Chapter Thirteen:
Jesus Christ
I know you're coming in the night like a thief
But I've had some time alone to hone my lying technique
I know you think that I'm someone you can trust
But I'm scared I'll get scared and I swear I'll try to nail you back up
So do you think that we could work out a sign
So I'll know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try…
-Brand New
Faye had been, as he'd predicted, more of a nuisance than anything else. She spent all of five minutes flipping through the various invoices and bank statements before draping herself over the back of the small sofa and stating that she'd rather be watching a movie. Attempting to ask her questions proved to be just as fruitless—if she wasn't dodging a question she was berating him for asking something which, according to her, she couldn't possibly know.
Thirteen cigarettes and one whiskey sour later he decided he'd had enough.
"What are you doing?" she asked, finally raising her head from the back of the couch and locking her eyes on his.
"Going to get some actual work done," he said, gathering the scattered papers from the floor and coffee table.
Faye huffed. "Good luck with that."
He ignored her and shoved the papers into the manila folder, grabbing his suit jacket from the chair.
"Where are you going?"
"Does it matter?"
She shrugged. "I don't want you waking me up in the middle of the night."
"I'm going to visit Jet—see if he can make any sense of these. I should be back before too long."
She gave him a smirk and then sank back into the couch as he crossed the room to the door. "Hurry home, dear," she called as he slammed the door behind him.
Spike had left five minutes ago. Or so she thought, anyway. She hadn't been paying attention. She twirled a long lock of hair around her finger and, as soon as she was relatively sure that he had left for good, she made her way to the bedroom.
Once there, she rifled through her suitcase, searching desperately for her comm. Of all the idiotic things Luke had ever done—well—she supposed this was the first. Nevertheless—
Her fingers brushed against gun metal and she felt a cool shudder creep underneath her skin. If Luke was anything he was meticulous and methodical. There had to be a reason. She buried the gun further in her suitcase and felt relieved when her fingers finally found her communicator.
"Luke Kennedy."
Three rings. She rolled her eyes and he picked up.
"Darling," he said with a wide smile. "Starting to miss me?"
"You gave him the original invoices? Are you insane?"
"Hardly. I'm surprised you're so … incensed. What's up?"
"He's not an idiot, Luke. He just ran off to Jet to see if he could dig up any additional information about these transactions."
Luke shrugged and reclined in his chair. "So?"
"What do you mean so? What are you going to do when he figures out who you are? Doesn't that throw a little kink in your plan?"
"He couldn't scrounge up information about those transactions if he tried. There are no existing digital copies. Bosch isn't stupid enough to leave a paper trail."
"There's at least enough information in those invoices for him to track them back to you. Don't you get it? He's going to figure out—"
"Listen, babe, why don't you leave the business end of things to me, all right? It's taken care of. Your job is to look pretty and break his heart. Literally, of course."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why give him the original paperwork? Paper trail or not, it's unnecessarily reckless."
"Not that it's really any of your business, but we need your block-headed partner to take the money off our hands. At least for now. You're forgetting this is still dirty money, Faye."
"And if he clears out the accounts and robs you blind?"
"You'll see to it that he doesn't."
She raised a brow and he continued.
"You're going to give me the routing and account numbers to those bank accounts. With that information we can use demand drafts to re-route the money back into the Dragons' accounts. All unbeknownst to Spiegel, of course."
"And—what? That's it?"
"That's it. As far as you're concerned, anyway."
"I see."
"Like I said, Faye. Stand tall, look pretty."
She exhaled and closed her eyes. "Right."
"That's my girl. I'm counting on you."
The comm. clicked off and she tossed it back into the suitcase amongst her clothes. Break his heart. Not that that would be possible considering the way things were going.
She made her way back into the living room. Another drink was in order. She pulled a small bottle of gin from the fridge and decided not to bother with another glass.
"Spike-person!"
He'd been on the ship no more than two minutes before he felt Ed tangle her thin limbs around his left leg. He sighed and looked down in her direction.
"Hey, kid."
Jet appeared around the corner, wiping his grease-stained hands on an old rag. "Spike."
Spike motioned to the thin girl attached to his leg. She was nuzzling his calf and singing a song about marshmallows and wombats.
