Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction / Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Gotta Knock a Little Harder ❯ Lawyer, Guns and Money ( Chapter 20 )

Lawyers, Guns and Money

 

Now I'm hiding in Honduras; I'm a desperate man; Send lawyers, guns and money; The shit has hit the fan -- Warren Zevon (Excitable Boy)

 

Archer liked evenings like this. There was a slight chill in the air, and the fog had rolled in. It blanketed the entire city, and made visibility tenuous at best. Anonymity, he thought. All the better. Most of the city had decided to stay in for the evening, so he was able to enjoy his walk without distraction.

 

He came to a stop at the corner of a bar in one of the seedier sections of the city. He casually leaned against the wall, and stared out at the empty street. The sounds from inside were muted. Not many people in there this evening. The rich, wet smell of the river tickled his nostrils. It mingled with the scents of the bar, and the alleyway behind him. For Frank Archer, it was the smell of change, and he smiled coldly.

 

Thick fog had interesting acoustic properties, he noticed. On the one hand, it tended to mute the sounds from inside the bar, but on the other, it managed to magnify the sound of footsteps on the cobbled drive of the narrow alley. It made it a little difficult for him to tell just how close the person was, who was approaching.

 

He chose to depend on other senses, then. And he waited patiently until he felt the presence close. “Well?” he said low.

 

“The men you asked for are on their way to Risembul.”

 

“They're clear that the two are to be taken alive and the equipment intact, right?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“And the rest?”

 

“I gave them the orders to exterminate any natives that interfere.”

 

“Even if those natives are in uniform?”

 

There was a hesitation from the man behind Archer. Then, “Yes, Sir.”

 

He smiled. “Good. You said you had something else?”

 

“Taps on the home phone of the Investigator came up with some information. He's headed about 2 hours out of town to meet with a contact, and to deliver a package.”

 

“And the call came from?”

 

“Colonel Mustang, Sir.”

 

“Is there a tail on the Investigator?”

 

“Yes, Sir. Last contact was a few minutes ago. He stopped at the Librarian's house. Presumably to collect the package.”

 

Archer considered this a moment, then quickly came to a decision. “Keep the tail on him, from a distance. The orders are to not engage, unless extremely unusual circumstances occur.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

As far as Archer was concerned, that was the end of the conversation, but the person didn't move. That didn't sit well with him. “Is there something else?” he asked.

 

“Sir? Just curiosity—“

 

“Belay that. This is `need to know' only. Are we clear?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

And with that, Archer heard the retreating steps of his informant.

 

[1.1.1.1]

 

“I don't like this set-up Jet. Not one little bit,” Spike had said once. Just before he walked out and put a crystal bullet into the head of a 50 year old “child”. A child only by virtue of a freak incident that stopped his ageing process when the Moon Gate exploded. A child who was a cold-blooded killer.

 

It was the close to the most bizarre chapter in their collective lives.

 

Until recently, that is.

 

As Jet had exited the corridor leading to the bay, a hand shot out with a cigarette. Spike was seeing him off. He took the tube of tobacco in his lips, and the light his partner offered. He stood there a moment, relishing the acrid smoke filling his lungs, and said, “I don't like this set-up at all, Spike.”

 

“I don't trust him.”

 

Jet had smiled a little. Spike didn't trust anyone. It was a simple fact, and an unspoken one. When Spike deigned to mention he didn't trust someone, he really didn't trust that person.

 

Neither do I, he thought. But what choice do we have?

 

Now Jet was flying over alien territory, looking for an isolated and abandoned farmhouse about two hours from Central City. According to Mustang, it wasn't exactly a defensible position, but he'd be able to tell if any trouble was coming, before it got there.

 

Why does it always have to be an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of BFE, though? Jet wondered, as he neared the coordinates. The answer, in this case, was fairly easy, though. Old farmhouses usually had old barns. It would be a good place to hide the Hammerhead, if there was a delay, or he got pinned in. But the cliché annoyed him, nonetheless.

 

At least he had better directions than Spike had. But then, he didn't have Ed or Al with him, either.

 

He was coming up on his target, and came in a little lower to make a sweeping pass. There was the barn. The sonar told him little, but that it was there. Of the house, there was barely a skeleton remaining. A victim of a fire. No shelter to be had there, then.

