Bad: Chapter 5

"I had one, two, three, four shots of happiness
I look like a big man
But I've only got a little soul"

- Pulp


Miles Houten, despite being a stalwart public servant with a true distaste for crime, was overjoyed as he stared down the destroyed skyscraper in downtown Tharsis.

For over a decade now he had been on a crusade to put an end to organized crime in his city, a difficult battle made even more difficult by the corrupt bureaucrats who were on the syndicate payrolls. He'd seen it first when he started out as a prosecutor of those committing minor offenses—theft, drug possession—things of the like. He saw the favorable treatment syndicate thugs received from judges and even bailiffs; saw the intimidated witnesses, the hanged juries, the dismissed charges and reduced sentences. His wise predecessors had warned him from the outset, but the extent of it was far beyond anything he could have hoped to imagine. At a point it was almost enough to make him hang up his hat and start a private practice. Obviously, it was the choice profession in this city. He'd never even have to advertise; all he'd have to do was walk down to any corner and he could pick up five clients in one trip.

Only one thing had stopped him. Her name was Candy Iris Blackwell-Houten—his mother. It was as though when he was growing inside of her belly she had given him far more than just nutrients and sustenance. She'd fed him her values and beliefs, her profound empathy for others that could not be divided from logic—it was her logic. He'd felt these things his whole life—how else would they have gotten there unless she'd put them inside of him before his birth?

Regardless of how it came to pass, District Attorney Andrew Miles Houten had a moral compass that was so unmovable nearly everyone was fairly irritated by it, including himself. Still now, years after his mother's passing, her legacy was left to flower inside of her only son—whether he liked it or not.

Therefore, he could not help but be excited seeing the headquarters of the Red Dragon syndicate stand smoking in the afternoon sun—still smoldering from the evening before. It was more than just vindication, a reward for the years he put up with the unending avalanche of bullshit. No, this was something more. This was an opportunity. One he was to make great use of.


"Ow! Fucking ow! Fuck!"

Jet suddenly had a flash, a pang, a feeling that he'd really screwed up his life. This was not what he'd wanted for himself. He'd wanted a home, a life with a good woman, wanted a son and maybe a daughter too. A little girl on whom he would bestow a funny nickname like 'peanut butter pie', something that when she heard it, she would know she was truly loved—because only someone who really loved her would find it inside themselves to be so embarrassingly saccharine.

Instead, he had this ship and two gigantic babies.

He looked down at Spike who was lying prone on the padded workout mat, and he scorned the parents who had abandoned him and left him to grow up with such horrible manners.

He leaned back and took his weight off Spike's bent knee. He'd been helping Spike with his physical therapy for two weeks now and this partner had been a real ungrateful son-of-a-bitch. He was pissy about even being made to do it in the first place, and was cranky and difficult throughout each session.

"Alright. I'm done for today."

"Thank fucking God."

"You know what—"

He bit his tongue. Like always.

"What?"

Jet busied himself with picking up the miscellaneous detritus strewn about the bridge. "Get the dishes out of your room. We don't have enough plates."

"Well, you could always let Faye starve."

"Without Faye we'd both be starving."

"God, not this again."

"Get the goddamn dishes."

"I could take on a bounty right now. You guys need to stop cutting me out."

"I'm not re-doing all of this bullshit with you because you decide to go out there and show your ass."

"Fuck it. I'll go out on my own then."

Jet was fed up. "Fine! Just get the motherfucking dishes!"

He stormed off of the bridge, charged through the common area, cutting a resolute path through the corridors, and burst out of the hangar on the opposite end of the ship, determined to get as far away from Spike and Faye as possible.

Something was terribly wrong with him. To bend over backwards to help these hopeless fucks, certainly this spoke to some mental defect.

Although, it had occurred to him recently that perhaps they weren't hopeless at all. Perhaps he was the one who would be left with nothing meaningful to do if they were not around for him to fret over. It was a source of great anger that he'd allowed looking after them to become the skeleton of his existence. It made him feel like an old man with nothing to show for the forty years he'd spent in this miserable solar system. At least Edward was of an age that warranted his anxiety and concern. Spike was damn near thirty. Granted, he often behaved as though he was about half that old and Faye was certainly not the model of personal responsibility either.

He frowned. Both of them had a very tweaked understanding of the social contract.

Jet lit a cigarette and looked out over the horizon. He could see the distant silhouette of a slowly turning ferris wheel against the purple sky. He'd rode one with Alisa once.

No matter where he was in his life, the past always seemed to be happier than he was now. Maybe he'd used up all of his happiness already. Sure his childhood had been no picnic, but it was never horrible. Just somewhere in the middle. His mother had died when he was twenty-two and his old man was never really a person after that, but before then things were alright. They'd even had enough money to take a little vacation every now and then. Nothing fancy. Just off to a neighboring planet for a few days. They'd loved him okay, even if they weren't so great at showing it.

Jet remembered when he told his old man he was going to enroll at the police academy. His father hadn't favored the idea—it was too violent for someone who'd spent his whole life sanding down chairs and routering the edges of tables. Still, he didn't protest. They'd never protested much about anything his whole life. Not to him and not to each other. It wasn't a bad life.

He met Elisa the week his father passed away. It seemed only fitting, he guessed. He had no other family to speak of. She never protested much either. Not until that day last year in a sunset much like this. But he was okay with that. Time never stands still, after all. He just wished Spike knew that.


After he'd cooled down a bit, Jet decided to head in and make dinner. Faye was out and about again, but he knew she'd be back in time to eat. She was just that breed.

He stopped in the common area to check his mail. The screen cast a blue light over the room and he started to feel a bit more peaceful. It was mostly junk as usual, but as he scrolled through the queue, a letter from Bob burned his pupils.

He'd known this was coming.

DA is handing down orders to the chief to pick up anyone that's with the Red Dragons and Spiegel has been named. No warrants. Just statements for now. Better bring him in voluntarily before it gets out of hand. They've recovered some surveillance footage from the building on Tharsis.

Tried my best.

Bob

Jet leaned back into the couch and let his neck fall slack. Everything would go to pieces now. He sat for a long time, staring into the ceiling until it went away completely and he watched tiny specs of colorful static dance across his eyes.

He wondered if Spike would leave. It was a distinct possibility. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe this had all just been a coda to a long, tired song.

The sound of the Red Tail landing roused him quickly from the sofa. He moved toward the kitchen, hoping to avoid Faye.

For all of her bitchiness and bravado, she was a good girl. Fucked up for sure, but a nice kid underneath it all. He'd really learned that in the weeks when it had just been the two of them. He didn't know the whole story but he knew she'd had a rough go of it, that her background was something far beyond your ordinary blues tale. That everything bad she was, well, it was justified and then some.

Anyway, since then, he didn't like seeing her be upset. She'd had enough disappointment for two lifetimes.

He'd actually felt bad for Spike. She'd really let him have it. On one hand, he'd sort of deserved it. His self-imposed isolation, his casualness, it was more than a little frustrating because he really made you believe it. But on the other hand, he'd bore the brunt of a storm that had been brewing long before Faye had even stepped foot on the Bebop.

Maybe she knew that now in retrospect. She'd been fairly aloof herself since Spike had been back on board. Not in a punitive way—she just seemed to have bigger things on her mind. She would disappear for days at a time, working the area, picking up bounties all on her own. What time she was aboard she spent mostly in her room. She didn't seem sad per se, just…different.

Jet stood in the doorway of the kitchen wondering how she'd take this new development. He saw that the dish rack was full of newly cleaned dishes. Then he covered his eyes with one hand and willed himself not to cry.