Disclaimer: The world of Cowboy Bebop and it's denizens do not belong to me. Only
Roe Windstorm and Fidel Consenza are my own creations. This story is my tribute to my
new favorite anime. I hope you enjoy it. Read on.
***Getting to the Point***
By Kirei
Jet Black turned the pedestal slowly, examining the bonsai from all angles, admiring
the elegant curves of the branches, the tiny but perfect pine needles, the exposed
roots that fanned out from the trunk like the folds of a woman's dress. He'd put over
10 years of effort into creating this beauty and still it wasn't quite right. Maybe in
another 10 it would finally match the picture he held in his mind. But he had time.
Nothing but time if Spike didn't come back with the bounty money.
On the couch, the new edition to Bebop's crew, a Welsh Corgy named
Ein, lifted his head, his ears twitching. Somewhere within the Bebop an airlock door
cycled open, cycled closed. Jet's stomach growled in anticipation as he carefully set
aside his work. The ship stayed quiet. But Jet knew if he didn't hear Spike come in,
that didn't mean he wasn't there. "Well?" he asked without turning.
"They dropped Roe's bounty yesterday," Spike said from just behind him.
"Shit."
"Yup," Spike said, setting a bag of groceries on the counter. Ein wisely
vacated the couch just before Spike collapsed onto it, oblivious. The TV show Big
Shot was just starting but he kept his eyes closed against the world. He'd spent days
tracking Roe Windstorm for a five million woolon bounty only to find he'd been cleared
of charges and the bounty dropped. Spike was hungry, tired, and on top of that he had
a headache the size of Jupiter. Nothing was going right today. And all he had to look
forward to was Jet's 'Special Ginger Roast' without the roast for the next few days,
maybe weeks. He didn't even want to think about that.
"Amigos!" the show began. He cracked one eye open to watch. The day's
program featured an ugly mug named Fidel Cosenza, an assassin who had recently blown
up the 18th floor of the MIRCO HQ on Mars, killing twelve people just to take out
one. The show's buxom, blonde bimbo feigned shock, said something meant to be witty,
bounced up and down so her breasts would jiggle for an appreciative audience. Spike
didn't care about any of that. He had both eyes open now and was sitting at attention,
staring at the image of Fidel Cosenza in the upper corner of the screen.
Jet noticed the change and came out to look for himself. "Hey, you seen
that guy?"
Spike said nothing, only nodded, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.
"Twenty million. We could use that. But this guy sound dangerous. I'll try
to round up some more info on him."
"Don't bother. I know where he is." Spike pulled a can of dog food from
the pocked of his rumpled blue jacket and tossed it to Jet. "Why don't you make the
three of us a nice dinner tonight. Steak," he said rising to his feet.
"Where are you going?"
"Where do you think." Spike started whistling as he headed out once more.
******************************************
One moon crawled forward and another raced backward across the reddish
sky, While a bleak and distant sun did it's best to penetrate the layers of artificial atmosphere
and shielding that created a greenhouse around the city of Alba Pateras. Throughout
the day the temperature had been slowly climbing dispite what the government loosely
called ' climate control'. To be blunt, it was hot. Damn hot. But inside the alcohol-scented
shadows of the Asta Bar, it was cool. Or at least cooler than outside. The isolated little
bar with apartments on the second story, didn't have much to offer aside from cold beer.
But it boasted an ancient jukebox, which half-heartedly played 'Stormy Weather', while a
trio of bar flies half-heartedly listened to it.
The bartender had been wiping the same spot on the bar for the past ten
minutes. Not because it was dirty but because it was a thing to do. The heavy-set man
sighed in contentment. This was how it should be at the Asta. Peaceful. Not like earlier
that day when some young cowboy had busted up the joint trying to capture one of the
regulars. Now everything was back to normal again. Just the way he liked it.
The front door opened. The bartender looked up. "Son of a-"
"Shh," whispered Spike. Stepping into the darkness of the bar he dropped
a stack of woolong credits on the counter in front of the gape-jawed bartender. "Is the
scarecrow still here?" The bartender nodded mutely, pointed up to the second floor.
He knew exactly who the cowboy meant, another one of his regulars. "He's expecting me
then." Since it wasn't really a question, the bartender held his tongue.
"Better get out." Spike said, then turned to the barflies. "Hey, fellas.
I'm surprised you aren't all over at the Parador. They're running a three for one special
on all drinks."
