"Nicotine" is a joint publication of cowgirlnoir and bebop-aria. Each chapter is a collaboration, beginning with an outline and a specific song. Check either cowgirlnoir or bebop-aria's profile pages for information on how to hear the songs that inspired each entry.
II. Just a Girl
The interminable stillness made Faye want to scream. She had nothing to do: no fingernails left to cut, no magazines left to read. She couldn't take another bath or sit through another algae mask. As she sulked on the stairs, she wondered what they were going to do if nothing turned up. They hadn't seen so much as a hint of a lead in a week. Spike lolled on the couch and Jet stared at the powered-off vidscreen with a faraway look.
Suddenly, Ed's computer emitted a startling string of beep, buzzes, and clicks. Ed waved her arms over her head and rocked back and forth, goggles glowing. She chortled unintelligibly as windows began to pop up from among the sea creatures on her screen. Ein trotted over immediately, cocking his head. Everyone else stared dumbly for a few beats.
"What is it, Ed?" Faye asked. She got up and walked over to the glowing screen and the little red-headed creature who controlled it. Strange though the girl was, she had three things going for her in Faye's eyes: she was female, she diverted attention, and she was even newer on the ship. Plus, she could get information off the Tomato much faster than Jet could shake down his weird menagerie of informants.
"Bounties! Booty! Bubbles!" Ed crowed. The windows on the screen listed mug shots and bounty values. Spike and Jet came over and stuck their noses into the circle around the information.
After a few seconds, Spike made a derisive noise and sat back down on the couch. Jet nodded, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle of his craggy face. Faye looked back and forth at them, puzzled.
"Small fries, all of them," Jet muttered.
Faye shrugged. "A bounty's a bounty, right?"
Spike snorted from the couch. "Enough to live on for a week, if you didn't keep losing your share."
"Enough to live on for a month if the both of you could keep from destroying public property," Jet growled. Spike rolled his shoulders amicably and put his feet up.
"We're going to have to split up and go after all of them," Jet went on, reading the descriptions. "Spike, think you can handle a couple of car thieves?"
"I won't promise you that the cars will make it."
"The damages will come out of your share if they don't. Get over here and take a look."
With an exaggerated sigh, Spike drew himself up again. Faye watched him out of the corner of her eye. She fought the urge to stick a foot out as he strolled past her, hands in his pockets. The consequences would be swift and ugly but it would be beautiful for a moment.
Jet moved aside to give Spike room. "Faye, there's a small-time bank robber in here. Says he's also a Syndicate accountant. Sounds about your speed. Baker Panchorero. Eight hundred thousand."
She frowned. "An accountant? Isn't there somebody more challenging to go after?"
"Prove you can bring the right bounty in, and you can start picking your own targets. Should I print out a picture for you?" Jet asked with wide- eyed nonchalance.
Faye curled her lip at him in reply.
"Might be a good idea," Spike chimed in sunnily. "After all, it's easy to make a mistake."
Asshole. "I think I can remember that mug," she said, her voice rising a little. "We didn't have a picture with Decker, you know. Only that damn tattoo description."
Spike chuckled. "Try not to shoot him. Or anyone else, for that matter. It would probably be safer for everyone if you left your gun behind. And if you make nice, he could help you consolidate your debt."
She rolled her eyes. "You guys are so obnoxious. Like you're any better."
"My debts are consolidated to nothing," Spike drawled, but his smirk faded when Jet shot him a glare.
Faye landed the Red Tail at the far end of the grocery store parking lot, using its camera to examine the fourth floor of the apartment building where Ed said Panchorero was holed up. Faye had waited until she was in the air to call Ed back. She played the "I got you on board" card to wheedle more research out of the hacker.
Faye checked her Glock and tucked the extra ammo cartridge in her jacket before locking up the ship. Screw Spike: accountant or no, she wasn't going in unarmed. Even if Panchorero was just an accountant, he looked big, and he was an accountant for the mob. You could never be too careful. If the police were willing to put up a bounty on him, he was worth more than eight hundred thousand, with proper negotiation. He probably had information. Maybe she could extort a little something from him for the promise of freedom before she turned him in anyway.
Her comm. buzzed as she reached the sidewalk. "Faye. See a blue Corsair in your neighborhood?"
She raised the comm. and glared at Spike's face on the screen. "No." Like I'm going to help you, she thought, surprised at her own vehemence.
"Come on. You didn't even look." A cigarette appeared in the viewscreen, and then his lighter flamed.
"You catch your bounty, I'll catch mine," she said sweetly. "I've checked the parking lot and the street. No blue cars."
