Quick note here: I'm going with Tomato being the name of Ed's computer as it is in the show. Also, I still can't decide exactly how to treat woolongs value wise, so I went roughly with the conversion rate of US dollars to Japanese Yen ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Session Four

The crew of the Bebop was assembled in the living room once more. Ed was singing to herself about octopi, as she typed madly on her keyboard. Leon was on the couch again, left ankle crossed over his right knee, a cup of flash noodles in hand. He shoveled noodles to his mouth faster than was polite. Faye sat beside him, curled into one corner of the couch, looking on with disdain. Leon ignored her. Jet sat across the table like before. They were discussing the logistics of getting him on the Bebop.

"You got any possessions we should retrieve?" Jet asked.

"Leon snorted and swallowed. "Nothing but a few clothes and some ammunition. I've been living out of my Shark. Everything that's important to me is in my pockets."

"Clothes and ammunition? We can cover you on those. The Bebop's a virtual arsenal and there's some old stuff of Spike's that ought to fit you," Jet said.

"Faye wrinkled her nose. "You've been living in a Shark? How can you stand it? The Bebop is crowded enough."

"Um, I'm a man of simple means?" Leon spread his hands, fork in one and noodle cup in the other.

"Also how can you stand those noodles?" Faye muttered.

"Because I'm hungry?" Leon said, taking another big bite. "C'mon Faye, what's the matter?" he mumbled around a mouthful of noodles. "You don't seem to like me much now that I'm joining the crew."

"Faye doesn't like anybody." Jet waved a hand dismissively.

"Hey, that's not true! I like some people. Just civilized people."

"Ed's not civilized?" Ed looked up from her computer screen.

"Of course you are, Ed," Faye said. "It's these lunkheads who aren't." She gestured at Leon and Jet.

"Lunkheads." Ed snickered as if at a private joke. Leon was pretty sure she was the only one in on it.

"Lunkhead or not, you'll have to get used to me, Faye. Looks like I'm a permanent fixture now." Leon smiled at her charmingly. But the effect was ruined by his bulging cheeks. Jet was struck yet again in just as many minutes how like Spike Leon was.

Leon swallowed and turned to Jet. "But, uh, much as I'm not attached to the Shark I would like to at least get a decent sum out of her. She's in good condition. I could sell her before we leave. I'd hate to just leave her swimming in the harbor without a pilot."

"No problem. Leave that to Ed. She can sell your Shark remotely and transfer the funds to you."

"What? That's possible?" Leon looked over at Ed.

"Of course it's possible, Leo! Tomato here makes anything possible." She patted the computer like she might pat Ein.

"Wait," Faye purred, perking up. "If you're part of the Bebop now, then that means all your funds are communal. So we get to split the profit from your Shark."

"No way! I bought that ship fair and square! If I sell her, I'm keeping the money."

"It's only a few thousand woolongs, Faye. Hardly enough to bat your eye at," Jet said. "Let the kid keep his money."

"Faye pouted. "A woman's got to try, right?"

Leon slurped his noodles.

"Ed found a buyer!" Ed crowed.

"Really?" Leon leaned over the arm of the couch to look at Ed's computer. "That fast." He raised his eyebrows. "Huh."

"He'll give you 100,000 woolongs for the Sharkey. Chomp chomp."

"Sure, that's more than what I probably would have gotten out of her. Thanks, Ed."

"No problem!" Ed said, striking the last key on her keyboard. "Sharkey sold and your chip gets rich." She grinned. "All thanks to Ed. Thank you, thank you." She threw one hand up in the air and bowed from where she sat on the floor, like she'd just put on a one-man show.

"Well, now that that's taken care of, we'd best get the Bebop off Mars for a while," Jet said. "And I think I've found the perfect bounty to do it. Pull 'er up, Ed."

"Yes, sir!" Ed saluted as they all gathered around her screen.

A few days later, the Bebop pulled out of Jupiter's Astral Gate and made her way to Ganymede while a heated discussion took place in the living room.