The trio glanced up at Spike, then at each other. Then dashed for the
door like a pack of sea rats. Spike turned back to the bar but the bartender had
apparently taken his advice. Both he and the woolon were gone.
Spike had the bar to himself. he paused at the bottom of the stairwell
where the jukebox sat and briefly considered putting it out of its misery. But the
record switched over the 'Green Onions'. He liked that song. The jukebox played
on as he headed cautiously upstairs.
*******************************************
He'd been here less than four hours ago, trying to blend in with the morning
crowd, when he met Fidel Cosenza. Of course Spike hadn't known who the guy was.
ust some scarecrow of a man with bad teeth and an annoying laugh. Spike had only wanted
information about Windstorm but they'd started taling, trading dirty jokes about Europan
women and Ganymede men. It passed the time until his target had shown up. Roe Windstorm,
a jewel theif. He'd stolen enought to warrant a five million bounty. Unfortunately,
the missing gems were recovered and Windstorm cleared before Spike could cash in.
Cosenza must have known Spike was a bounty hunter. And he must have
been relieved that Spike had gone after small potatoes Windstorm and left him alone.
But he also would have known Spike would come back for him. And yet he was still there.
Only one reason for that. A trap.
An assassin who kills with explosives is a dangerous man, indeed. He can kill
you from another planet if he does his job right. Fidel had probably spent the last few
hours rigging the building with explosives. But he was still there. Spike knew it. He was
up there somewhere, waiting.
Reaching the second floor landing without getting blown up was a pleasant
surprise. Spike pulled out his weapon and eased into the dimly lit hallway. Paused.
Listened. "To hell with it," he muttered, then called out. "Hey Fidel! What did the
Europan woman's left knee say to her right knee?"
Silence answered him
"Nothing!" he continued. "They've never met!"
More silence. Then he heard a snort. That same obnoxious, irrepressible
snort of laughter from the fella he'd been drinking with only that morning. "Cosenza."
Spike leveled his gun at that point on the far end of the hallway where the voice had come
from.
"Hey, buddy. I was wondering when you'd be back."
"Sooner than you thought."
"Come and get me."
Spike didn't move. He was smarter then that. But half way down the
hall, at a cross-corridor a gun appearred, followed by the guy holding it. It was Roe
Windstorm. "He's mine!" Roe snarled at Spike. Turning in Cosenza'a direction he
added, "Surrender immediately and you won't get killed."
"Sorry," Cosenza answered. "But I can't give you the same guarantee."
Something clicked like a tumbler in a lock. "Baka," Spike said. Then the
far end of the hallway exploded. The fireball engulfed Roe almost instantly and rushed
onward toward Spike. He had time only to turn his back and half crouch into a diving
position before the blast hurtled him back down the stairwell.
**************************************
Jet munched on chips and salsa as he poured through the data file on Fidel.
Sometimes Spike was just a little bit too impetuous but Jet learned along time ago that
ignorance is not bliss. The more you know the more likely you are to stay alive. And in
one peice. This Cosenza guy was a real sicko who used audio equipment to taunt his
targets before blew them up. And he always stayed close by to watch. He got off on it.
Jet thought about that a moment. And what he thought was that Spike was
in over his head. Only he couldn't bail his partner out this time because he didn't know
where Spike had gone.
Something sniffed at Jet's ankle. He reached down to pat Ein on the head
but she nipped his finger. "Hey! What'd you do that for?" he yelled. Ein dodged him and
ran for the cock pit of the Bebop. She looked back at Jet. Then at the cockpit again.
Jet came forward, looked into the cockpit, then out the forward window.
Across the lake a billow of smoke was beginning to rise up above the city. "I think we just
found Spike."
*****************************************
Fidel Cosenza smiled broadly as he stepped out of his apartment into the
wreckage of the hallway. The blast had gone off perfectly. Plus he'd gotten two for the
price of one. Cowboys were so predictable. He shouldered his bag and stepped
gingerly over the corpse of the bonus bounty hunter and headed down the hall, still
chuckling over that Eurpoan joke. Maybe he'd head for Europa. He'd see for himself if
all those jokes had any truth to them.
*****************************************
The jukebox record was skipping, catching over and over on the same peice
of music. Spike wondered why. And why his head hurt so much. And why the smell of
something burning was so strong in the air. He cautiously opened his eyes to get some
answeres.