 

He made another pass, surveying the road that ran along the property. In the distance, he saw a set of headlights coming his way. With luck, that's him, and I won't have to wait long.

 

A little further away, Jet spotted another set of lights cresting a hill. He could see them from his vantage point, but he doubted the driver of the front vehicle would. Jet wasn't real thrilled about that little fly in the ointment. As he came around to bring the Hammerhead in for a landing, he caught a distant flash, further back from the second set of headlights.

 

Shit.

 

He sighed, and found another place besides the barn for a landing. He was hoping that the second vehicle was just a coincidence, and he imagined the faint glow further back. With luck, everything would go off without a hitch. But he knew his luck didn't run that way.

 

[2.2.2.2]

 

Spike just stared down at the scattered parts on the deck. Not just engine parts, either. Ed and Winrey had completely dismantled the entire Swordfish.

 

The two kids had been working furiously throughout the day, and at this moment, they were both out. Sound asleep amidst the components of his precious monoracer. Spike had, albeit reluctantly, trusted them with the ship. He'd already seen what both of them could do. But this…

 

When he found his voice, it was to scream. The result was to wake the two kids up. Winrey sat up and stared. Ed jumped to his feet, and did his little trick with making the short sword from his automail arm. He blinked a couple times, realized there was no danger, and put the arm back to normal.

 

Spike... just stared. His fingers tore at his unruly mop, and he hissed through his teeth. “What did you do to my ship?”

 

Winrey blinked. Her face looked like it would crumble at the first strong breeze. “We're fixing it, Spike.”

 

“Gah! You were just supposed to fix the engines! Not dismantle the entire thing!”

 

He stepped over the scattered remains of the Swordfish, and laid a hand on the only piece that hadn't become so many nuts, bolts, and component parts; the main body.

 

“When we went through the ship, I found so many things that needed repaired,” Winrey said. “I thought I would just fix them now, instead of them breaking at a bad time.”

 

Spike rubbed the pitted and battered metal. Every ding; every nick; every spot of rust had significance. He laid his other hand on the side of the ship, and then proceeded to bang his head against it. Repeatedly. “You were. Only. Supposed. To take. The engines. Apart,” he said in time to his head banging.

 

“Don't worry, we can get it put back together quickly,” Winrey said.

 

Spike looked at all the scattered parts again, and seriously doubted it. “It'll take you a week! We don't have a week!” He barely recognized his own voice, when he said that. It sounded like a man teetering on the edge, and ready to tumble into insanity.

 

Winrey got to her feet, and jammed her fists into her hips. “Hey! I have a reputation to keep, here! It'll be done by morning.”

 

Spike just stared at her. It didn't quite compute.

 

After a long moment, he looked at Ed, who shook his head, and said, “This one is all hers. All I'm doing is handing her tools and parts.”

 

“Jeeze,” Winrey said, and rolled her eyes. “All I have to do is put the parts back together and recalibrate everything. It's not like its rocket science.”

 

Spike threw his hands in the air. “Yes it is!”

 

The girl grinned brightly. “Really? Then rocket science isn't so hard after all!”

 

He sagged, and gave up. He stumbled off and privately wondered if there was any scotch left. Or maybe turpentine.

 

[3.3.3.3]

 

Hughes had been aware he was being tailed since he'd left the city limits, and constantly watched the rearview the entire trip. They'd kept their distance though, so he drove normal. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the passenger he had with him. The girl was nervous enough already, he didn't want to make it worse.

 

He glanced over at Sheska sitting silently in the passenger seat. She had been worrying the hem of her uniform jacket from the moment they got in the car, and he really felt for her. He didn't like doing this to the girl, but she was the only option they really had at the moment.

 

Mustang was going to be expecting a stack of books. With the information he got today, he didn't want to risk their disappearance being noticed. The thing about the mousey librarian was no one actually noticed her around the office. No one would notice if she were gone a few days, and he already had a ready-made excuse in case someone did bother to ask. Plus, there was no paperwork to accidentally fall into the wrong hands. The girl was also Hughes' best kept secret. Her photographic memory had been a boon to him after the Central Branch of the Library had been destroyed. He was especially thrilled to discover she'd broke protocol, and read case files she shouldn't have.

