Happiness is a Warm Gun
By Vicki Vance.
Please refer to part 1 for info/disclaimer.
The work which becomes a
new genre itself will be called...
Cowboy Bebop
A weak fog hung over Toshiko Park in Hibiscus Ridge, just light enough to soften the sharp glow of the street lamps, and lessen the contrast of the shadows and light. The sky blended imperceptibly with the ground, and all existed together in a mass of slowly altering light and color. Spike's face and shirt were the only splash of difference in the uniform setting.
I'm a sitting duck, he mumbled to himself. She's bound to suspect something. But then again, she might be desperate enough to do me in regardless of the convenience.
The chains of the swings creaked and Spike's breath froze in his throat. Every muscle went still and every nerve strained to perceive every noise. He saw her form flutter past the sandpit, slowly circling toward him. Now that he had spotted his hunter, Spike relaxed slightly.
Stay fluid, he told himself. Don't reach for your gun. Can't shoot her.
Even though he did not want to use it, he had brought his gun anyhow, just in case he had no choice but to wing her. The old dependence on his weapon of choice was overshadowed by the that fact that he truly desired not to use it; she was a most worthy challenge to fight.
Hello there, he said amiably. She stopped, caught off guard by his cordiality. She remained absolutely still and faded slightly into her background. Spike was slightly unnerved by her easy disappearance.
Nice of you to drop by, he commented. I was worried the party was going to start without you.
I am not amused, Sentinel's voice penetrated the darkness. Spike was able to discern her whereabouts again. In order to keep track of her, he'd either have to keep her talking or keep her moving.
And why not? he asked. Never thought you'd get a smart employee like me?
You do realize I am going to kill you, she warned.
Not if I catch you first, he said.
You're a cowboy?!
Just a simple bounty hunter, ma'am.
There was silence for a moment.
How much am I worth? she sounded almost amused.
two hundred million.
The silence was deeper this time, as if the tension of the two antagonists expelled any intrusive noise.
Spike was assaulted by a fantastic flurry of explosive light from the whirling blades of Sentinel. He backed away to avoid it, and his cuts stung at the way he twisted his body to avoid more injuries. He noticed, however, that her attacks were less well-placed than they had been a few days before in the bar.
The low visibility must be working for me, Spike thought. He was immediately proved wrong when she managed to strike him. The blow opened an old cut and blazed its own new trail across his unprotected chest. He snarled and retreated, weaving his way past the swings, trying to put an impediment between his assailant and himself. Every second of silence and stillness meant that Sentinel was shifting weight, preparing her next spring-loaded attack that Spike could hardly detect.
Trapped inthe dark, all facets of Spike's instinct damanded that he stop his cowardly retreat and draw his gun and defend himself properly. His hand itched for the familiar, comforting feel of the warm grip and animal snap of the recoil.
You haven't got a chance, Spiegel, she said, stalling the fight to observe his behavior now that she had wounded him. You're unarmed. How can you expect to beat me?
The sound of a hammer cocking answered her.
I choose to fight you with my hands, Spike's voice was low and threatening. But don't think me an idiot. I could blow you away right now.
If you can see me, she chuckled joylessly.
Spike didn't tell her that his prosthetic eye allowed him marginally more visibility in otherwise imperceptible conditions.
Don't toy with a man holding a gun.
As his threat settled, she shifted uncomfortably.
Don't you toy with me either, she said. Why don't you just shoot me?
The bounty's nothing if you're dead.
Intimate, almost sensual, silence settled between them once again. The sound of a sudden flurry of cloth heralded an unexpected onslaught: a bright flashlight withdrawn from Sentinel's cloak stabbed at Spike's eyes and as he staggered backwards, blinded, the sound of singing blades heralded the pain in his arms that he raised to protect himself from her slashes. He tripped over something small under his ankles -the sandbox he discovered- and fell flat on his back into soft, forgiving sand. It proved to be beneficial for only the half second of his impact and severely impeded his would-be fluid scramble back and away from the slashing blades.
