Spike sighs, the sound of a man who’s already lived through this day a thousand times. "Tijuana? It’s a dust bowl."
Spike leans against the bar, his eyes hidden behind dark shades. "Nothing stays buried forever, kid. Just ask the guys I’m taking you to."
He finds Blue Note in a basement bar that smells of cheap tequila and ozone. The hacker is barely twenty, eyes wide with a manic energy. Cowboy Bebop
"You’re not supposed to be here," Blue Note stammers, his fingers dancing over a holographic interface. "The past... it’s supposed to stay buried."
"It’s 50,000 Woolongs," Jet reminds him, his cybernetic arm whirring as he snips a tiny leaf. "That’s a lot of bell peppers." Spike sighs, the sound of a man who’s
Faye looks at him, her eyes uncharacteristically gentle. "You look like you saw a ghost, Spike."
For a second, the world goes quiet. The jazz playing on the bar's ancient jukebox seems to slow down, the trumpet notes stretching into a long, mournful wail. Spike sees a flash of golden hair, a memory of a rainy street, the smell of gunpowder and roses. Then, the doors burst open. Syndicate thugs. "Nothing stays buried forever, kid
Spike is staring at the ceiling, a cold cigarette dangling from his lip.