"Remind me again why we're sending an untried colt to play the part of a seasoned street thug?" Faye demanded.

"Untried colt? What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Leon glared at Faye.

Faye grinned smugly.

Jet sighed and put his head in his hand. He should have known Faye would argue with Spike's son just as much as she argued with Spike. In fact, after bringing the kid on board, that's about all she'd done. "Because he looks more like a drug addict than you, Faye."

"Hey!" Leon spluttered. "I do not look like a drug addict!"

"You will." Ed grinned.

Leon glared at her, but she was focused on her computer, reflective goggles over her eyes

"Faye, who's going to be more realistic - a nineteen year old kid or a forty year old woman with some obvious history?" Jet said, looking up from his hand.

"I am not that old!" Faye yelled.

"Technically - " Ed began.

"Shut up!" Faye rounded on Ed.

Ed giggled.

Leon raised an eyebrow, but no one bothered to explain.

"I'm just saying," Jet reigned in the conversation. "Thugs gravitate toward stereotypes just as much as anyone. Leon's young. Not only does he look less threatening, but they'll credit him with less experience, which means they'll have less of a guard up when dealing with him."

"The experience part isn't exactly untrue," Faye pointed out.

"And that's where we come in," Jet reminded her. "Leon's only going in for reconnaissance. This mission isn't a simple grab and bag, Faye. We're going to have to infiltrate Villanova's lower ranks before we get her."

"Why do I get all the boring jobs around here?" Faye sighed theatrically.

"I thought you'd enjoy transforming Leon into an addict," Jet said innocently.

Faye perked up. "Transform him, you say?" She tapped a finger against her lips, and tilted her head, studying Leon.

Leon narrowed his eyes. "Transform me?"

"Well, we are going after a drug dealer. And like you said, you don't exactly look like an addict. We've got to make it convincing and Faye's the best on the ship when it comes to make-up and disguises," Jet said.

Leon didn't like the leonine stare Faye was giving him.

"Ok," he said, feeling like he was agreeing to something he didn't fully understand. "Can we go over the target again?"

"Sure!" Ed chirped, turning Tomato so everyone could see the screen. The fact that Ed had an uncanny knack of listening to everything even when she didn't seem to be amazed Leon. A scowling face stared back up at the crew from the screen - a woman of indeterminate age with short black hair and sharp dark eyes. She wore a white t-shirt under a faded military coat, complete with the end of an assault rifle sticking over her shoulder from its harness on her back. Beside the picture was a short description and a list of her crimes.

Name: Miriatha Villanova. Age: unknown. Home planet: unknown. Military Status: believed to have served in the Titan War, all records beyond 2066 destroyed. Bounty: 200,000,000 woolongs. Current Charges: assault, murder, drug trafficking/manufacturing, weapons/arms trafficking, evading arrest, fraud, military desertion, impersonating government officials. Currently assumed to be based on Venus overseeing the creation of a new strain of Red Eye going by the street name Dragon's Eye.

"So we're not going after her directly, but some of her underlings?" Leon asked.

"Exactly." Jet nodded. "If we start at the bottom we've got to reach the top sometime. We can't get at her directly yet. We don't know where she is. ISSP believes she's on Venus, but there's no substantial proof."

"So then why are we on Ganymede?" Faye asked.

"Because the drug she's dealing has hit the streets here."

"Can't Ed just find her?" Faye sighed. "Then we wouldn't have to do all this running around."

"Ed looked. She doesn't exist," Ed pouted. "No Villanova in the web anywhere! Must mean she's a spider."

"A spider?" Faye frowned.

"Yeah, because she's spinning the web instead of getting caught in it, right Ed?" Leon asked.

"Precisely!" Ed clapped her hands.

Faye frowned. Despite only knowing Ed for a few days, Leon seemed to understand her eccentricities better than Faye or Jet.