"Ed," Jet called, tucking the rag into his back pocket, "why don't you go into the other room and keep Ein company?"
"Right-O, purple cheerio!" She stood and saluted Jet before running off into the next room.
"So, the kid's back?"
"Yep. Just showed up about an hour or so ago, too."
"Any particular reason?"
"You know Ed. She muttered something incomprehensible and ran onto the ship as though she'd never left."
Spike just shrugged and lit a cigarette.
"I like that shade, by the way," Jet said, his lips curling into a smirk.
"Huh?"
Jet tapped a cheek with his index finger.
Spike rolled his eyes. "Not like it's the first time you've seen me black and blue, Jet."
"Woman decked you, huh?"
Spike inhaled sharply on the end of his cigarette, the tip flaring brightly in the dark hall. "For your information, I was in a bar fight."
Jet placed a hand on Spike's shoulder. "It's okay, Spike. This is a safe place. You don't have to hide anything."
Spike glared and knocked Jet's hand off his shoulder. "Can it, Jet."
"All right, all right. So why are you here?"
Spike thrust the folder at him and Jet grabbed at it awkwardly.
"Bosch's invoices. His clients' personal information is all obscured. I was hoping you could find some leads for me."
Jet flipped through the files for a moment. "Why are you so interested in Bosch's clients?"
"Just got a bad feeling is all. Why would he go to such lengths to hide their identities?"
"Well, he is dealing in bloody eye, after all. Not really transactions you would want to be transparent."
Spike ran his hand through his hair. "I don't like it, Jet. This thing could be bigger than us and Bosch. We've got our hands in more than a few pockets—I wanna know who we're dealing with."
"All right, fair enough," Jet said, turning and making his way to the common room. Spike followed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
Ed sat on the coffee table, pounding furiously at the keys of the Tomato. Jet dropped the folder in front of her. She looked up, lifting one lens of her goggles to peer at Jet.
"We've got some work for you, Ed."
Spike idly flipped through the channels on the vid screen. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ed typing away furiously at her Tomato with her feet. Jet was in the kitchen brewing a pot of (what he would guess was) very bitter coffee. He muted the vid screen and pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
"I got the list of account and routing numbers you asked for," Jet called.
"Yeah?"
"All you've got to do now should be to convince Bosch to wire the cash to the accounts."
Spike toyed with his cigarette for a moment, twisting it in his fingers.
Jet appeared in the doorway with two large mugs of coffee in hand. "Don't look so nervous. We're practically home free."
Spike turned his head to eye Jet for a moment before placing the cigarette between his lips. "Whatever you say," he said, lighting the cigarette.
Jet just shrugged, setting Spike's mug in front of him on the coffee table.
"Edward has found something!" the girl called.
"Huh? What is it, Ed?"
"Phone calls, phone calls, phone calls!" she chanted, flailing her arms in the air.
"Phone calls?"
"From Mr. Jack Bosch."
Spike leaned forward and raised a brow, "You have a list of calls Bosch has made?"
"Well," she said, drawing out the word needlessly, "not exactly. Intercepted transmissions!" She quickly punched a few keys and numerous windows appeared on her computer screen. "No numbers or locations, but connection data."
"That doesn't do us any good, Ed. They're just encrypted VoIP protocols. What are we supposed to do with these?" Jet asked, peering over the girl's shoulder.
"Decrypt and eavesdrop!"
Spike raised a brow, "What does that mea—" Before he could finish his sentence Ed's hand was fishing through the pocket of his suit jacket as it lay draped over the arm of the sofa. "Hey! Back off, kid," he said, swatting at her wrist. She ignored him and grinned as she pulled his comm. from the pocket.
"Lookie, lookie!" She waved it in front of his face as though he ought to be surprised that she found the thing in his pocket.
He felt his eyebrow twitch and he balled his hands into fists, "Don't play with that, Ed."
She turned back to the Tomato, holding the communicator in one hand and typing quickly with the other. "Ed can decrypt the packets and broadcast the signal from the Tomato to the communicator."
Spike looked to Jet who shrugged simply. The hiss of static rose from the comm.'s speakers and Ed toyed with the buttons on the side momentarily, attempting to clarify the signal.
"…and the money will be taken care of later this week."
