"Ready to give up yet?"

I smirked. I may be outnumbered five to one, but there was no way I was going to give up the unconscious bounty head at my feet. I kept the Jericho in my hand but didn't point it at anyone. The fools were all almost within arms reach.

"Why should I give up? The five of you aren't enough to make me ready to give up fifty mil. Unless you have the cash on you?"

One of the thugs stepped forward, his pistol extended. I smiled.

He never saw my foot as it slammed into the side of his head. He flew sideways into one of his pals, and I ducked low, sweeping the feet out from under a third thug.

Then all Hell broke loose.

I was about to take out number four when the stuttering of an H&K MP5 broke out. I heard the bullets striking the pavement behind me and I barely dove out of the way in time, my feet sliding on the slick concrete. I glanced back just to be sure that the bounty head hadn't been holed. Good, he was still in one piece.

The Jericho was barking now, firing back at where the automatic fire was coming from. The bullets started to track up, and I ducked for cover, but stopped when they continued tracking up into the sky. But now I had a new problem.

Remember those guys I knocked over at the start of this? They were back on their feet and pissed.

And twice my size.

And out of my reach.

Shit.

Now it was a quick draw contest.

I took the first one out with a shot in the forehead, but the slide locked back after I pulled the trigger. I tried to duck out of the way and reload at the same time, but I knew that it wasn't going to happen and shut my eyes.

I heard the gunshot, prepared for the pain of the wound, and wondered where I'd end up when I opened my eyes again.

It was a few seconds before I realized that I also heard the sound of a body falling.

Funny, I don't remember falling over. I opened my eyes and saw the second gunman on the ground, a tall, broadly build man standing behind him, a Walther P99 in his hands.

I looked at him, the balding head, the beard, the spacer's suit and armored boots. He had a bionic arm and some sort of patch under one of his eyes. I recognized his type immediately. Another cowboy.

"So, what's your story?" I asked. "You want him too?"

"Actually," he said in a gruff voice. "I was just passing by and thought I'd lend a hand. I recognized those thugs and knew that they weren't stopping a mugging."

I nodded. "Well, thanks for your help, I'll see you later."

The man looked at me. "That's it?"

I turned back around. "What do you want, a ticker tape parade?"

"Let me tell you a story," he said, pocketing the pistol. "There once was a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths and was reborn a million times and was owned by various people who he didn't care for. The cat wasn't afraid to die. One day, the cat was a free, a stray cat. He met a white female cat, and the two cats spent their days happily together. Years passed, and the white cat died of old age. The tiger-striped cat cried a million times, and then died. It never came back to life."

I looked at him. "I hate cats," I said simply.

He shook his head. "Don't you get the point of the story?"

"I don't need to. I am the tiger striped cat, and I've died a couple of times already."

He cocked an eyebrow at me, looking at my threadbare clothes. "I believe you." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "What I'm trying to say, if you'd care to listen, is that I wouldn't mind taking on a partner. Seeing your moves, I think we'd be good together."

I looked at him. "I had a partner once," I said.

"And?"

"Like I said, once. I don't talk about my past, for good reasons." I slung the bounty head over my shoulder. "So thanks for your help, and thanks for the story."

He smiled. "So how are you going to get him to the ISSP?"

I stopped short. "What do you mean?"

"Well, from your looks, I'd say you have a small one man ship, right?"

"Yeah, and old Swordfish racer."

"So how you going to fit him in there as well?"

I stared at nothing.

"Shit."

He smiled at me. "Come on, I'll give you a lift, if you'll consider my offer."

I shook my head. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Neither do I."

He led me to a large converted fishing boat. It had the word Bebop painted across its hull.

"That hunk of junk still floats?"

"That hunk of junk is my home, buster." He crossed his arms and I was aware that he could probably snap me in half with that bionic replacement.

"So, you got room on there for my Swordfish?"

"Probably. You staying long?"

I smiled. "As long as there's woolongs coming in."

He smiled back. "Good to have you aboard. Jet Black."

"Spike."