Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Suicide Is Stainless ❯ Sit Down ( Chapter 4 )

4) Sit Down

Spike peered round the corner of the warehouse, the fifth one he had inspected so far. Carefully he looked about, hunting for any sign of the building in which the fights were taking place. Unfortunately, one building seemed to be pretty much the same as the next. For all he knew, he may have examined a couple of the edifices more than once.

Stood behind Spike, hugging herself and shivering uncontrollably, was Faye. She was too concerned with her own ordeal to aid Spike in his search.

"Have you found it yet?" Faye asked; her words wavering as her body convulsed in an effort to generate some heat.

Spike groaned, and his face dropped. That question was all he had been hearing for the last twenty minutes.

"Not yet, Faye." he replied. . . again.

"Well hurry up." Faye said. "I think my nose is about to fall off."

"I wish your mouth would fall off." Spike muttered.

"What was that?" Faye snapped.

Spike sighed, and hunched his shoulders.

"I think we should try over there."

He then began to trudge out into the open with a still quaking Faye in toe. The two emerged at a crossroads between four buildings. Just as they reached the heart of the junction, a loud beeping began to emanate from Spike's jacket. Spike sighed once more, reached into his inside pocket, and extracted a portable communicator. A red light atop the unit was blinking frantically. Spike depressed a button on the face of the communicator, activating a brightly backlit screen, which displayed a grainy image of Jet.

"Jet." Spike greeted his colleague frostily.

"Spike." Jet replied in kind. "You had any luck finding the fights yet?"

"Not yet." said Spike.

No sooner had Spike finished speaking Faye barged around him and forced her face in between his and the communicator.

"Jet!" she exclaimed. "I thought you said you prepared the Redtail for take-off."

"Yeah, so?" Jet replied innocuously.

"So, why wasn't there any anti-freeze in the tanks?"

Jet closed his eyes, and gave a slight smile.

"Sorry, guess it must've slipped through the net." he said, shrugging. "You know what they say, if you want something done properly then you have to do it yourself."

Faye scowled, and removed herself from Spike's line of sight.

"Look, Jet." Spike began. "Do you have any clue as to exactly which building we're looking for?"

"No, but I've got Ed working on it right now." Jet replied.

Jet then winced at the sound of a high pitch scream coming from his end of the line.

"Aaagghhh! No, no, no, no, no!"

Jet glanced to his left, then back at Spike.

"We're not having much luck either." he sighed.

At that moment, Spike caught wind of a sound carrying from the other side of the crossroads. The sound was a dull clunk, like that of a large metal lock being undone. Spike looked up to see a large door in the wall of the alley before him being drawn open rapidly, allowing brilliant stream of light to bleed from the side one of the buildings. The light poured across the alleyway catching the gently tumbling flakes of snow in its glare, and illuminating the wall opposite.

"Hold on Jet, we may just have had a change of luck." Spike informed his partner.

A shadow began to rear up in the light projected against the wall of the alley. The silhouetted figure was large, and appeared much too big to be just a single person.

"Out ya go!" Roared an anonymous voice.

With that, an ill-defined mass hurtled from the doorway and out across the alleyway. The object struck the snow with a sickening thud, and tumbled across the ground before striking the opposite wall with what sounded like a grunt of pain.

There was a loud slam as the door was closed once more, and the area was plunged back into darkness.

"I think we've found our place." said Spike.

"Finally." Faye lamented.

She then barged past Spike and began to power walk towards the door.

Spike looked back down at Jet.

"Tell Ed to take five." he said.

"Okay." Jet replied. "But I'll have her on standby. You might need info on some of the other characters you find in there."

Spike gave a subtle nod.

"Right. See you later."

"I'll be in touch." said Jet.

He then ended the transmission.

Spike slipped the communicator back into his jacket and looked up. Faye had already reached the door in the side of the warehouse and looked ready to start knocking. Of course, being the more experienced of the two in such matters, Spike suspected that Faye's indelicate manner might get them both into trouble. As such, he hastily made his way over to the door.

