Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop does not belong to me. But... my birthday is in a few months... hear that, Sunrise?
Chapter 2
Why can't you, please understandWhat kind of man I've got to be
You're saying, I'm such a fool hiding my thoughts
Away from you girl I know it's driving you wild
I'm sorry I'm a Cool Kat baby
From the album No Disc, "You Make Me Cool"
The night was a cold one. The figures gathered in front of the old, abandoned building stayed clustered together under the lamplight, their eyes sharpened and focused on everything around them. Despite their closeness, each person was wary and suspicious of the other, and regardless of their numbness, there were fingers just itching to draw out their weapons at the slightest sign of trouble.
That was just how things worked in the underworld… these days especially.
Still, no one dared make a move. Drawing attention to oneself and initiating a confrontation would not be the smartest move to make at the moment, certainly not now with all that was at stake. For now, everyone merely kept their mouths shut and their eyes open – at least until their absent host decided to make his appearance.
They didn't have to wait long, however. Suddenly, like a silent wraith appearing out of the shadows, he was there. A few of the men took a step back in alarm, taking in the sight. Before them stood a man swathed in a large black trench coat that seemed to swallow his whole frame. Despite this, he was still an imposing figure, his large frame and harsh features were hardened more so by dim light of the Cuban cigar hanging from his cruel lips.
Despite their surprise at his sudden appearance, must of those in attendance did well to maintain their cool. Most of them seasoned, harsh ex-Syndicate thugs as they were, knew better than to reveal any insecurities – especially around a guy like this. He was, after all, not someone you wanted to let your guard down around.
The guy was, well, a frickin' legend.
"Everybody made it here… good." His voice was cold and harsh, presumably from all his years of smoking. If not for the advances in technology, he most likely would have contracted some form of cancer. "Those of you who got your doubts, I guarantee your participation in this endeavor is definitely worth the while."
Some of the men grunted their acquiescence while others shifted uneasily. There were those who knew what this guy was about and those who didn't.
One man, a punk in his early 20s emerged from the group with a cocky smirk on his face. "The Syndicate's already capoot… what's the point of callin' us out here on a creepy night like this?
There was no response. He gave the older man before him a once over. Despite his overbearing appearance, under normal circumstances he would have been viewed as just a common thug. What was it that made him different from all the others?
"Well? Instead of having us all freeze our asses off out here," he replied. "How's about you tell us the purpose of this little get-together?"
There were a few murmurs of agreement from the younger crowd.
"Punks these days…" The man in the black trench coat held out his cigar, shaking away the loose embers from the end. "There're only few things that'll actually motivate these little shits nowadays… money, sex, and food…?" He paused, looking thoughtful. "Then again, I guess that hasn't changed in all these years." He glanced back at the group. "You do what I tell ya and I guarantee you'll get co-paid."
A few of the youngsters grunted their approval. The man smirked; promise'em a few bucks and they're like lambs to a slaughter…
The first youngster to speak up, however, was still not satisfied. "You still didn't answer my question, old man." He replied. "What the hell've you got planned?"
Pale green eyes gleamed back at him through the darkness. "You don't need to worry yourself about that, kid." He replied. "Just follow my orders and do as you're told."
"Yeah right," he sneered, ignoring the looks from the oldsters behind him. What did they know anyway? After all, they'd followed after the last boss like he was the frickin' Messiah and look where it had gotten them? A couple of months in the pen and a spot at the back of the unemployment line; well not this time – he wasn't about to follow some old geezer half-cocked without some clue as to what he was getting himself into ahead of time. Now use getting fried for something you could have avoided.
"You said I'm old," came the man's voice, strangely quiet now. "Didn't anybody teach you to respect your elders, boy?"
He only laughed. "You kidding me?" Spitting at the ground, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a long switchblade. "I ain't no boy, old man –"
"No…?" He shook a few more ashes from his cigar. "I can still smell the milk on your breath, ya little pisser."
The young man snorted. "Oh yeah? You're probably so old your senior citizen discount's probably expired!" He swiped the blade through the air, grinning as the lamplight flicked off of it dangerously. "I can take you on any day, ya old geezer. In fact, maybe I should be the one running this show."
The others merely looked on, watching to see what would happen. By the looks on some of their faces, it seemed as though some of them already knew.
The man in the trench coat merely laughed, his teeth flashing white. "Cute." Tossing the cigar to the ground, he, too, then reached into his trench coat.
No one was really able to determine what happened after that, but it seemed that with in quick flash, the young punk let out a blood-curdling scream and dropped to the ground with a thud. Crossing the distance between them in a few short steps, the man in the trench coat stopped before his prone body, giving it a good kick to ensure that he was in fact dead before turning back to the others.