He cocked an eyebrow and disconnected. Faye pocketed the comm. again and looked both ways before stepping out into the street, heading for the apartment building. Shabby curtains billowed in the breeze from Panchorero's open window. Two teenaged boys sat on the front steps. She approached them with a hip-sway and a dangerous smile.
"You guys live here?"
The dark-haired one squinted up at her in the afternoon sun. "No. Waiting for a friend."
Faye nodded and leaned forward a little, sticking out her chest. "I'm supposed to meet somebody too. A guy named Baker. Big guy with a beard. But I don't know if I'm at the right building."
The blond boy made eye contact with her breasts and told them, "I think he lives on Mickey's floor."
"Great," she chirped, beaming at him. "I guess I'll wait here with you." They moved over to accommodate her, sharing a glance.
Suddenly, the door to the building opened behind them. Faye spotted someone broad and hairy out of the corner of her eye. Shit. Shit. Double Shit.
She hopped up and called after the already-retreating form of her mark. "Mr. Panchorero? Mr. Panchorero?"
He barely looked over his shoulder at her, then scowled and kept walking, heading west on the sidewalk. Faye hurried after him.
"Mr. Panchorero, I have information for you," she called out desperately, willing him to stop. Five seconds in, and her planned courier-service diversion was already shot. The broad back didn't slow down, but disappeared around the corner of the building into the alleyway.
Faye rounded the corner herself, heels clicking on the concrete. She blinked in the sudden shade. A click her boots didn't make echoed off to one side. When she turned, she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. A big gun. Held by a big guy. Panchorero was at least two inches taller than the 6'1" his jacket listed. And he was every bit as ugly: a large brown scar ran over the place where his left eye used to be and there were numerous other scars etched into his grimacing face.
"Who sent you, girlie?" he spat at her.
She raised her hands and let out a nervous giggle. "Mr. Panchorero, please. I'm only here to relay some information to you. From the higher- ups." She smiled smoothly and winked.
He cocked the weapon and she tried not to flinch. "Bullshit. I saw your piece in the back of those little shorts when I came out the building. Did they think a nice ass would make me let down my guard?" He addressed the entire threat to her ass.
Faye bit her lip. "I don't understand. Really. I was just supposed to –" she floundered for a good piece of fake information. She cursed herself for letting the lie out without thinking of a backup story. She knew she was taking too long. Shit.
"Save it, cutie," he growled. Before she could react, he shoved her forward and grabbed both of her wrists behind her back. Faye ground her heel into his ankle. He shouted in pain. She tried to twist free but couldn't; he threw her to the ground with astonishing force. She lay there, stunned and breathless, then heard him kick something. Through a screen of purple hair she saw the Glock sail off and stop about five feet away. I'm fucked, she thought. The gun had fallen out of her shorts, or maybe Panchorero had snagged it, when she fell.
She felt a boot in her back and a gun against the back of her head. "So who sent you, doll. Make it quick."
She stammered. "I don't know their names. Two guys in a bar said I could find you here. I'm not even from Mars. They paid me in advance to tell you someone was trying to fix the dog races for tonight."
"No dogs around here," he said. "Another lie and you're dead." His breath was hot in her ear. "Where'd you meet them?"
She bit her lip and said nothing. He was way too high-strung; something here was wrong. Maybe he wasn't really working for the Syndicate. Maybe he'd tried to get out. While she listened to him breathe and tried to keep the black from creeping into her vision, her comm. buzzed again. Panchorero kept the gun on her with one steady hand and reached into her jacket with the other, copping a generous feel in the process of finding the phone. She snarled and twisted away from him.
Spike's voice echoed in the alleyway. "Hey, Faye, I'm striking out here. I'm going uptown to see if I can get any other leads. Find your head yet?"
Panchorero jammed his boot a little harder into her back. "So you're a bounty hunter. That's a new one. Since when does the Syndicate hire freelancers?"
After a few seconds of silence, Spike said mildly, "You must be Baker Panchorero."
The big lug stiffened. "You must be ready to lose your girlfriend," he barked. Faye squirmed as hard as she could, getting him momentarily off- balance, and he dropped the comm. to apply both of his hands to the task of holding her down again. Spike didn't say anything more, and Faye's heart sank, pounding, when she realized he'd probably been cut off.
Spike stood staring at the comm. screen for a few seconds, listening to the wordless scuffle that followed the disarray of images. The camera finally settled on overcast sky, with the alley-side wall of some kind of apartment building visible along one edge. He pulled out another cigarette and weighed his options.