"I wouldn't be in such a hurry if I were you." Spike called.

"Spike, I'm freezing my ass off here." Faye said indignantly. "I'm not staying out here for another second longer."

"Okay, but at least try to be polite." Spike said upon reaching the door. "Syndicate doormen are notoriously bad tempered."

"So what? He'll tell us we can't come in because we're not properly attired?"

"Not quite." Spike said then gestured over his shoulder to where the mass that had just been ejected from the building was lying.

The dim light that leaked from the gaps between the door and its frame fell upon what was now just identifiable as a human body. The figure was sprawled on its back, and did not appear to be breathing.

"So, they threw out a drunk." said Faye. "It's pretty common you know."

Spike looked straight into Faye's eyes.

"Look again."

As Faye peered down at the form, she began to see a dark patch of snow. The darkened area originated from beneath the body, and was expanding steadily as it was supplied by the reservoir of fluid that lay on top of it.

A ship cruised past overhead, the roar of its engines filling the freezing night air for a fleeting moment before it raced off into the night. In the brief brush stroke of light that its blazing engines provided, the patch snow was painted a glistening crimson.

"Like I said," Spike confided. "notoriously bad tempered."

Faye's eyes lingered on the body for a few seconds before she looked back at Spike.

"Alright." she conceded. "I'll try to be nice."

She then raised a fist and rapped gently on the cold surface of the rusty iron door.

"Hello, Mr doorman?" Faye called. "Can we come in please?"

Spike sighed. If she didn't get him killed then she would almost certainly destroy his credibility.

Faye withdrew her fist, and awaited a response. A few seconds elapsed, but there was no answer. Faye furrowed her brow and looked to Spike.

"See where being nice gets you?" she said.

She then turned back to the door and raised her fist once more. This time she drove the base of her fist against the door repeatedly with considerably more force than before. The blows resonated through the door like peeling of a bell as Faye vied for the attention of the occupants.

"Let us in, damn it!" she yelled.

What little allure this bounty had held for Faye seemed to have become icebound along with almost everything else in the immediate vicinity. Spike too was to feeling the biting cold, except he had not wanted to come here in the first place.

"I knew this was going to be a bad idea." Spike complained to the backing of Faye's frustrated cries.

Faye turned to him with a wrathful scowl,

"Well you should have thought of that before you blew away all our fuel money, hotshot." she scolded.

There was a loud clash of metal. Faye's eyes widened, and she and Spike both looked to the door as it was slowly drawn open, revealing a hulking figure standing across the doorway. The figure was a man, touching on seven feet in height, and wearing a black suit with a white, round-collared shirt. The immense doorman took a step forward, and glared down at the visitors with huge, black eyes set into a pale, stubbly face.

"What do you want?" he thundered in a thick, Eastern European accent.

Faye met the doorman's glare with a false smile.

"Hi. We're here to see the fight." she informed him amiably.

"Yes, I'm sure you are." The doorman replied, his chiselled features betraying little emotion. "What is the password?"

"Password?" Faye echoed, then turned to Spike and said softly. "It's just one cliché after another with you syndicate people, isn't it."

Spike shrugged.

There was a thunderous growl, and Faye whipped round to look at the Doorman once more.

"Right, the password." she said, smiling politely.

Leaning over to Spike, she whispered out of the corner of her mouth,

"A little help, Spike?"

"I'm surprised at you, Faye." Spike said. "I thought you of all people would know the universal password."

"The univ. . . oh, the universal password." Faye replied, her face sinking as she realised what he meant. "I don't suppose you could front the money for this one."

"Sorry." Spike shrugged. "I'm not the one with the cash to blow on gambling."

Faye muttered angrily, then grasped a small, black purse that hung low from her left shoulder. Opening it, she peered inside. She hardly had time to gasp with shock at the empty space she found within before she heard Spike's voice.