"No wonder the Syndicate fell under," he murmured, tossing his cigar stub and lighting another. "These young punks come in thinkin' they know everything – don't know their place in the system."
A few of the older men grunted in agreement while some of the younger ones remained silent and uneasy, fearing they would share their peer's fate if they stepped out of line.
"Well," he turned from the group, gesturing to the empty building in front of them. Entering the interior, he 'tsk'ed thoughtfully; Thanatos certainly had let the place fall apart when he moved operations to Europa. Then again, he might not have known about this particular building at all – it had been 'decommissioned', so to speak, long before the coup on the Van. In the end, it was just as well; Thanatos was out of the picture, which left him here to pick up the pieces.
The Syndicate would be restored and brought back to its original glory.
He found himself smirking at the thought; it was ironic that after nearly 30 years, the Syndicate would fall into his control. However, that was not the important matter – finally, after all his years of planning, Joe McClane would get his revenge.
His green eyes gleamed manically. They said that youth was wasted on the young, but to him, life had never seemed sweeter.
In the meantime, it was time to get to work.
Bang! Bang! Bang!- -Ka-ching! Ka-ching!-
The TV screen lit up with the flashing lights and sounds synonymous with the opening sequence of the show Big Shots for bounty hunters. As the show's rodeo-like theme song played in the background, the hosts Punch and Judy popped looking as ostentatious as ever before.
"'Owdy, pardners!" Punch crowed in his fake Midwestern American accent. He waggled his eyebrows and elbows seemingly in-synch as he straightened the lapels of his vest. "Ahm Punch!"
His blond co-host stood beside him, bouncing happily. "Howdy there, Cowpokes!" she chirped. "I'mmmm Judy!"
"And this here's Big Shots! The show for all you Bounty Hunters out there!"
"Hi, y'all!" The screen changed to Judy standing to the left of a message board posted with numerous mug shots. She regarded them all in awe. "Why gollee… it sure looks like you Cowboys have been busy!" she exclaimed. "Look at all the bounties you've turned in!"
A cardboard sign dropped down reading, 'Sugoi/Wow!'
The blond turned to another board on her right filled with more mug shots. "But keep in mind, there's plenty more were that came from!"
"Yessiree, Judy," Punch agreed. "Keep up the bueno work, Amigos!"
Jet paused, comparing his computer with the mug shots on the screen. "Hey, Spike," he called out.
"Yo," came the response behind this month's edition of the Guns 'R' Us catalog.
"Take a look at this." Mismatched brown eyes wandered towards the plasma screen a few feet away. "You recognize any of these guys?"
There was a long pause. "Should I?"
There was something off about his tone, but Jet ignored it. "'Cording to my comp, a lot of these guys were tied in with the Syndicate."
Spike lowered his magazine, but his face showed no signs of a reaction. "So?"
The ex-cop frowned. "Whaddya mean 'so'?" he exclaimed. "This is the second week Syndicate thugs have been showing up on the YMCA's roster. That doesn't seem a bit weird to you?"
Spike merely shrugged, his gaze going to that of a pinup girl holding an AK-47.
Sighing, Jet ran a hand over his bald head. The lanky bounty hunter's lackadaisical attitude could only be accredited to one thing… He gave the younger man a pointed look. "All right…" he groaned. "What'd you do this time?"
Reclining on his yellow couch, Spike blinked before turning over on his side away from Jet. "Damn it, Jet," he groaned. "Please don't start with that mother hen shit again…"
Jet merely grunted. Spike and Faye, Faye and Spike… Ever since the two of them had 'hooked up', it was easy to tell when they had gotten into an argument and who was at fault… not that you'd have to be deaf not to… In a way, it was kind of predictable.
Maybe it had to do with planetary shifts or something; who knew?
Getting back on track, nine times out of ten it was usually Spike's fault – no questions asked. Jet wasn't sure if it was just his stubbornness or just his inability to take a hint – the man had yet to learn no matter what the woman says it is never okay to say what's on your mind.
However, watching him go through the school of Hard Knocks with the Untouchable Shrew herself could be amusing from time to time. She certainly did put him through his paces – Poker Alice usually had him wrapped so tightly around her little finger that no matter who was in the wrong, Spike was usually the first to apologize.
It was the making up part Jet had grievances with however; he was still pissed about that one incident during the whole Thanatos thing… on the cabin floor? Come on now, really…
All in all, the whole lot of them was his family – in a twisted, Twilight Zone, alternate reality sort of way. He'd allowed them all to come aboard his ship and he felt it was his responsibility to look after them (they seemingly lacked either the ability, or the common sense, or both, to do so on their own). If there was some sort of problem amongst them, it was almost Jet's obligation to see that it was fixed.
If Spike thought he was being a mother hen, well… he could just shove it.