"Which means hopefully we can become a fly and follow the spider's web back to the spider," Jet said.

"Doesn't the fly usually get eaten by the spider?" Faye pointed out dryly.

"Not this fly," Jet said.

Leon grinned.

"Hold still," Faye purred. She was obviously enjoying herself.

Leon sat on the couch with his head tipped back, staring up at Faye who sat across him, her knees on either side of his legs. She held a bottle of red dye in one hand and an eyedropper in the other.

"Do I really have to do this?" Leon grimaced.

"How convincing of an addict do you want to be?" Faye smiled.

"But dye, really?"

"Look, anyone who's been on Red Eye recently still has traces of red in the whites of their eyes. That's why they call it Red Eye. If you're supposed to be floating on a three-day stint like your story says, your eyes would be red as hell."

"Yeah, but how am I supposed to walk through town without getting arrested by the first person who looks at my face?"

"That's your prerogative, kid. Now open your eyes and hold still."

"Are we sure this is safe?"

"That's Ed's prerogative." Faye shrugged. "She says it's safe."

Leon gulped back a retort and focused on a spot on the ceiling. Faye put the dropper in the bottle of dye and sucked a generous amount into the small tube. Then, setting the bottle on the arm on the couch, she leaned over Leon and set her fingers above and below his right eye, forcing him not to blink.

"1, 2, 3," she counted and dropped a splash of the dye in his eye. Leon sucked in a breath as the cold liquid blurred his vision. Faye repeated the process with his left eye, then set the dropper down and held his head so he couldn't lift it.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure it takes. If you look up too quick, you'll just cry red dye and we'll have to do this all over again."

Leon growled.

"Don't take it so hard, sweetie," Faye said. "This'll only take a minute."

After fastidiously counting out a minute and holding him down for twenty extra seconds "just to make sure," Faye finally let Leon sit up. She left the couch and screwed the cap back on the bottle of red dye. Leon blinked several times, clearing his vision. His eyes itched, but he resisted the urge to rub them, knowing that would only make things worse.

"Ok, how do I look?" he asked Faye once his eyes stopped watering.

"Terrible," she giggled. "I did great. Here," she handed Leon a compact mirror from her make-up bag.

Leon snapped it open in his palm and looked at the result. His hair stuck up in more of a rat's nest than usual and his face appeared drawn and pale. Faye had applied thick shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. The fading scar from the bullet wound on his left cheek only added to the look. The whites of his eyes were stained crimson, like he hadn't slept in ages, or he'd just shot up with a truckload of Red Eye. In the dirty t-shirt and leather jacket Jet had procured for him, Leon felt as much like a drug addict as he looked.

"You're right," he said. "I look awful."

"Just don't forget you don't feel awful. Yet."

"What?"

"Red Eye enhances your senses. So your reflexes and your perception are high right now. But it dulls your reasoning. So your ability to think is pretty low. And your temper is out of control. The let-down doesn't happen for another several hours."

"Great," Leon muttered. "This stuff does wash out though, right?" he asked, examining his eyes in the mirror.

"Of course it does." Faye smiled.

Leon glared at her. "It better."

Just then Jet returned to the living room.

"You look terrible," he said. "If I was still ISSP, I'd bag you for sure."

"You were ISSP?" Leon asked, sensing a story.

"Long time ago." Jet waved his hand dismissively and didn't explain. "You look convincing, is what I was saying."

"Thanks, Jet." Leon grimaced. "Ok, let's get this over with. I'm going in to buy some Dragon's Eye, right?"

"That's the gist of it." Jet handed Leon a plastic card. "This should be enough to convince the sellers you're serious. Don't worry if they get ahold of the card. The woolongs on it are fake."

"They can't detect that, can they?"

"Nah, this is pure Edward on here." Jet tapped the card. "All we need from you is information about where the drugs come from and how to get more of them. Remember, you're not acting for yourself. You're part of a gang and your leader will do lucrative business if what they give you today is good. Make up whatever offer you think will get these guys to talk. We want all the information we can get."