"Here, buy something nice for the wife."

Faye looked up to see Spike passing a small wad of bills into the doorman's dinner plate of a hand; the very wad she had just been searching for.

"This password is a little shorter than the one's I'm used to." The doorman said, eying the cash in his hand.

"I'm afraid that's my best guess." Spike replied.

The doorman continued to look over the money. After some seconds of deep thought, he emerged with his answer.

"Very well." he said. "I suppose it can't do any harm since you've missed most of the event anyway. And Nadia has been pestering me for a new dinner service."

The doorman smiled with a large set of rather yellowed teeth. Slipping the money into his jacket, the great barrier of a man stepped to one side.

"Please, enjoy the rest of your evening." he said as Spike and Faye walked by.

"Thanks." said Spike.

Faye did not respond. She was still trying to ascertain how Spike was able to relieve of her cash without her knowledge. It was an act worthy of her own considerable skills.

Beyond the door lay a short stretch of corridor. The area was lit by a series of bar lights on the ceiling, and the walls on each side were lined with doors. The corridor culminated in a single large double door from behind which were emanating the cries and general murmurings of a sizeable crowd.

Faye glanced from side to side at the various doors that she was passing. She then turned around, and posed a question to the doorman.

"Excuse me, but could you point us in the direction of the executive boxes?"

The doorman, who was in the process of locking up the door, turned and looked back at Faye in bemusement. This prolonged stare made Faye a little nervous.

Suddenly a wide smile spread across the doorman's face, and he began to laugh uproariously. His bass laughter echoed from the walls of the corridor for some time before he was finally able to get his amusement under control. He then looked to Spike.

"Your girlfriend, she is quite the funny one." he chortled.

Spike and Faye replied, respectively and in unison,

"She's not my girlfriend."

"I'm not his girlfriend."

"Yes, yes, of course. The stands are through there." The doorman said, pointing to the double doors.

He then turned away and returned to his guard duty, still chuckling to himself,

"Executive boxes indeed."

Faye stepped up alongside Spike, and the two began to walk towards the double doors.

"This is your fault, you know." Faye muttered, still sore from the laughing at she had just received.

"What's my fault?" Spike asked.

"It's your fault we can't get good seats. Why couldn't you at least make an effort to be well turned out?"

"Faye, this is a pit fight. There *are* no good seats. And besides, you're the one who's overdressed."

Faye scowled, and looked away from Spike.

"There are tramps who would look overdressed next to you." she said.

"You said it, not me." Spike replied.

--- ---- ----

Jet sighed deeply, and glanced at the time index on the communicator that lay on the table before him. It was early morning, and he had still yet to get any sleep. The main reason for his insomnia was his fretting over the success of the bounty hunt upon which Faye and Spike had embarked. The fact was the early signs did not bode well.

Jet was still sat on the couch. He hadn't moved from there in over two hours. It wasn't that he didn't want to move, but rather that he couldn't. Earlier that evening, he had made the mistake of lamenting his sleep problem to Ed. Of course Ed, in typical childlike fashion, had then claimed that she too could not sleep in what was a blatant attempt to flout her bedtime.

A bounty hunter with a bedtime; Jet still couldn't get over that.

Anyway, he, Ed and Ein had all been holding a late night vigil, awaiting news of the chase from Faye and Spike. Of course, rumours of Ed's insomnia were greatly exaggerated. Now Jet had Ed asleep with her head on one lap, and Ein asleep with his head on the other. They had been like that for almost an hour now, and what made things worse was that both were drooling uncontrollably.

Jet sighed once again, and his thoughts returned to Spike and Faye.

"I'll bet they're having the time of their lives right about now." he said.

--- --- --- --

Spike and Faye each placed a hand against opposite sides of the double door and pushed it aside. Upon crossing the threshold, there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere as the relatively cool, clean air of the corridor gave way to a warm, humid, smoky environment. The immediate area was dark, and filled with the barking and chattering of a seated crowd whose attention was loosely centred upon a well-lit circular area that lay at the foot of the steeply inclined stands.