A yell in the dark, followed by a quick thud informed Spike of a new arrival. It was Jet.
Spike, you okay? he called. From his grunts and breathing, Spike could tell he had taken up the fight with Sentinel.
What the hell are you doing here?! Spike yelled. It was his fight with Sentinel, not Jet's!
You're welcome, Jet groaned.
Spike struggled to his feet out of the sandbox. His arms ached and his fingers felt stiff and difficult to flex. He stubbornly clenched his hands into fists.
I can still put up a damn good fight.
From the hazy darkness he heard the swishing as well-handled blades made calculated attacks against his partner. He saw the little light from the dying street lamps reflected off the blades, and noted that they were red. He chastised himself, and joined the fight.
Just as he began to exchange blows, any control Sentinel might have had was lost and she stabbed wildly at Jet in the dark. The crunchy, squeaking sound of metal on metal ringed in the air and Jet cried out.
Spike cried, immediately sensing the danger.
One of Sentinel's blades had buried itself into Jet's prosthetic arm. Spike knew that even though one hand was occupied, the other one was still armed and free as ever, and now they were locked very close to each other.
As far as Spike knew, Jet did not wear body armor.
Jet realized the danger also and just as Sentinel attempted to ram her remaining blade through his gut he grabbed her wrist and depended on his brute strength to save him. Spike took the opportunity to mercilessly beat Sentinel in the face with his fist. She screamed, let go of the blade stuck in Jet's arm and twisted herself out of Jet's grasp. She was in a position where they could see her more clearly, and they watched as she withdrew two smaller blades from her belt. Her eyes burned with an animal ferocity that had as of yet been kept under control.
Uh oh, Jet said softly.
came the shout and Faye's foot connected with Sentinel's back. The assassin fell forward onto the ground, reeling at the unexpected attack from behind.
Not you! Spike screamed. You're the last inconvenience I need! Can't I ever take a bounty by myself?!
Hey, that's not very appreciative considering I just saved your butt! Faye snapped back.
Who's gonna show up next? Ed? Ein?!
Sentinel was on her feet with a scream and lunged like a leaping panther at the unsuspecting and unprepared Faye. Spike and Jet both saw the look in her eyes, the look of someone frozen in time, staring their own mortality in the face, powerless against the awesome strength of the end of life.
Gunfire erupted suddenly and Sentinel jerked in the air and made a choking sound in her throat. Faye screamed and dropped to the ground, clutching her forearm. Jet and Spike were luckier and took cover behind the monkey bars.
Who the hell is it now?! Spike demanded.
Wait, hold your fire! Jet called. We're just bounty hunters. Stop shooting!
Wait men, hold your fire, came the faraway voice of a police officer. In the silence came a voice, Jet? Is that you?
Jet stepped toward the glow of a street lamp with his hands over his head. Yeah it's me, Jet Black. Are you ISSP?
Yeah, we were responding to a disturbance call, the officer explained, approaching Jet. He stopped, looking up at Jet's upraised hands. You don't remember me, do you, Jet?
I can't see a thing, Jet explained.
It's Walker, sir. I used to work under you. I got you coffee and donuts.
Oh yes, I remember.
In truth, Jet did not.
Why did you open fire without warning? What the hell were you thinking?! Spike staggered away from the monkey bars at the group of officers. He was still very much in a sour mood.
We- we responded to a call... Walker trailed off. Spike's appearance and manner made his gun feel too far away when it was not in his hands. And we identified the woman you were fighting-
You what?! Jet said.
She- she was wanted, you see, there was a bounty on her head. She had taken part in a coup against a police station. The security cameras caught her in the act of murdering low ranking ISSP officers. We could see and identify her with infrared, and we thought you were with her or something...
How much is the bounty on her?
Two million woolongs.
Damn it.
Had they caught her, the BeBop crew would have received not only the two million but the two hundred million as well. It was only dumb luck that had struck against them.