"Right." Leon resisted the urge to swipe at his eyes.

"Try not to cry," Faye whispered in his ear.

"What?"

"Your eyes are watering. Try not to cry. You'll smudge the make-up."

Ed located the local Dragon's Eye dealer with a few keystrokes and showed Leon the place on a map of Ganymede. But he hadn't been allowed to take the map with him, so he was relying mostly on memory - that and the voices of Faye and Jet on his com. Set into his ear, the little piece of tech was nearly invisible to anyone not looking for it and whatever Faye had done with his hair guaranteed the earpiece was covered by a mess of brown curls. Although they couldn't see him, they could track him through the device and hear everything that was said within a few feet.

Jet had taken Leon out in the Hammerhead and dropped him off close to his destination so he didn't have to try to walk across town looking like a drug addict. Here in the slums though, he doubted anyone cared. He had his pistol tucked into a shoulder harness under his jacket, but he didn't want anyone to think he was armed, so he resisted the urge to reach under his left shoulder and touch the reassuring grip. He walked down the alley with his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself, something jaunty and out-of-tune.

It's coming up on your left, Jet's voice crackled in his ear.

Leon nearly jumped, but managed to quell the reaction at the last second. Then he realized it wouldn't matter if he was jumpy - he was supposed to be high as a kite right now anyway. "Thanks for that," he muttered.

The building he'd been sent to look for was a warehouse that had been converted into a bar. The front half of the building had been made to inhale lowlifes and bleed booze, but the back half still served as a warehouse for contraband and a meeting place for those involved in its transfer. Leon found the building without a hitch. Faded blue paint covered corrugated metal plating across the front. Two big windows fronted the street, but they were so grimy that he could only make out indistinct shadows inside. A few neon lights buzzed by the front door, looking about as drunk as the man propped against the front steps. A sign hanging over the door proclaimed the place to be the Lion's Den. Leon rolled his eyes - they could at least have tried with the name. He affected a swagger and sauntered into the bar.

Inside, the place was dimly lit by lanterns scattered across the tables, bar, and walls. A couple of industrial fans spun slowly in the ceiling, moving sluggish air throughout the room. A few pool tables hunkered on the left side of the room and a heavy wooden bar took up the right. Stools lined the bar and tables and chairs created a haphazard maze out of the rest of the room. Some of the chairs weren't even chairs, but battered shipping crates. There were perhaps ten or fifteen men in the room when Leon walked in, about a fourth of the room's full capacity, and they almost all went silent at his entrance. He gazed around the room through hooded eyes. The men stared right back. In the dim half-light, Leon knew he must look like one hell of a wreck. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, his motions all slow, precise. He breathed in and on the count of ten exhaled, wreathing his face in smoke. Most of the men went back to their own business. Talking resumed. Leon felt like a walking target as he slouched his way to the bar. He kept his head down and slid onto a stool.

The bartender finished wiping a glass with enough indolence to let Leon know he wasn't an honored guest, then sauntered over. Leon made sure his eyes were concealed under the fringe of his hair as he observed the bartender. He was slender, somewhere between thirty and fifty, with slick dark hair, a narrow face and a scattering of a beard clinging to his jaw. "What you want, kid?" he asked.

Leon made a gun out of the fingers of his right hand and pointed it at his eye. If the bartender was as much of a thug as Leon pegged him for, then he'd recognize the universal symbol for Red Eye.

The bartender's eyes widened, but he frowned. "Aren't you a little young for that?"

Leon looked up at the man then, letting him see the full effect of his eyes. He grinned. "Do I look too young for it now?" he asked, putting a bit of a growl in his voice.

The bartender shook his head. He rapped his knuckles against the back of the bar in an unconscious pattern. Leon chuckled softly. Faye's disguise was nothing if not convincing. If the man were dealing with a Red-Eye addict, then he'd think twice before trying to double-cross or fight him. If Leon really were on the drug, his reaction time would be extremely high and his ability to see a few milliseconds into the future would put the bartender at a disadvantage. No need to let the man know he wasn't functioning with unnatural reflexes.