Spike could barely identify the voice as Bosch's. Through the static and distortion, it was a miracle they could even recognize the language as English.
"Which means?"
"I'll have it wired as soon as I can. It should be clean as soon as it's out of our hands. It's practic—"
The signal faded for a moment before returning to full strength.
"And you don't think he knows?"
"Didn't let on, anyway. Seems totally convinced. He went on and on about investment strategies and financial planning."
Laughter, then silence.
"We'll be dining at Chez Henri this Wednesday. We'll take care of it then."
"Don't take the first shot."
"I know, I know. So what do you want me to do with the girl—"
The signal faded again before cutting out. Spike swore under his breath and snatched the communicator out of Ed's hand, slamming its side hard against the edge of the metal coffee table, as if that simple action could restore the signal.
"Spike!" Jet called.
Spike ignored him and gripped the comm. tightly in his hand, letting it connect once again with the smooth metal. "Not yet, you son of a bitch," he muttered, knocking the side of his palm against the communicator.
Jet snatched it away, giving him a steely glare. "You've already trashed two of my communicators, Spike. This won't be the third."
He exhaled, a cloud of smoke swirling before his face. "Not my fault you buy cheap electronics."
"It's worth more than you at the moment."
Spike huffed and crushed his cigarette between his fingers. "Give it back, Jet."
Jet pursed his lips together tightly before tossing the comm. back to him. He caught the device without taking his eyes off Jet's face.
"So what do you make of it?" Spike asked.
"Of what?"
"What do you mean 'of what'? The whole conversation."
Jet shrugged, "Was vague at best. Could mean anything. As far as I know Bosch thinks M & A is legit—that he's funneling dirty money through the company and you two are none the wiser."
Spike took a breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "You've got to be kidding me, Jet."
"Look, does it really matter? You heard what Bosch said—he's planning on wiring the money anyway. If he's trying to double cross us I don't see how—"
"How he'd get the cash back if he shot us up in the middle of Chez Henri? The man's trying to use us to launder 900 million woolongs in drug money. It's not like he's a stranger to white collar crime. He'd find a way. Jesus."
Jet just sighed and ran his good hand over the top of his head. "I really don't know what to tell you, Spike—not like there's much you can do. Stay ten steps ahead."
"Oh, yeah? Well, I think it's pretty fucking obvious that we're far from being ten steps ahead here, Jet. We're supposed to be conning Bosch. Not the other way around. We're going into this blind now."
"How do you know that's what he's planning? What could Bosch possibly have to do with you, anyway?"
"Wouldn't I like to know," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his jacket from the arm of the couch. "I want you to find out who Bosch was talking to, Ed. I want to know the names of the people he's been in touch with, and I want a list of his clientele."
Ed was, curiously enough, silent for a moment. She blinked, her large eyes focused on his as she scratched her head. "Oooh la la," she said, "and Ed just came back for the ramen."
Spike sighed and decided to assume that that was code for 'I'll get right on it.' He turned before being stopped by Jet's gruff voice.
"Hey, Spike," he called.
Spike closed his eyes and exhaled, keeping his back to the man behind him.
"What do you think they want with her?" Jet asked.
"With who?" he asked dumbly.
"Faye."
Spike withdrew another cigarette from his pocket. "Hell if I know." He flicked his Zippo to life and waited for Jet to continue.
"Maybe it's not you they want. Maybe somebody wants Faye Kennedy dead. And damn it if you weren't the one to lead them right to her."
By the time he'd returned the hotel room was dark and quiet. Faye was sprawled across the couch, her limbs dangling limply over its overstuffed cushions. A muted, 20th century movie played on the vid screen, and its glow flickered over her skin like light on water.
He sighed, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair. As he approached the couch he could see that her eyes were closed, her full lips gently parted.
He'd have the bed to himself tonight, at least. He turned and started toward the bedroom, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as his feet sank into the plush carpet. He had nearly made it to the doorway before Faye's low moan caused him to freeze mid-step. Turning, he caught a glimpse of her slender leg slip from the back of the couch where it had rested.
He closed his eyes and took a breath before continuing to the bedroom.
He remembered seeing a few blankets folded on the top shelf of their closet. After removing his tie and pulling his shirt-tails from his pants, he pulled
It was soft in his hands and smelled faintly of cheap laundry detergent. He tucked the blanket underneath his arm and returned to the living room where Faye slept.