"You really know the right places to take a girl, Spike." Faye sighed at the sight of the distinctly modest facilities.

Spike wasn't listening. Taking a step into the arena he released his half of the door, allowing it to swing closed behind him, and slowly took in a sweeping view of his surroundings. Before him there lay a heaving sea of spectators, the heads of each bobbed and ducked like small waves as they attempted to optimise their view. The seascape was shrouded in a thick fog of smoke, which grew steadily more dense with increasing altitude, completely obscuring everything beyond the brightly lit ring below. Spike gave a slight smile as he drew in a breath of the painfully polluted air.

"I've missed this." he uttered.

He then strode forward the few paces to the head of the narrow stairway that ran between the seating and began to descend it.

Faye trotted up behind him,

"Hey, wait up."

Descending the stairs just behind Spike she scanned around the stands to both sides. Almost all of the spectators appeared to be male, and dressed quite casually. The manner of dress varied from the grimy rags of the local peasantry who had probably blown a month's paltry wage just to be there, to the trendy street clothes of up and coming syndicate members for whom attendance at such events was a weekly habit. It seemed that there was no discrimination by wealth here, in a place to which all had been drawn by a common lust for blood.

And the scanning was mutual. Faye could sense the rather unsavoury stares that she was receiving from within the ocean of rolled up sleeves and loosely applied ties. But then, she'd never let this bother her before, and so she continued to study the stands unfazed. Unfortunately all she saw were row upon row of spectators, crammed together more tightly than could possibly be safe, without a vacant seat to speak of.

"I don't think we're gonna find anywhere to sit around here." she said over Spike's shoulder.

At that moment, as if incited by Faye's words, two figures in the front row of the crowd just to the left of the stairway leapt to their feet and unleashed a barrage of fists and coarse language upon each other.

Spike paused halfway down the stairs, blocking Faye's path in so doing.

"On the contrary." he said. "I think we're about to find some ringside seats."

The drunken fisticuffs had not gone unnoticed by the event staff.

In the stands to the right, a tall anonymous figure dressed in a long dark coat began to make his way across the front row. The figure, masked by the swirling haze of smoke, was visible only by his silhouette against the glare from the ring area. As he ghosted silently towards his quarry, the light danced and glided along the gold lining of his jacket, and arced across a golden cord that fastened the garment across the chest. This manner of dress was all too familiar to both Spike and Faye.

The steward reached the end of the front row and emerged into the space at the foot of the stairs. He had still yet to be noticed by the duelling audience members, who continued to quarrel over whatever trivial matter had angered them. Reaching into his jacket with his right hand, he extracted a lustrous black object.

Instinctively, Spike pulled his own right hand from his pocket and let it hang loose at his side in readiness to reach for his own firearm.

The steward stretched out his arm and trained his weapon upon the back of the nearest antagonist's head. There was a flash of the light from the muzzle of the pistol, accompanied by a deafening crack as it released the projectile. The nearest duellist lurched forwards as he was struck by the bullet, which passed into the back of his head then burst from the front in a glistening crimson shower of blood and shattered bone. The detritus was sprayed across the face and down the front of the second arguer, who himself had only been narrowly missed by the emerging projectile. The sound of the shot had caused a silence to fall upon the arena, allowing the thump of the body striking the ground to echo unchallenged from the bare brick walls.

The second antagonist now stood slack jawed over the body of his fallen adversary. He stared at the steward for a couple of seconds, his expression dripping with shock as his face dripped with gore. Then, consumed by panic, he turned and began to try and force his way past the row of seated spectators.

There was a flash, and a second shot rang out across the arena. The fleeing spectator was stopped in his tracks as a torrent of blood erupted from his chest, and then he too fell to the ground.

