4 months later...

"Edie, is there a reason your hair is half blue and half black?" blurted Jet as he repaired Spike's Swordfish.

"Well ain't you observant. Jet, I've been growing out my hair for a long time now!" she cried out as she flipped through another page of her magazine.

Edie lounged, belly down, on the floor of the ship bay and kicked her legs. She harbored one eye on her newest Star magazine and another on Jet.

"How can you read that shit?" Jet retrieved more tools and pulled himself onto the zipcraft.

"It's quite entertaining, you should try reading it, baldy!"

"Goddammit Edie, I'm thinning, is all!" snarled Jet.

"Pfft." Edie sputtered back in a laugh.

"And you! Stop screwing around and wrecking your ship." Jet pointed to Spike as he walked out onto the bay.

"Hey, I did not ask for the guy to run." objected Spike. He threw himself on a chair and joined Jet and Edie.

"Let's get drinks!" chimed in Edie. "I'd loved to wet my whiskers."

"That's not the only thing you want to wet." Spike muttered to himself and Edie slammed her magazine into his face.

"How 'bout you go back inside so I don't have to see your ugly mug!" She snapped back.

"Pshh... I've come to believe you enjoy seeing my face." He smirked with a cigarette in his lips.

"Why you..." Edie went to grab at his neck.

"Edie," imposed Jet. "That's not a bad idea. I think we all could use some new scenery."

"I know I can." Edie yawned and stretched out her arms wide. Spike stood up and awaited departure.


The three gathered at a local bar in Tijuana. Edie caught the attention of majority of the men at the bar but all were hesitant to approach her, mistaking Jet for her dad. A local tried making a pass at Edie and got a punch to the throat when he smacked her ass. A bunch of lowlifes, all of them, including Edie. She laughed at deeming herself a fellow sewer rat.

As they shot back drinks, a curious character entered the bar. The man was quite appealing even with dirt on his face and fine features. His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he clung on to a large guitar case. Edie fell in love. He sat himself far from them and ordered a beer. The Spanish man pulled his guitar from its case and strummed its strings. Neither the bartender nor the other patrons stopped him, rather they encouraged him to play. He strummed on his guitar to a small tune and fingered the strings carefully. Edie recognized the tune. She studied the man and instantly, recognized him. No wonder she fell in love with him. She trotted towards the man. Jet opened his mouth to reprimand her but Spike nudged him and nodded to silence him.

"¿Eres un asesino, vaquero? (Are you an assassin, cowboy?)" enticed Edie as she swiped the man's beer and took a drink. The man turned his head to face her and smiled cunningly.

"Me interesas mujer. ¿Como te llamas? (You interest me woman. What is your name?)"

"Eddy."

His eyes glistened as she stared deep into them. He kept his smile and drank his beer. He dropped down from his bar stool, rested his guitar, and walked toward the jukebox that sat dormant. The man dug for change in his pockets and fed the jukebox found coins. A fast paced splash of accordion and guitar filled the air of the small bar. Edie knew this rhythm: cumbia. The charming man held out his hand to her and she placed her hand in his. He held on to her hand and pulled her closely into his embrace. The man wrapped his other hand around her waist and began stepping back and forth to the rhythm of the song. Above them, a man sang in Spanish of a dance between the moon and sun. Spoke of a cumbia between them. The man danced with speed and skill which Edie matched. In Latin dances (albeit culture), men lead the women. Women followed in step and provided the extra sensuality. Edie followed behind the man's footing. She was twirled, dipped and was even given the chance to show her abilities as a lead. The patrons of the bar who watched were in awe. It had been ages since they had seen that kind of dance. Such dances were too traditional for the future. The audience eyed the lucidness of their movements. The fluid motion of their bodies. Their two bodies moved as if they were meant for each other. As if each perceived the other's next movement. Most of the men gawked at Edie and her hips. They admired how her dancing emphasized them and spurred their fantasies. As the song came to end, he kissed her hand and thanked her the dance.

"Tequila para la mujer. (Tequila for the woman)" He ordered the bartender and the bartender obliged.

The drink served as an offer to join him which she took. She sat next to him and swished the glass of Tequila. The man strummed once more on his guitar, this time more furiously and with excitement. Edie tapped her foot to his beat and took a gulp of her drink.

"Bueno para verte, Roland. (Good to see you, Roland)" She eased after another drink of tequila. Roland chuckled and reached for his beer.

"You look well, Eddy. What's it been? Five years?" he swallowed a mouthful of beer.

"Yes, it has." She brought up her hand and caressed his splotched cheek.

"Olvídame," he breathed and grasped the neck of his guitar, smashing it against the bar. Out flew weapons of all sorts. Machine guns, revolvers, and from his guitar case two shotguns.

"Take cover!" yelled Edie, intending her words for Spike and Jet.

She climbed over the bar and sheltered herself. Edie left her magnum in the ship but kept her spare pistol attached to her calf. She reached for the pistol and harbored it closely to her face. Gunfire showered above her, piercing neighboring bottles. Glass rained down. She peaked her gun above the bar and fired randomly. She then got down to the floor and crawled. Jet and Spike hid near her, guns raised.

"Jesus, what did you get us into now, Edie?" chastised Spike, raspy. "What did you do? Said no you're weren't going to jump his bones?" he coaxed as he continued to spew bullets in Roland's direction.

"Why you sick son of..." exploded Edie.

"Kids, this is not the time nor the place!" roared Jet, reloading his Walther. "Alright. Spike, you and I are going to distract the guy and Edie, you get him from the back."

The two ceased their arguing and nodded in unison. Jet inched up slowly, constantly taking cover under objects like fallen tables and counters. Roland secured himself behind a table as well, raining fire throughout the bar. Spike lowered himself and took cover behind the bar. Him and Jet shot at Roland at the same time, hoping to draw his attention to them. Seeing the opportunity, Edie leaped over the bar and ducked behind chairs and other large objects she could spot. She caught a visual of the nest of guns that surrounded Roland. Edie crept closer and closer to Roland as he and the guys exchanged rounds. With stealth, she neared him without him detecting her, or so she believed.

As Roland fired another round at the two men, his other hand eased for his large hunter's knife that rested on his waist. Pulling out the knife swiftly, he held a firm grasp of its handle and stabbed behind him. He heard a small moan along with the sound of a gun cocking.

"Ciao, vaquero." Edie stammered before pulling the trigger.

Roland's body slumped over the table in which he took cover. Using the shotgun as a clutch, Edie arrived to a stance. Her side ached, uncontrollably, and felt warm liquid slither down to her hip. It was an unbearable pressure that slowed her, significantly. But she pushed herself further, gradually raising the shotgun once more. The trigger seemed, oddly, heavy and unmovable, but with what little strength she could muster, Edie pulled the trigger for a second time. This time, she aimed for Roland's head. The shotgun fell from her hands to the ground and her knees buckled. Her legs were giving out from under her.

"Boy, he got me good." Then all went black.