Faye was in trouble. Again. The guy didn't sound like an accountant on the comm., but then, if he was Syndicate and not ethnic family, he'd probably been hired for more than one purpose. Much as Spike wanted to walk away from the whole mess, the threat to her life had sounded at least moderately serious. This head was used to killing. And without a catch of his own, any bounty was a bounty worth taking down.
He muttered under his breath before putting the sky camera on hold and calling the Bebop. Ed answered with a grin and one of her unintelligible sounds. Spike resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The kid gave him a headache.
"Ed, can you use Faye's comm. signal to locate her?"
"Mmyah!" Ed replied. Spike took it for a yes.
"And can you send me a grid of my location and hers?"
"Mmyah!" she said again, more emphatically, but just blinked at the camera.
"Now?" He groaned inwardly and tried to keep the panic out of his voice. Now that he'd decided to go after them, he really didn't want to find a dead Faye and no bounty.
"Yes, sir!" Ed barked, and his screen went blank for a moment before displaying a city map with two blinking dots. She was close. Very close. He looked up at the street signs and identified the blue dot as himself. Another few seconds gave him his bearings, and he broke into a run down the sidewalk with a block and a half to cover between the two points. He switched the comm. back to the open channel with Faye's. It was the first time he could remember being glad to hear her voice.
She seemed to be bargaining. "...let me go and I'll just go back and say I couldn't find you."
"What about your boyfriend?" came the gravelly reply.
"Him? He won't come after me," Faye said, her voice lower. "We don't have that kind of a relationship."
Spike frowned as he pounded past a couple of teenaged boys sitting on the front stair of the apartment building. They watched him with vague curiosity. He drew abreast of the corner leading into the alleyway and slowed, switching off the comm. and listening closely.
"...who sent you to find me!" Panchorero was saying.
"No one, I swear. I'm a bounty hunter. Really. Please let me go." From the sound of her voice, Faye didn't even have the good sense to be scared. She still thought she was going to talk her way out of this. Spike felt a twinge of guilt for joking that she should leave her gun behind. She'd obviously listened. He darted a look around the corner. Panchorero had Faye on her belly on the ground, with one knee on her back and both arms wrenched up behind her. He faced the dead end of the alleyway. Spike walked slowly forward, stooping to pick up the Glock on the pavement about five feet away from the pair. Amateur. She brought it and she lost it. Time to clean up.
"Is there a problem here?" he asked. His voice echoed off of the high walls.
Faye heard the voice, but she didn't believe it. She craned her neck as best she could and saw Spike's lanky frame advancing. Panchorero dropped her arms and straightened up, keeping his boot planted between her shoulderblades. Spike brought a gun – her gun – up in his left hand, and as soon as Panchorero's eye was focused on the barrel, he brought his left foot around in a graceful sweeping kick that ended with the thud of shoe against skull. Panchorero grunted and toppled sideways. Faye wasted no time in wriggling out from under him. She made a desperate leap toward Spike.
The next few seconds seemed to spool out in high-res slow motion. Panchorero reached up from his slump and grabbed Faye's left wrist. She reached out with her right hand to Spike. Spike shot his left arm forward to meet her hand without looking at her, and Panchorero swung his other fist at Spike's temple, arcing toward it while Faye tried to muster a scream and Spike's attention shifted to her stumbling form.
The fist connected. Spike rocked, but did not fall. Faye had a moment to think he took a punch better than anyone she'd ever seen before he unleashed a flurry of jabs and kicks on the unsuspecting one-eyed accountant. As it turned out, Panchorero took a punch as well as Spike did. Faye felt small and ignored, standing to the side while they traded blows. Then she looked down and realized she held her weapon. Spike must have transferred it to her when he reached out.
Neither man seemed to have the advantage. Spike was faster, and could avoid most of Panchorero's attacks, but even his brutal kicks didn't seem to have much of an effect on the hirsute gangster. She watched in fascination for a few seconds before it dawned on her that Spike was fighting her bounty. Her spending money. Her chance to have the upper hand on the Bebop, for once. She felt her eye twitch and raised the Glock, trying to keep Panchorero in her sight.
"Hey!" she shouted, and both men darted looks her way before turning back to each other. "Put your hands up, Panchorero!"
Spike looked to her again, and then to her gun. She knew he was nervous she'd shoot the next thing that moved. Panchorero saw the opening and grabbed Spike in a wrestler's grapple, crushing his arms at his sides and hooking a foot around his knees to force them to bend. Spike struggled admirably, thrashing and wiggling like a caught fish. Panchorero followed Spike's evasive motions and forced him down to the ground, straddling him with his full weight. Spike's long body twisted first one way and then the other, but Panchorero's giant legs pinned his arms and his weight was too much to overcome – despite Spike managing a good two inches of clearance between his belly and the ground.
