch, he thought as he dropped a foot to the floor to stop the ceiling's rotation. He had Vicious and Julia both back... and what little guilt he felt for including Julia in the reasons for his happiness meant nothing in comparison to the deep sleep it brought him.
***
Julia woke with a start at the sound of the door opening. She heard footsteps, none too stealthy, and pieced together the sound of Vicious sweeping off his coat and setting his katana down against the doorjamb. She lay back down as he came through the bedroom door and spoke.
"Julia."
She rolled over onto her side. "Mm?"
"Can I stay?"
"You know you can." She extended a hand to him, and he came to the side of the bed to take it. "What happened?" she asked sleepily.
"I'll tell you about it in the morning. I have a breakfast meeting. But I wanted to be with you." He knelt and kissed her. "Go back to sleep."
She heard him undress and smiled as his weight sunk the mattress beside her. She slid over next to him, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder and pressing her face against his broad chest, and he pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head as he dragged his fingernails lightly over her back. When he felt her smile against his bare skin, he whispered, "I take it back. Don't go back to sleep yet."
Julia's face had barely faded from the LED when the comm. buzzed again, and Spike groaned. He was busy savoring the few moments of pleasant conversation with her, aware of the danger inherent in his rekindled attraction, but not yet ready to feel the guilt. He glared at Vicious' number blinking on the screen and pressed the answer key, making no attempt to hide his expression.
"The Van wants to meet with us both," Vicious announced. "Good news."
Spike flopped backward on the couch. "I'm in my sweats."
It was a joke, but Vicious looked at the camera like he was staring into a vortex of insanity. "Get dressed, then!"
"It's ten-thirty, Vicious. How can it be good news in the middle of the goddamned night?"
"Perhaps you would like to talk to Mao," Vicious snarled.
Spike sat up again, trying not to laugh. "No need to get out the hand grenades. I'm coming. Give me half an hour." He hung up the comm. before Vicious could respond.
Stretching, he looked around his new room. Quarters were no tighter than at the old apartment, and it had windows on two sides, a story up off the sidewalk where looking out felt like floating just above the heads of the people walking below. The walls were a dove gray, the baseboards and windowsills white – Julia had painted it the second week she lived there, he remembered.
He opened the closet and pulled out the only suit without a bullet hole, thinking to himself that he either had to stop getting shot, or find a cheaper tailor. When he'd dressed, he loaded the Jericho and pocketed it, and gave his hair a rough mussing as he passed the mirror on the top of the dresser.
Annie looked up from her book when he swept through the kitchen. "Got a date?" she called hopefully after him.
"Yeah. With a bunch of old men." He waved at her, digging in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. "Don't wait up for me!"
He could see her laughing through the window as he headed down the sidewalk toward the tower.
***
Mao greeted Spike in the anteroom. "The session has begun," he said in a hushed voice. "Although they have not yet spoken of the matters pertaining to you and Vicious."
Spike gave him a questioning look, but Mao just held out a hand to usher him into the auditorium. He didn't look worried, so Spike took the cue and walked in, trying to make as little noise as possible in his boots. Spotting Vicious' white head near the front of the assembled group, he made his way through the crowd until he could lean in and whisper in his partner's ear. "What's up?"
Vicious didn't turn and gave a curt headshake. Spike jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked forward on his toes, listening to the last half of some impossibly long diatribe that made no sense without its beginning. He was about to go back out to find coffee when he heard a change in tone, and looked up to see Sou Long leaning forward.
Sou surveyed the room and began, "Vicious has brought us an invitation from Ganymede to enter into a transportation agreement with a Red Eye manufacturer."
Spike elbowed him and gave him a thumbs-up, but Vicious stared straight ahead, not even wasting energy on a disdainful look in return.
"This agreement would allow us to put into action our plan to bring the White Tiger into our debt. We will be able to obtain and distribute so much more product, they will have only two choices: give up the trade to us altogether, or purchase from us in order to continue supplying their own customers."
Murmurs of approval ran through the crowd. Sou moved back, yielding the discussion to Hung.
Hung continued, "It is the Van's belief that we should extend an offer to the White Tiger for cooperation before we begin to saturate the marketplace. If one hopes to walk in front of one's enemy, one must be willing to agree to the rules of combat."
Spike saw the tic in Vicious' cheek, and saw him fight to control it. Hung droned on.
"Mao Yenrai has recommended that we establish teams of ambassadors" – Spike raised an eyebrow at the term and leaned forward – "to make contact with the landowners' property managers and the street-level White Tiger forces. We have adopted this suggestion. Also on his recommendation, we are assigning the leadership of these teams to Vicious, Spike Spiegel, and Mato Yenrai."
Spike smirked inwardly; the old man had finally managed to get his son a commanding assignment. Mato had been his playmate as a child, but in comparison to him now, Spike seemed like a disciplined businessman. The boy had grown up thinking he would be handed his power, and so he had none to wield.
"The three of you will remain to discuss your task. The meeting is adjourned." All three of the Longs sat back in shadow, and the cluster began to break up, people pairing off and talking, a few of them patting Spike on The Bad Shoulder or murmuring a word or two to Vicious as they departed. After a few minutes of polite chatter, the room emptied as if on cue, and the three young Red Dragons were left alone with Mao Yenrai and the Van.
Mao spoke first. "I have sponsored you for this assignment because I believe the faces of this overture will be the faces of leadership in the decades to come. It is therefore fitting that you be familiar and respected."
Ping Long moved forward. "This is not a call to arms. You have been the claw and breath of the Dragon, but now you must be its eye and its speaking mouth. The White Tiger will not lie down before you, but it will listen to the sense you speak. Do not taunt your foe, but neither turn your back when he is angry." He faded back out of the light and the four men stood waiting, but the Van had nothing else to say.
