Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ The Shrike ❯ Session One: Devil with the Blue Dress On ( Chapter 2 )

Title: The Shrike

Show: Cowboy Bebop (Oh HELL yes)

Author: Green Bird

Disclaimer: Not mine. I want it to be mine. *twitch*

Rating: PG-13 to R

Note: My passion; my Sci-fi character the Shrike in a fan-fiction with Spike. XD. Oh yeah. Alright. . . First Session- the capture of the beast. Please do not confuse Spike and Shrike. Violence. Action. No romance. . . but there is a hooker, and a hobo. Fabulous. Read me! Review me! I love you! I really do!

Session One:

Devil with the Blue Dress On

Spike had been sitting in the bar for a minimum of three hours, but he had lost the ability to tell after the third glass.

"There's nothing here Jet." He grumbled into the receiver that hung limply off his tie. "I mean sure Sareed is here, but still…"

"Has anyone approached him at all?" Came Jet's whisper into his ear. He tucked the earpiece further in. People seemed to keep their distance here, with the exception of one couple in the corner and a hooker who scuttled around from shadow to shadow like a cockroach, tying to gather a costumer. So far she was unsuccessful.

Spike flipped his glasses on again watching any one random person through the yellow tinted lens.

"Well if she doesn't show up I can bag a guy across the bar for running a stoplight, then I can buy a gumball with my huge bounty." He whispered irritably into his tie.

"Don't be sour Spike. If your bored just pretend to be a drunk, at least you'd entertain everyone else."

"What, and cut in on your fun? How's the gutter out there my little hobo friend?"

"My ass's numb." Jet hissed. "I have about 4W in recyclables, and someone puked within a few feet of me and the smell kills, but you don't hear me complaining do you?"

"But you just were." Spike interjected, returning his glasses to his inside pocket. A few had turned to glance at him talking to his shirt. He smiled goofily, hiccupping to further the belief that he was wasted.

They glanced at each other and shrugged disarmingly. Just another silly drunk.

Spike lay facedown on the table pressing his forehead onto the cold surface and stretching two too-long arms out over it. His gun flapped against his ribcage and another gun, this one a trank, lay hidden in his belt.

So dumb. He repeated to himself. So so so dumb. What if their little assassin didn't even exist? Or, if she did, who knew that this guy was even her target, and if he was…

He sighed deeply letting his shoulders rise and fall. He hardly noticed Jet's voice whispering. "What about her? Look, the one that just came in."

Drowsily he raised his head just as a chill gust ruffled his hair.

"Well what about her?" He hissed again.

What about her? Spike swore that just for a moment that she could have been Faye… but just for a second. She was far different then anyone else there, she wore the classic `little black dress'… well, except that it was a midnight blue. It cut off relatively short, but not insultingly so. Her hair was black and put back with something of a flower placed behind her ear. Her face, not heavily laden with makeup, had high cheekbones and rather long lidded eyes. Her eyes were the suspicious things; they were shiny blue in color, but that was not the thing that made him wary. It was the way she glanced around. Before she entered the room she appeared to have scanned it, making those dark lined eyes dart about. They seemed to stop on both Sareed and Spike. In fact, she almost seemed amused at the sight of him, raising pencil-thin eyebrows in surprise. She then smiled shyly and stepped all the way through the door to take a place on a barstool.

Could this be her? His heart was pounding in his ears. Could this be the deadliest assassin in the solar system?

His hopes almost closed in on him when she spoke.

"Evening Zir, vat good tings are zere to drink around ere, I yam parched!" Now normally he would have disregarded this as just a simple inquiry, but it was the way she said it. She spoke it like a ditz! A ditz with a very thick accent.

Spike slammed his head back down onto the tabletop, rubbing his nose into the wood. Damnit… damnit. Damnit.

"Well is it?" Jet persisted.

He tipped his head so that he could peer at her from his position. Well, she could be, everyone else here seemed far too unlikely. She was an actress after all right? He watched her for a few minutes while she contemplated her beverage. Rather toned arms, long, graceful legs. She seemed to be the type that took things at a stroll, the world through rose-colored glasses. Hardly the characteristics of an assassin. Better not place everything on first impressions. He countered inwardly, especially as soon as he heard her order her drink.

"I `tink I shall hav a dowble martinny…"

Wait…

"and screur me a few black olives wit it if zou might."

"Black olives? Miss I don't know where you came from but that's ridiculous."

Eyes thinned and she set a fat fold of bills on the bar, challenging the man servicing her. "Zou hav' zem no? Den you must do zis. I care not what zou tink." She gave him a piercing glare. "Ze haf undierstandinc?"

"Yeah sure lady. No problem no problem."