Said bounty hunter was still busy grumbling under his breath about something. Jet strained to hear, catching snippets like, "Damned temperamental woman," and "What is it, PMS or something?"
The ex-cop glanced around warily, glad that Faye was nowhere in sight. Another rule of thumb – a lesson he had learned quickly – you never make light of women and their hormones. Ever. He looked back over at Spike, who was sitting up now looking sulky as ever. He smirked; if anyone were really in a testy mood, it was he. The man had been on edge ever since he brought up the subject of his mother.
Calling Dr. Freud?
"You know how she gets," he finally offered, not entirely sure if they were on the same page or not.
"What's the big frickin' deal anyway?" Spike exclaimed. "The past shouldn't matter."
Ah, so he had been right after all. Score one for the Black Dog.
Jet gave him a level gaze. "That," he replied calmly. "Is a load of bullshit." Spike gawked at him before muttering something unintelligible under his breath. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, you should just say so." He paused. "If anybody understands that the past is difficult to talk about, it's Faye."
Blinking, Spike looked over at the unreadable expression on his partner's face. He frowned slightly at the small pang of jealously that hit him as he remembered the closeness that existed between his fellow crewmates after his 'death'. He knew it was strictly platonic, but it still bothered sometimes him to realize that Jet knew a great deal more about Faye than he did. He had, after all, gotten a 3-year head start.
"Spike, I know nothing about you!"
"Despite all the things you used to say about me, I can't settle with being with a complete stranger."
Her words had hurt, even though he'd never admit it out loud. Why should it matter whether or not she knew his whole life story – none of it mattered, right? She knew he loved her; that was what counted… wasn't it?
"Hey, Spike," Jet's gruff voice roused him out of his thoughts. "Take a look at this."
"What is it?" he grunted as he sat up, not really interested in what Jet was about to show him. If it was a site for a relationship counselor… he paused. On second thought, that wasn't such a bad idea – it certainly would piss her off long enough to have her talking to him again. He glanced at the computer screen, the stats to a bounty glaring back at him.
"We've got a big fish out there for all you Compadres willing to take the challenge," Punch announced, holding plastic guns with little flags reading 'Bang, Bang' sticking out of the ends.
"Really?" Judy cooed. "Even bigger than that last one a while back?"
"Nah, not as big as that Ragnarok guy – he was leader of the now deposed Red Mafia – but I guarantee it's worth the while." Punch reached behind him, pulling out a small sign. "This one's worth 65 million!"
"65 million? Wow-ee, Punch! That sure is a whole lot of woolongs!" Another sign popped up from below reading 'Ganbare!'.
By this point, the entire Bebop crew had settled themselves around the room, their focus solely on the TV.
"Who is this guy?" Faye asked, her nail file in hand. Spike noted that she refused to look at him.
Humph, PMS indeed.
Jet merely turned up the volume as Punch went on to describe the bounty. Kids these days…
"This guy's name is Joe McClane—"
"McClane?" Faye echoed. "The hell…?" Jet shushed her.
"…He's wanted for robbery, kidnapping, conspiracy to murder, and over 250 individual counts of murder in the 2nd degree—"
"Damn." Edward murmured, though no one bothered to reprimand her – it was far too late for that anyway.
"Hey, Punch, it says here that he was also known for a lot of his Syndicate dealings," Judy replied, reading from a piece of paper in her hand.
Punch nodded a matter-of-factly. "That's right, Judy," he explained. "This guy had his hand in just about everything from smuggling to drug-trafficking – matter of fact, that's what got him into trouble."
"Oh?"
"You got it! Word has it he was an informant for a rival syndicate group. When the Dragons found out what he'd done, rumor is he was subjected to experiments grafting these weird metal devices to his hands." The show-host waved his hands around for effect. "I dunno what they were for, but that's why people then started calling him 'Iron Hands' McClane."
"How terrible!"
"How lame," Faye groaned. "How is it people are scared of this guy?" She paused, studying the screen. "If you ask me he looks kinda old."
Jet merely laughed. "Can you blame'em? They gotta keep the ratings up somehow." Faye soon joined him in his laughter.
Spike, however, had gotten very still. 'Why does that name sound familiar…?'
As the two bumbling hosts gave continued to rant on about the bounty's supposed exploits, Faye gave an unladylike snort. "They're making him out to be more of a Boogeyman than a bounty."
Jet shut off the television, still chuckling slightly. "Well, I don't care if he's the friggin' Easter Bunny," he replied. "He's still worth 65 million woolongs."
Intrigued, Spike looked up at him, the usual glint back in his eye. "We goin' after'im?"
"Hells yeah we are," the ex-cop barked. "Ed, see what you can dig up on this guy."
"Aye-aye, Cap'n Jet-papa!" she exclaimed, hopping to her feet. "Bebop ahoy!"
End Chapter 2