Answer to number one. His left foot was lodged inside the housing of the
jukebox. Broken glass cut into his ankle. Answer to number two. His head was resting
on the bottom step of the stairway he'd just fallen down. Answer to number three. His
pants were smoldering. At least they're not on fire, Spike thought, letting his eyes fall
shut again.
Somewhere above him a door opened and footsteps crunched through
the rubble and ashes. Spike's eyes flew open as he suddenly remembered the answer
to another question - What was he doing here? He reached for his gun but the Jericho
was nowhere in sight. The footsteps were almost at the top of the stair. With no other
options, Spike played dead.
The crunch of broken glass marked Cosenza's arrival at the had of the staircase.
Spike knew it was Cosenza and did his best to look dead. Or at least unconscious and
seriously injured. The seriously injured part was easy considering the burns, and the
amount of blood trickling down his pantleg to puddle beneath the jukebox. He had to
be careful, had to play this just right or he was dead. His mind raced ro remember how
many steps there were. Eighteen, he thought. The top is eighteen and my head is on one.
"Hey, buddy. You still breathing?" Cosenza called from the top of the
stairs, took two steps. (Seventeen, sixteen, Spike counted.) "Because if you're still
alive-" (Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen.) "-I won't kill you."
Spike didn't believe it for a moment. He kept counting as Cosenza
continued. "See, I don't carry a gun because shooting people is boring." (Twelve,
eleven, ten, nine.) "And I won't blow you up because that'd be a waste of dynamite."
(Eight, seven, six. So close.) Spike kept his body relaxed but tensed his mind, ready
to act.
"Hey. Look what I found." Cosenza took another step. One more and
Spike could reach up and pull his feet out from under him. but Fidel stopped. Spike
heard the sound of metal scraping against metal, heard the sound of a gun being cocked.
The Jericho. Spike's blood turned cold. "Hmm," said Cosenza. "Maybe I'll shoot
you anyway."
*******************************************
Out on the street, the low rumble that neither man had noticed quickly built
into a roar as an oddly shaped craft touched down outside the Asta Bar. "Not another
one," Cosenza complained as he retreated up the stairs again. "If you're still alive,
cowboy, enjoy it. It won't last much longer."
Spike caustiously opened his eyes to a narrow slit, then slowly lifted them
upward until he could see to the top of the stairs. Upside-down, he saw Cosenza
kneeling beside his suitcase, pulling out something. Then he lay down flat on the landing,
disappearing from Spike's view just as the front door opened. Spike didn't need to turn
his head and look. He knew the sould of the Hammerhead when he heard it. Jet had
come to the rescue again. But he was walking into the same trap.
All this trouble for a lously steak, Spike thought as his vision grew clouded.
He'd have been better off with the Ginger Roast. It was definately healthier. Still, Spike
really wanted that steak. He could almost taste it. And that desire helped to clear his head.
He tensed, ready for what he had to do. He would only get one chance and he wouldn't
waste it.
"Shit, Spike!" Jet had finally seen him. He rushed over to kneel beside
Spike on the floor.
"Hey, cowboys! Say cheese!" Cosenza shouted from the top of the stairs.
Jet looked up, reaching for his gun, but Spike had already pulled it from Jet's holster.
He held it upside down as he aimed above him up the stairwell and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet ripped through Cosenza's arm, poised to throw a grenade.
It dropped beside him. "Cheese," Spike said through gritted teeth. The grenade
exploded.
*********************************************
Fortunately for Spike, his partner was quick on the uptake. Jet hauled
Spike into a fireman's carry and bolted for the door as more blasts shook the building.
All the explosives Fidel Cosenza had left in his suitcase went off like giant firecrackers,
one right after another. Outside, Jet took cover behind the sizable bulk of the
Hammerhead as chunks of the Asta Bar rained down around them.
"What was the point of all that?" he asked.
"Didn't know I needed one."
Typical, Jet thought, but held his tongue.
"So. I suppose we won't be having steak tonight," Spike sighed as Jet tied
up the gash on his leg.
"Sure we will. If you'd waited around, you'd know that even dead, Cosenza
is worth something. As soon as the police identify what's left of him we'll collect."
"Twenty million?"
"Five"
"Spike pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, but he was smiling. "That should
just about cover it. Not a bad day after all," he said as he brushed himself off and strolled
toward the remains of the bar. "Now if I could just find my gun."
The End
This is my first Cowboy Bebop FanFic. And I've never seen another on the Web so,
for all I know it's THE first Cowboy Bebop Fanfic. I first posted it on 11-23-99.
So. What did you think? Drop me a line.