She'd shifted from her previous position. A lock of violet hair had fallen into her eyes, and her face was pressed against the plush cushions. Her shorts rode low on her slender hips, and one side of the gray tank top she wore had gathered and bunched just under her chest. He resisted the urge to straighten the fabric as she slept—to let his hands travel along her gently sloping waist, cradling every soft and smooth curve with his calloused fingers as they moved over the length of her body.
He let the thought slip from his mind as he draped the blanket over her shoulders. She moved again, a small sigh escaping her lips, though she didn't open her eyes. He watched her for a moment, his eyes vainly attempting to memorize the unwary innocence of her grave sleeping face in the shifting darkness. He'd seen this girl before—a pretty thing, so vibrant and determined, so unsuspecting and unknowing in her serious speech and careful actions that he was sure she'd no idea of what laid so close ahead in her future. The sad story of a pretty girl bound by magnetic tape and trapped behind glass.
He reached for her face, letting his fingertips brush her cheek before pushing the errant lock of hair from her eyes. He let his hand linger there for a moment before pulling it away. Noticing the far end of the couch was free, he walked toward it, taking care to sit down gently so as not rouse her from her sleep. He watched her for a moment before kicking his feet up on the coffee table and lacing his hands behind his head. Sighing, he settled back against the couch and closed his eyes.
A/N: Okay, okay, okay! I know it's been a long time, and for that I am truly sorry. I really struggled with this chapter because I had somehow managed to…not plot it ahead of time. If it's any consolation, I sort of know what happens in the next chapter! …And I am fairly sure that I know what happens in the chapter after that. Oh yes. Muahahaha!
Anyhow, not only was this chapter difficult to write, I also took some time off to work on a Bebop AMV that is sort of related to this fic. I know, I am an incurable loser. And, of course, despite weeks of work, I have only managed to finish 1 minute of the AMV. So it goes.
And now, to answer some questions and offer a pathetic and tasteless defense of my work:
First things first, I am, in fact, female. However, for some reason, I like to think that I am awesome at writing from a male POV. This is probably very far from the truth since I'm not a man…quite so much.
Also, I realize that making jello shots in cupcake holders would have been feasible had I used the ones that are reinforced with foil. The ones I used were waxed, and for some reason I didn't realize that they lacked the necessary structural integrity. This probably goes without saying, but I am dumb with a capital "D."
Now, some of what I have been thinking about as far as characterization goes…
I hadn't meant for Faye to come off as a violet-haired Julia, and I hope that she still retains much of her Faye-ness. That being said, some of the parallels are intentional because I do think there are a few key similarities between Faye and Julia that are important in regard to Spike's feelings for them. He says at one point that Faye's not the type of girl he would fall for. I find this statement patently untrue…she's exactly the kind of girl he would fall for, particularly because of her similarities to Julia in certain respects.
Also, as for Faye's personality changing…this was also intentional (duh), though I don't mean for it to be a total transformation. My rational for it, basically, is that given the aftermath of RFB, I can't imagine Faye NOT being irrevocably changed. She finally opens up to Spike (maybe you could go so far as to say she trusts him?) and he pretty much responds by saying "Well, that's neat, gotta go die now, bye." I imagine an ordeal like that would leave someone pretty screwed up.
And as far as the feelings go…I hope they're coming off better. Spike and Faye are, in my opinion, incredibly difficult to get together, particularly because Spike is so guarded with his emotions (perhaps you might even say defensive?) when it comes to Faye. I wanted him to finally become aware of his feelings for her in a moment where he was vulnerable and unguarded, as I don't think he's likely sit and sigh and think "Gee, I really am quite fond of Ms. Faye Valentine, I ought to pin her." …So I chose a moment where cough biology took over. I really hope it doesn't seem to forced, and I hope the romantic elements aren't coming out of left field. That would be…bad, to say the least. However, as always, if you feel there's something I've screwed up, suggestions are always welcome and appreciated!
Whew. Sorry about that. These are just a few things I've been mulling over…things I hope are coming through the story. If not, perhaps I just need to be trying harder :)
As always, read, review, eat, drink, and be merry!
Nevi