 

It could get her into a lot of trouble if word got out, but Hughes wasn't going to snitch on her.

 

The road through this stretch put him on edge. It was thickly lined with trees. A real good place for an ambush in his opinion, and he really wondered why Roy had chosen this place. He could think of any number of places within the city that would be easy to defend, and not hold any hidden dangers. But Roy had insisted, and just said he'd understand his reasons when he met up with his contact. Then again, this wasn't the first odd thing Hughes had to deal with in the past few days. And it was just getting stranger by the minute.

 

“Jet Black,” Mustang had said.

 

“Is that a description?”

 

“It's his name.”

 

“Any distinguishing marks, Roy?” Hughes said. “I'd hate to get the wrong guy, you know.”

 

“Heh. Trust me; you'll know it's him.”

 

Hughes cut the lights and motor just before the turn-off of the farm. He popped it into neutral, and coasted in. He went in only as far as it would take to prevent him from being easily seen from the road, and figured the overcast sky and the black paint of the car would finish the camouflage job for him. The turn-off was easy enough to miss, if you weren't familiar with the place.

 

His contact was supposed to be waiting for him just inside the barn, and Hughes had a little walk to get there. And not a lot of places to hide, if he needed to. He had a bad feeling in his gut about this whole thing.

 

He just sat silently in the driver's seat for a bit. Sheska never even moved. He hoped she was at least breathing, but he sympathized with her fear at the moment.

 

Nothing happened. No one came charging out of the barn with guns blazing, or anything quite so dramatic. No one waved `Hello', either. Of course, he hardly expected the later, but hoped against the former. But for all intents and purposes, the barn was empty. He gestured to Sheska to stay put, and saw her sink low in the seat. Smart girl, he thought, as he pulled the latch on the door.

 

He slowly opened it, and stepped out of the car. As soon as he was upright, he heard the audible click of a hammer being pulled back right behind his head. Maes Hughes slowly raised his hands.

 

Then there was a sudden, incredible force shoving him down to the ground by his head, and his ambusher fired off a couple of rounds toward a pair of trees next to the barn. Hughes peeked up as far as the base of the window, and saw a form fall to the ground near the trees. His first thought was of Sheska, and he glanced into the car. She'd slipped down, and was prudently cowering on the floorboard with her hands over her head. Her eyes, if it were possible, were huger than usual, and she was staring past him.

 

Hughes flicked one of his throwing knives down into his palm, and spun on the ambusher. The man had thrown up an arm to block the slice, and the knife shattered on impact.

 

“Hey! I'm on your side, dammit!” the man said.

 

He lowered the arm, and Hughes looked into the face of the most intimidating man he'd ever seen. And he was rarely intimidated. The man looked fit to do murder right then, and never give it a second thought. Of course the long scar and the piece of metal bolted to his face added to that impression. Fortunately, the black look was not directed at him.

 

“Jet Black?”

 

The man nodded, and continued to scan the area near the barn. “Looks like you were expected, Hughes.”

 

“Apparently.” He leaned in, keeping low, and popped the glove box open. He took out a gun, checked to make sure it was loaded, and repositioned himself.

 

“I counted five of them. And right now, they're between me and the Hammerhead.”

 

Hughes' brows shot up, and he grinned. “You named your car?”

 

Jet gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything.

 

[4.4.4.4]

 

Didn't Mustang tell him? Jet thought.

 

“Do you have any ideas for getting out of here?” Hughes asked.

 

“Depends on how willing you are to take a hike.” Jet glanced in the car, and saw a quivering female form wedged as tight as she could be on the floorboard. “What's with the girl?”

 

“That's your `package',” Hughes said.

 

Jet's brows furrowed, and his jaw set. “Please tell me you're joking.”

 

Hughes didn't have a chance to answer, as both he and Jet suddenly froze, listening. The sound of another vehicle tickled the silence.

 

“You were tailed?”

 

Hughes nodded.

 

Jet remained hunkered down, but he popped the latch on the back door of the car. “There's a clearing about half a mile from here—“

 

“I know the place, get in,” Hughes said, as he slid into the driver's seat, and started the car. He kept low.