The steward retracted his gun and replaced it inside his jacket. Gradually, the silence that had hung over the arena was lifted, and the air was once more filled by the excited hum of hundreds of mingling voices.

A second steward, dressed similarly to the first, began to make his way along the front row from the opposite side to his colleague. The two converged on the corpses that lay out of sight of Spike and Faye, and stooped to pluck them from the floor.

Spike replaced his right hand in his pocket and began to make his way down the stairs once more. He reached the bottom of the stairs just as the steward that had fired the shots was emerging from the front row. The steward had his arms hooked under those of a blood soaked corpse as he dragged it away to be disposed of.

"Excuse me," said Spike. "But would it be alright if we took those seats?"

The steward looked up at Spike.

"By all means." he replied, wearing a chillingly polite smile.

Spike gave a lazy smile of his own.

"Thanks."

Stepping to one side, he allowed the steward to drag the body from his path. He then stepped over the body's trailing legs, and began to make his way between the row of spectators and the waist high barrier of cinderblocks.

Faye followed suit, being careful not to allow her dress touch the blood sodden corpse.

"Enjoy your evening, m'am." The steward said, saluting with a reddened hand.

Faye turned to him, and gave an insincere smile.

"Thank you." she said. "Keep up the good work."

Faye then turned, and began to make her way along the front row after Spike.

The newly vacated seats were just a few places along from the aisle. Faye excused herself past several mildly intoxicated audience members before finally reaching her seat. However, before she could sit herself beside the ever-slouching Spike, she noticed that the floor where she was stood was somewhat slippery. Peering down at her feet, she saw that there was a shallow pool of blood smeared across the metal walk way.

"Oh, shit." she lamented, lifting one expensive heel out of the mess.

Spike did not say anything. His point had long since been proven.

Faye glanced down at her seat, a wooden fold-down chair. The chair was spring loaded, and had automatically folded away when its previous occupant had stood up. As such, Faye found it to be mercifully blood-free upon pushing down. She took her seat and sighed with relief at finally being off her feet.

Now seated, both Spike and Faye had an excellent view of the ring below. Though the barrier before them was only a few feet in height, it dropped down a good ten feet on the opposite side. The ring was circular and its floor coated in a layer of fine sand, which was beaten almost flat with footprints and stained brown-red in places. One particularly prominent feature was the ruts that had been carved out of the sand's surface. Though broken and buried in places, it was clear that they ran from all parts of the ring, converging upon a gap in the ring wall that led beneath the far stands. This suggested that something, or more likely someone, had been dragged from the ring on a number of occasions during the evening.

The excited murmurings of the crowd belied the fact that there was no activity whatsoever in the ring area. After looking down at nothing in particular for several minutes, Faye began to grow impatient.

"So, what's going on?" she enquired of Spike.

Spike shrugged.

"Beats me."

"Well, ask someone then." said Faye.

"Why don't you ask someone?" Spike replied.

Faye scowled at Spike, and then turned to the gentleman sitting at her right. As she had made her way to her seat, she had tried to avoid looking at those she was pushing past, and now she remembered why. Her neighbour was in a sorry state. Having clearly consumed more alcohol than his body could tolerate, he was slumped down in his seat, his glazed eyes staring vacantly into space. The semiconscious spectator was breathing heavily through his foul smelling mouth, and both his unshaven chin and un-ironed shirt were encrusted with vomit.

Faye turned back to the ring.

"You know what?" she said. "Never mind."

The minutes continued to pass unfilled as Faye, Spike and the rest of the audience waited for something to happen. As time passed by, the murmurings of the crowd began to change in tone, gradually transforming from an excited buzz to an impatient rumbling. Faye, who was hunched forwards with her elbows on the barrier and her head rested on her hands, cast a weary gaze across the empty ring.

"What the hell is going on?" she sighed. "If this fight doesn't get started soon, I am out of here."