Spike approached the fallen women with caution. Police cars had swarmed the playground, and from the lights he could see again what Sentinel looked like:
Plain. The kind of girl who was somewhat attractive, yet simple looking enough to blend into a crowd. Brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. She was clearly made to be a part of the background, and never the point of suspicion or center of attention. It was the ideal natural disguise: to not be noticed at all.
He kicked the stylized knives away from her hands. She did not react. He knelt down quickly beside her and now the light from the cars was so bright he could count the bleeding holes in her body.
Five.
Spike's two hundred million sprouted wings in the wake of death and flew tauntingly away from his grasp.
Sentinel coughed. Spike's drowning hopes brightened.
Hey! Don't die. Just hang on, he told her. He put each hand on a separate wound and called to the police officers. Hey! She's still alive! Call a doctor and get him here right away!
Jet stood over him and observed the situation. He shook his head at the officers.
Hey! She needs a doctor! Are you listening?
Jet said. She's gone. You can take your hands off her.
Spike didn't move until he felt her die. Then he stood wearily, like an ancient warrior at the end of his closing battle, looking down at the fallen enemy that he had not had the honor of defeating.
Faye broke the silence.
Well, you guys can at least get a doctor for the rest of us who are alive!
Her forearm was bleeding but she was standing and stamping her foot impatiently. Out of all the people demanding medical assistance, she was the least needy of it.
A clean up crew had arrived to remove the body and an ambulance had arrived to tend the wounded. In spite of his injuries, Spike refused to be taken to a hospital. Faye, on the other hand, welcomed the attention and used the opportunity to boss and flirt with her medical attendants.
Take me to the best hospital around. I want the best doctor possible, and he better be as good looking as you.
Spike was relieved when they finally took her away.
A small crowd of residents had gathered to watch the late night commotion. Spike sat on the swings and Jet stood nearby. No one had the nerve to approach him, yet some children dared each other on how close they would get to the strange men who fought in the middle of the night, much to the rage of their mothers.
Spike found it easy to ignore the children. He hated children. Especially since he'd missed his chance to have any with her.
The response was far from enthusiastic.
What, Jet?
Why did you do it? Why'd you go after her when we were already doing pretty well from that hacker we caught a few weeks ago?
Spike's voice raised to a pitch that startled Jet.
Because I like eating meat and I like having fuel in my ship! I hate it when we run out of resources and we always do! We're never living the good life we keep dreaming about! Ever! We're always scrambling around for a living like rats! Filthy, shit-for-brains rats! I'm sick of it!
I'm sick of it. he repeated, quieter. Do you know why I didn't want to go to a hospital?
A fear of white coats?
We're poor, Jet, Spike said. Tonight, I had either the choice of going to a hospital or eating tomorrow. It's just sad that I have to make that choice.
I thought, he fumbled for words. I thought I could have a future, even if I didn't have a past. I thought I could live after death. I thought I could have something for once in my life.
He fell sullen and sunk his head lower into the blankets around him that the medics had given him when they'd removed the remainder of his torn shirt and jacket to treat his wounds.
But I guess that was too much to ask for.
No past, no hope for a future, and blind, pathetic present that can't see beyond itself; I'm a dead man walking, Spike thought.
Jet turned away from his partner and left to make any final arrangements with the ISSP officers. Spike sat, swinging slightly, to a song that he had hardly recognized as real and not in his head.
A rubbernecking boy, disappointed and bored that he had missed all the action, had taken to poking at the sandbox with a stick and singing:
Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.
Spike lifted his head, looking up to the waning stars his right eye could see, and saw Julia with his left eye. Which one did one believe? The eye from his past, or this new, strange thing that clearly showed him his aching present in all its futile glory?
Life is but a dream.
That which simply was and bore no emotional or sentimental attachment to or from Spike faded to a dull sunrise and existence continued to exist, offering no feeling or sensations to the man who sat under blankets in a child's cold play area.
It sure is, he said, and settled carefully against the chains and fell asleep.
SEE YOU DREAMING SPACE COWBOY