Panchorero gave Faye a dismissive look. "You're not going to shoot me or you won't get paid, cowgirl," he sneered, and delivered a punch to the back of Spike's head. Spike grunted and lay still.
"And you," Panchorero barked, turning his attention back to the man on the ground. "You really should have left her here. She's going to get you in trouble."
Spike wriggled and then arched his back, legs flailing in an attempt to land a kick. Panchorero grabbed Spike's raised ankle. "Not a chance. You're mine," he said.
When he reached for Spike's ankle, Faye dove forward, pulling her handcuffs out of her jacket pocket. She had one around his wrist before he knew what was happening. It was just big enough. He instinctively twisted the other way, reaching for her. She snapped his other wrist in the link and stepped back, aiming the Glock at him again.
"Get up," she ground out while her heart pounded in her throat and the adrenaline broke down in her muscles. "I'm taking you in."
Panchorero stood with a sneer, planting a knee in Spike's back to balance as he got up. As soon as the weight was gone, Spike curled up, muttered something unintelligible, and climbed to his feet. He stood still for a moment, dusty and crumpled. Then he shot a lightning right hook to Panchorero's face. The gangster went down like a landslide.
Faye tried to hide her grateful smile. "At least I got the right bounty this time," she said brightly.
Spike blinked and stared at her, working his jaw side to side. His eyebrows knit together in a dangerous black slash. He didn't seem able to come up with anything to say.
"I'll share, of course." Faye sensed trouble but sailed on. "You get two hundred when we turn him in."
Spike snorted once and then turned his back on her. He walked unevenly away.
The nefarious Syndicate accountant and bank robber Baker Panchorero had no idea what he was up against when Faye asked Radical Edward to watch him. He muttered something about women and children and Faye wished that smacking him weren't undignified. She tied him with as much rope as she could find to the metal ladder and left all fifty pounds of genius hacker in charge.
Faye needed Ed's help. Spike was avoiding her and Jet seemed preoccupied with something. When Faye brought Panchorero onto the Bebop and declared Ganymede as their destination, Jet had congratulated her and Spike on finding something alive and then gone off without asking about the damages. Faye and Spike had actually made eye contact for a moment in surprise before Spike shrugged and turned away, headed for the hangar where he'd been ever since.
After roping Panchorero, Faye wanted nothing as much as a bath, and so she had enlisted Ed to watch the captive. Faye soaked in the tub and thought about the past few hours. She wished she'd gotten a good punch in. She wished she didn't have to share the bounty. Most of all, she wished Spike hadn't seen her on the ground.
Meanwhile, Ed stood with her face a few inches from Panchorero, watching him. He growled. Ein came in and growled. Ed got bored and sat down to drink a soda on the floor. Then she played with Ein. Finally, she decided to climb the ladder to see where it went.
When she heard Ein's yelping below, Radical Edward hurried back to investigate. The vent cover fell to the floor as she dove forward. She landed head to head with the captive. Like a spider, she crawled down the side of his giant frame as he twisted and muttered. Then she somersaulted on the floor, backward and forward.
When he put his giant boot on her head, she switched to attack mode. Growling, she launched herself at him with her jaws wide. Ein cowered and whined. Edward latched on to his ear with her teeth. Her prisoner yowled in horror. Faye heard the ruckus and came running out in a towel with her Glock to see what the hell was happening.
She found Ed dangling from Panchorero's leg and Ein crouched in front of them. A form materialized from the shadows. Spike. Faye tried to ignore him. "Ed, why don't you stop biting," she said, "you don't know where those pants have been." Ed unclamped her jaws and dropped to the floor, sputtering.
"I'll watch him." Spike said quietly. Faye searched his face. Did he want more money?
He crossed his arms and added, "Until you get dressed. You look ridiculous in that towel. And don't bring your gun unless you're planning to hold on to it." Faye inhaled sharply and her eyes narrowed to malevolent green slits. Panchorero snickered until Spike pinned him with his glare.
Faye turned on her heel. Spike watched her stride away with her head high and a cocky swing to her hips beneath the little towel. There's no greater liability than an uppity woman out of her depth, he thought.
Panchorero interrupted his bitter inner monologue. "I see why you saved that ass," he said with an ingratiating leer.
Spike glowered . "I don't."