Spike was showing a little more patience. He already had a fair idea of what was happening.

"Patience, Faye." he replied. "There are some things you just can't rush."

Within a few seconds of Spike's speaking, there was evidence of some activity from the gap in the far wall of the ring. A long shadow briefly fell across the contoured surface of the ring, moving about indecisively as its owner dallied tantalising close to the entrance way. Then a man, dressed in a black suit with black bow tie and white shirt, emerged from the corridor beneath the stand. The individual was Chinese in appearance, with short black hair that was slicked back with a large quantity of gel. In his right hand he held a cordless microphone. The man marched across the ring and stopped upon reaching its centre.

The new arrival was greeted by an increase in volume of the crowds murmuring. All eyes were now trained on him, including those of a certain pair of bounty hunters.

"Finally." Faye said, raising her head and resting back into her chair.

However, something was still amiss. Though the individual, evidently the ring announcer, was armed with a microphone, he did not seem in any hurry to use it. Instead, he simply stood at the heart of the arena, fidgeting with his left hand and looking anxiously into the crowd before him. Occasionally he would glance over his shoulder to the doorway as if awaiting some cue to begin.

Eventually, the ring announcer did raise his mike to address the audience.

"Ladies and Gentleman," his nervous voice echoed about the cavernous warehouse. "We apologise for the delay. The competitors are engaged in some last minute warming up and I can assure you they will be ready momentarily. I'm sure you'll agree with me when I say that a bout of this magnitude is well worth the wait. And remember, this evening's proceedings are brought to you by the Blue Rat Alliance, in association with Skyfall Spring Water, `A sprinkle of moon dust in every bottle'."

The announcer then lowered the mike, and visibly sighed. Within a short time of this, a second man appeared in the doorway behind the first. This one was dressed much more casually than his counterpart, and sported a microphone headset. He appeared to be trying to attract the attention of the announcer. Upon succeeding in this endeavour he began to gesture strongly for the announcer to approach him.

In response to this, the announcer turned away from the doorway and raised his microphone to address the audience once more.

"Excuse me for just a second, folks. It looks like something's going on in the back. Just sit tight and we may have some action for you in just a few moments."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Faye moaned as she watched the announcer turn and move quickly towards his colleague.

She then turned to Spike.

"Was it always like this back on Mars?"

Spike's initial response was to smile enigmatically. He continued to watch as the announcer conversed with his fellow event staff member, an exchange that appeared to become quite heated at times. It was quite obvious to Spike what was going on.

"Always." he said.

The announcer and his associate both disappeared under the stands leaving the ring vacant once more.

"Ugh, this is getting ridiculous." Faye complained. "Is there going to be a fight or not?"

"Just let it play out." Spike advised.

Faye groaned, and reassumed her original head-in-hands position.

Another few minutes past, and then the ring announcer emerged once more. From their ringside seats, Spike and Faye both noticed that he looked slightly flustered, even a little pale beneath the glaring lights.

"What's eating him?" Faye asked, leaning back into her chair.

Spike chuckled to himself.

"Every time." he said softly.

The announcer reached the centre of the ring and raised his microphone.

"Ladies and gentleman, we are now ready for the main event of the evening. Before we continue, let me just remind you that there are bookmakers stationed at all exits from the arena."

Faye's eyes lit up. She looked over her shoulder and, as promised, there was a gentleman wearing a black sandwich board standing at the top of the aisle stairway. The board was covered in chalked writing, displaying what were almost certainly the odds for the next fight.

"I'll be right back." Faye said, standing up.

"Where are you going?" Spike enquired, without displaying too much interest.

"To place a bet."

Spike turned to Faye with a look of mild puzzlement.

"But you haven't even seen the fighter's yet. And besides, didn't we already use all your cash to get in here?"

Faye looked down at Spike and smiled.

"I've got money hidden in places you'll never get your grubby paws."

Spike looked back to the ring. He thought it best to leave the conversation at that.