The sniveling man on the next barstool had turned to watch her. Beady eyes focused on smooth legs and glided up a flatter stomach to the bust of her chest. She would have none of it.

"Iv zou vant your eyez takein out zen keep staring rat." Alarmed, he shifted away from her and to a booth to find more agreeable company with the hooker.

Two seats down Sareed laughed at her. "Assertive aren't you Miss?"

"Von has to be." A slender shapely glass was placed at her fingertips and she cradled it delicately.

"I do hope that isn't your only defense…"

"Do zou plan to figure out? I yam not a veakling."

Sareed snorted into his mug.

Not a good move darling… Sareed was no man to even look at. Murder. Rapist. Run of the mill crook with a dangerously successful deal on the ropes… his reason for being a target. The Black Death's not too happy when he out-bid them. Sick their sixty million woolong pet on him… he'll be out in a week.

But this woman… could she be her? A cold-blooded killer that made Sareed look saintly? More likely then none. But then again… who said she was to strike tonight? Who said the Shrike wasn't in the kitchen, poisoning through drinks… who said she wouldn't snipe him outside the door? She never worked the same… never. And now what was she planning? Or maybe… was this girl a partner that lured the bait? Hell, for all he knew the Shrike could be the prostitute that was wiggling around. He had no leads.

"This sucks… I'll never find her." Yes, so she had ordered a martini… that was a drink. Women drink martinis. But… those black olives…

"Zou do not look zo good zir." It took a minute. Yes, his head was buzzing, but she was talking to him. Groggy eyes turned to clever blue ones.

"I'm not feeling too good. Bad beer."

"Zes." She smiled, switching crossed legs and turning to him, attention on Sareed diminished. "Dis is yan awfuil plece isn't it?"

"Then get out." Sareed growled at her. "You don't have to be here!"

She glared at him. "Zou hav no manners! I yam not even talking to zou! Damn loozer! Fuke off!" Sareed's face twitched at her outbreak, his thick cordy hands binding up in frustration. There was an irritated roll of eyes and she stood fast, leaving her half emptied glass on the gray smudged countertop, she made is if to leave. "I yam steppink owt zir." She motioned for the bartender to watch her drink. "If I do not com bak, den dump zis hawful thing."

Spike watched surprised as she looked expectantly to him, reaching up to the `V' of her dress to dig out a cigarette. "Zou vant to come alongk Lanken? Zou look as zo you need von too."

A cigarette in air that stank… less then in here. It was hot in the damn bar and under his suit he'd began to feel a bit slick. Step out? Why the hell not? If this woman was the Shrike, then he could avoid all of these people getting in the way as he caught her. So, even a bit indecisive, he still followed her; unfolding himself from his table and clicking off his communicator in case it started buzzing. His bill already paid; he followed her out.

The street was slightly cleaner looking now that it had gotten dark enough to hide away the garbage and darken the boarded windows. Smog was still thicker here then in the more expensive parts of the city; the purification vents long neglected. All in all… a normal Tharsis neighborhood.

"Thes city hes gon tu shit." He heard her mutter as she stood outside the doorway looking left then right as if deciding the correct direction to go. Twenty feet or so to their left sat Jet up to his knees in garbage with a poncho slung over his shoulders. Luckily she chose the opposite direction.

Ignoring his partner who was staring inquisitively at him from the gutter, he followed the clicking of her high heels on the pavement. Somewhere across the street Faye was stationed and most likely very curious to why Spike had abandoned his post. From up ahead of him the woman had stopped and turned to lean very casually against a graffiti-covered wall. She motioned for him to do the same.

"Here zou are Lanken." She muttered, slender fingers pinching a white cigarette that she held out to him.

"Yeah thanks." Flipping out his own lighter he offered to light it for her. She allowed it and took a nice long draw.

"Vat's yor name?"

"Spike." No need to lie about her on that. He did the same, taking in a few puffs and letting the stick hang from his lips.

"Ylana." She sighed, blowing a thin wisp of smoke into the stale air. "Zou look sickly Spike. I zink zou haf fad too mooch to drink."

"I'm feeling kinda tipsy. Too much whiskey." And the cigarette was not helping in the illness factor. Oh god… suddenly it felt as if everything he'd drunk had decided that it just wasn't content to stay put. "Speaking of that… I'll be right back."

The green-haired bounty hunter barely made it to a dumpster in the alley a few feet away before he decided to scream into it. Damn! He didn't know that he had dunk that much and… wait, when did he ever eat that? From the corner he could hear Ylana laughing.

"Vonderbal! I yam glad I hinvited zou out here! Hate to hav zou yackin in ze bar." She shook her head scornfully, turned back, and walked out of his sight to stand against the wall once more. For a few minutes Spike hung his head over the bin of the garbage and let the stink of it fill up his nose just to make sure that he didn't have to do it again. He was wrong, and over the undignified sound of his own gagging he hardly heard Ylana's voice.