 

Jet got the back door open, slung himself around it, and dove into the backseat, as Hughes put it in gear.

 

At that moment, another car made the turn onto the property, and barreled toward them. There were a rapid series of loud pops, and the rear window spiderwebbed. Jet leveraged himself against the back of the front seat and slammed both feet against the crazed glass, knocking it out of the frame. Then he flipped back up, and took aim at their pursuers. He couldn't see into the cab of the vehicle, but he had a good idea of where the driver set, and he meant to put a bullet right between his eyes, if he could.

 

He started to squeeze the trigger, when he caught the hint of movement in the headlights of the car following them. The car skidded to a stop.

 

Jet couldn't make out the figure clearly in the glare of the headlights, but it certainly looked human. “What the hell?”

 

In the next instant, the car that was chasing them exploded. The resulting shockwave hit Hughes' car like a battering ram, and threw Jet into the back of the front seat. “Shit!”

 

Hughes lost control of the car, and it skidded sideways, slamming the passenger side into a stand of trees.

 

He kicked the driver's door open, and tumbled out, grabbing the girl as he went. Jet followed suit. He crouched low, and kept his gun trained on the figure backlit by flames walking toward them.

 

He felt a hand on his collar, and himself being jerked back.

 

“This way,” Hughes said. Jet didn't argue; he followed.

 

The three of them slipped through the dancing shadows created by the burning car, using the trees as cover, and watching for any others. Jet noticed that Hughes seemed to know his way around this place very well.

 

After what seemed like ages, and getting no closer to the clearing, the three of them dove behind a boulder, and attempted to catch their breath. With his eyes back to being dark-adapted, Jet noticed that they had also reached the end of their cover, unless they wanted to back-track. He wasn't too keen on the idea, himself.

 

“Hughes,” he said between pants. “This ain't getting us any closer to the Hammerhead, or safety.”

 

He could have sworn he heard the man chuckle. “Call it the scenic route,” he said. “I'll get us to your `Hammerhead'. And with luck, we'll avoid Kimbley too.”

 

“Kimbley?”

 

Hughes slid up the boulder a bit, and peeked over the top of it, then slid back down. “Also known as the Crimson Alchemist. He's a psychopath that escaped the prison during the Lab Five incident.”

 

“Lovely.”

 

“It gets better. His specialty is making matter unstable and explosive.”

 

“I noticed that,” Jet said, as he rubbed his flesh arm. He had a feeling he was going to have a very nice bruise soon.

 

“Heh. Well, his favorite thing to blow up is people.”

 

“Thanks for the heads up.”

 

“My pleasure.” Hughes looked down at the girl curled up in a tight little ball between them. “Sheska, you alright? No wounds?”

 

She moaned softly.

 

“I'll take that as a yes,” Hughes said. “Ready?”

 

“What's the plan,” Jet asked. “You seem to know this place pretty well.”

 

Hughes gestured to the open area. “There's a hole in the ground about center of that clearing. About a five foot drop. It's the opening of a cavern. That will take us directly to where we want to go. We'll come out on the back side of your clearing, and probably get the drop on Kimbley's henchmen, at the same time.”

 

Jet scanned the clearing. Grass was tall, but sparse. It could go either way, in his mind. “Crawl or run?”

 

Hughes slid back up the boulder and looked around again. “I say run. Right now, Kimbley's probably figuring we'll backtrack, and try to get to that other clearing from the front.” He came back down, and looked at Jet. “He'll be waiting for us, there.”

 

Jet pulled at his collar. He was feeling warm from the running. He noticed it was starting to tell on Hughes too, because he pulled at his collar and sniffed.

 

Sheska started looking around curiously. “What's that smell?”

 

Jet realized then he had been noticing that there was a growing odor, and it smelled hot.

 

He and Hughes looked at each other, and at the same time, they both grabbed Sheska by and arm, and ran. They got about 100 yards, and then dove to the ground. Just as the boulder they had been hiding behind blew.

 

They covered their heads as rocks and pebbles rained down on them. As soon as the dust cleared, Jet coughed, rolled to his back, and said, “Someone forgot to tell Kimbley where he was supposed to be.”