"Who are you?" the bartender asked, nerves forcing his voice.

"No one you need to worry about," Leon answered smoothly, but he let his gaze stray to the glasses lining the shelves behind the bar. He picked one just over the bartender's head that allowed him a good reflection of the room behind him. He saw a man detach himself from one of the pool tables just as the bartender knocked his knuckles against the back of the bar again. "I'm just looking for a good deal," he kept his tone conversational as the man from the pool tables advanced. "I was told I could find one here. I'm to ask for Andross."

"There's no one here by that name," the bartender answered too quickly. Leon put his feet on the floor. He was only going to have one shot at this. The man from the pool tables was almost in range. Leon counted his steps as he came closer.

"Oh, that's a shame," he said, looking the bartender straight in the eye for a count of three. Then he jumped up from the stool, planted his feet, and spun, putting all his weight behind a solid right hook straight to the approaching man's jaw. Not prepared for the move, the man walked right into it, his own momentum working against him. The man went down in a daze, dropping the revolver he'd been about to draw. Leon lashed out with a foot, caught the revolver with the toe of his boot, and flung it up into his hand before it hit the ground. He turned back around and rapped the bartender across the hand with the revolver just as he was about to tap the bar with his knuckles again. "Because I am about to come down from a glorious high and I'd hate for it to have to end. Wouldn't you?" Leon pulled the hammer back with a satisfying click as he slid back onto the bar stool.

Are you sure you're just acting? Faye's voice came over his com. Leon ignored her.

The bartender's mouth hung open in surprise. Leon smiled lazily and flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. "So, are you serving or not?"

"Alright, alright." The bartender held up his hands. "No need to hurt anyone," he said. "You're in the right spot. Andross has what you want. In there." The bartender pointed at a faded red door in the back of the bar. It was half-concealed by a rack of pool cues and extra balls and marked with a crudely lettered sign that read Employees Only.

Don't let him fool you, Jet warned. There's probably a safeword to get "in there" without getting your head blown off.

"What's the password?" Leon asked.

"Password?" the bartender laughed nervously. "What password?"

"The one that keeps my head attached to my shoulders when I walk through that door," Leon snarled. Let the man think his patience was wearing thin.

"Right, password, of course." The bartender reached under the bar. Leon pointed the revolver at him, but he could see in the reflections on the glasses that the bartender wasn't going for anything as big as a gun.

The man gulped and came up with a small red scarf. He laid it on the bar. "Tie that around your right wrist and you're good to go."

"What good is this going to do me?" Leon picked up the scarf and waved it under the bartender's nose. The little piece of cloth was ragged along the edges, as if used frequently.

"It's a signal for what you're buying. Red for Red Eye, green for Crystal Shiver, yellow for Dandy...see?" The bartender briefly held up a stack of different colored scarves from under the bar.

"Clever," Leon smiled. "Now, tie it for me, why don't you, Charley?" he said.

"Charley?" the bartender asked, genuinely confused.

Charley? Two voices chorused in his ear.

"It's as good a name as any, isn't it?" Leon grinned, making a show of examining the revolver.

"Yes, of course," the bartender agreed. He picked up the scarf and tied it around Leon's right wrist.

"Thanks, Charley," Leon drawled. He hefted the revolver, nodded as if satisfied, and strolled to the red door. While there were several sets of curious eyes watching him, no one dared follow him. The fellow he'd decked lay on the floor like some sort of exotic rug. Leon took a deep breath. The red door had no identifying marks on it, no peep hole or window to look through, and was made of sturdy wood. He would look suspicious if he put his ear to it before walking through.

Leon switched the gun to his left hand, sacrificing a little accuracy for secrecy.

"I'm going in," he murmured and gave the knob a twist.