"Oh its zou. Vat do zou vant?"

"Did you think you can just say that to me? Do you even know where you are? You're quite the confident bitch, aren't you?"

That was Sareed's voice! He was out on the street and talking to Ylana. Spike closed his mouth, and mustering all the gusto he could he swallowed what had worked its way into his mouth.

"An zour quite ze rood baztard!" She sounded far too sassy for her own good. "Now, I told zou… ah!"

Spike heard the sound of someone being pushed roughly up against the wall, and an exasperated gasp of surprise.

"Get zour hans oof of me!" Ylana shoved roughly at her attacker, who had her pressed by her shoulders up against the wall.

"I thought you said you were tough girl." Sareed sneered, teeth bore and glistening. "You're not so assertive now are you?"

"Zet go!"

Wonderful. Spike leant against the wall just around the corner. Just another person to save, he could just leave her but... she didn't deserve this. Damnit. He moved to stand; ready and quite happy to go pound Sareed's face in, but another sound stopped him.

"It is very unfortunate that you have such good taste." Who's voice was that? He hadn't heard that woman before. Was someone else out there? "You see, I might have kept you around for a few more nights if you'd have left me alone. But, I'm not going to complain…"

Then, the bounty hunter heard something that made his heart race and the bile that he had swallowed rise again. Sareed growled once and then tried to shout, there was sound of splitting flesh and the sudden whistle of air escaping from a tunnel. Someone's throat had just been flayed in half, and he was sure it was not Ylana's.

There were the horrific sound of Sareed's final attempts to breath as he stepped back away from the wall. His eyes were wide and terror-filled and one thick hand was struggling to lift a gun to the woman who now leered at him from under the streetlight.

"I take great pleasure in killing you. I am sorry I didn't make the incision deeper… but never you mind, your pain is really no difference to me." Blood began to bubble out of the man's mouth and with one final gasp he fell heavily onto the pavement.

The Shrike stood over him, looking down with thin hatred-filled eyes. The woman at the bar was no more; this woman was just who he had been looking for; cold, embittered, and swift.

Kneeling slowly she turned his face enough to brand his temple with her finger. When she removed it an S was cut into his skin.

"You had it coming you know." She whispered, kicking him lightly. The streetlamp about flickered idly and she continued to stare down at him. There was no one in the street, no sound of the passing cars that were there about a few moments ago, there was no real noticeable sound other then Spike's ragged breathing and the rattle of his gun in his hand.

"It's about time." The Shrike muttered. Sharp electric eyes turned up to him. "You done with the dumpster Mr. Spiegel? My cigarette worked?"

"Glad to meet you Shrike." Spike continued smiling despite how much he was shaking. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk now, arms extended, gun at the ready. He hardly believed that he could be scared of her, but… she seemed to take this dead man at her feet so lightly, and… she knew who he was.

"I'm sure you are. Come to take me away?" She grinned. Something flashed, mirroring a crack of lightning, and she rushed him, bringing one slender arm up the same second he fired. Once, twice. That's all he could manage. Two before she slapped the gun from his hand. Her other hand formed a fist and hooked around to collide with his face.

Anyone could have hit him and it wouldn't have felt the same… but damn! This hurt! Almost worse then being shot in the face! White lights burst and he fell backward onto a pile of garbage, the mess flying up around him.

The Shrike conceded her attack, standing calmly a few steps ahead of him. From down the street they heard the thumps of footsteps.

"Your friends are coming." She observed, lifting her arm and gazing at it uninterestingly. From pale flesh two needles protruded… the tranquilizer darts he had shot. "C38?" She asked, fingering one needle and slowly drawing it out. "That isn't going to work on me Mr. Spiegel." The Shrike tapped her wrist once and from somewhere she pulled a small dart with a container of neon colored liquid.

"Now, this…" she said, holding it up, "is a tranquilizer. XD41. Very nice." Smiling calmly she lifted it to her neck, threatening her jugular vein with the needle. "I expect someone to dump out that drink I hope you know." She gazed at him solemnly. "I'll be seeing you."

And with that she pushed the needle into her neck, emptying the liquid into her. Her face didn't falter once and she drew it out, oblivious to whatever pain it had caused. Blue eyes blinked lazily and she sat down against the wall. Her chest heaved once and as if a tired child, she fell into a drugged sleep.

~* TBC *~

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Intrigued? I'd hope so. This is the one story that I've been working with for a very long time. Cyrhen is an old character of mine and she seemed to meld well into the Bebop world. She is my baby. Love her.

Of all the series I love; Bebop is God.

Read me and I enjoy you. Review me and I adore.

Arigatou ~ Green Bird