Mao bowed first, the other three following suit, and they turned to leave the chamber.
Outside the double doors, Mao said, "We will meet at my house tomorrow morning for breakfast to speak in more detail. The three of you will come alone." He shot a look at Vicious. "We will discuss the configuration of teams at that time, and not before."
Vicious did not acknowledge the directness of the comment, but all three bowed again and Mao regained a little of his jovial demeanor. "Go out and celebrate," he suggested. "We'll eat at ten."
He turned down the hallway toward his office.
Mato hesitated a moment, and then mumbled an apology and followed his father. Spike and Vicious traded a knowing look and turned to leave, crossing the anteroom in long strides, coats flowing behind them.
No discussion was required; they headed for the Hangman. As soon as they were through the sliding doors of the tower, Spike burst out, "What the hell was that bullshit about agreeing to rules of combat and not ... what did he say? ... 'taunting' our foe?"
"Art of War," Vicious replied sullenly.
Spike rolled his eyes. "What about if our foe throws a punch at us? Can we shoot him then?"
Vicious' mouth was a tight line and he gave no answer. They swept through the door of the bar, ignoring the waves and hellos from the bartender and waitresses, making a beeline for the back table. Only after the waitress had brought them a bottle of sake and a complimentary sailboat of sushi did he speak.
"Mao did this on purpose. He's sending us out to play at politics because he knows neither of us believes in this foolhardy idea."
"I'm a little surprised it bothers you so much," Spike said around a mouthful of Ganymede unagi. "I mean, this is the way to shut down the White Tiger, right?"
Vicious shook his head. "At best, it amounts to keeping a dangerous predator as a pet. At worst, it means the Van are moving toward a compromise with the Tigers. We have the stronger forces, the better businesses, larger coffers. Why should we offer a laurel of peace to an enemy we could simply defeat?"
Spike nodded, conceding the difference. He picked up a piece of Maki roll and examined it. "So what do you suppose we do? Walk around downtown shaking hands with every White Tiger we see and pitching our little business plan?"
"Apparently." Vicious selected a slab of Sea Rat sashimi and bathed it in soy and wasabe. "I think it's idiotic. I say we go straight to the distributors and let them break the news."
Comprehension spread across Spike's face and he jabbed his chopsticks in the air for emphasis as he exclaimed, "That's why Mato's the third!"
Vicious frowned at him, not understanding.
"Mato would never go along with it if we decided to go straight to the dealers. And if he didn't go along with it, and went to the White Tigers, we'd end up getting killed. You're right, Mao did this on purpose."
Vicious chewed and swallowed before he replied. "At least he gave us enough credit to think we would figure it out before we started."
"Hey. Technically, I figured it out." Spike grinned.
A small smile cracked through Vicious' dour expression. "You saved up your one intelligent thought for the week until Friday."
"Don't start with me," Spike warned, but he fought to control a laugh. "I'm already mad at you. You made me get all dressed up and come out when I was ready to go to sleep."
"Oh, you had to come all the way down the elevator. I have no sympathy for you."
"No!" Spike shot back. "I had to walk! From my apartment!"
Vicious narrowed his eyes. "You did not walk from your apartment in fifteen minutes."
"I did too." Spike's eyes positively glittered, and Vicious glared.
"I give up."
"Moved into Julia's old room at Annie's." Spike finished off his sake and waved to the waitress.
"Oh, I'm sorry, you had to come four blocks." Vicious shook his head. "How did you get your suit?"
"I climbed out the window up to the roof at Rina's after she locked me in."
Vicious fought it, but finally laughed, and as Spike joined in the waitress came with another bottle. "You two are in a good mood tonight," she said as she waited for a tip.
"No, not really," Vicious replied, "but we find our foul mood amusing." She frowned and turned on her heel, stalking off with the twenty-Woolong bill Spike handed her.
"Why do you always do that?" Spike moaned.
"What?"
"Scare off the pretty waitresses." He slouched in his chair. "I can never get a phone number when I'm out with you."
Vicious rolled his eyes. "I haven't seen you try to get a phone number in years."
"Well, now you know why."
Their banter continued, bottles of sake coming and going, until the bartender announced last call and came over to see them.
"I was worried when I had not seen either of you in so long," he said with a bow. "I am glad you have returned."
The two men, the two claws of the Dragon, exchanged a look that echoed his sentiment and rose to go.
***
Back in his sweatpants and shirtless, Spike lay in bed, spinning a little from the alcohol. The buzz came from the mood of the evening, as well. It had been months since he and Vicious had had a simple, friendly conversation, and longer than that since they'd verbally sparred so easily. Whatever had happened on Ganymede would have been fun to watch, he thought as he dropped a foot to the floor to stop the ceiling's rotation. He had Vicious and Julia both back... and what little guilt he felt for including Julia in the reasons for his happiness meant nothing in comparison to the deep sleep it brought him.
***
Julia woke with a start at the sound of the door opening. She heard footsteps, none too stealthy, and pieced together the sound of Vicious sweeping off his coat and setting his katana down against the doorjamb. She lay back down as he came through the bedroom door and spoke.
"Julia."
She rolled over onto her side. "Mm?"
"Can I stay?"
"You know you can." She extended a hand to him, and he came to the side of the bed to take it. "What happened?" she asked sleepily.
"I'll tell you about it in the morning. I have a breakfast meeting. But I wanted to be with you." He knelt and kissed her. "Go back to sleep."
She heard him undress and smiled as his weight sunk the mattress beside her. She slid over next to him, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder and pressing her face against his broad chest, and he pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head as he dragged his fingernails lightly over her back. When he felt her smile against his bare skin, he whispered, "I take it back. Don't go back to sleep yet."