Bebop: Cowboy

"Maybe I did," he says, exhaling a long plume of smoke. "But ghosts don't pay the bills."

Spike sighs, the sound of a man who’s already lived through this day a thousand times. "Tijuana? It’s a dust bowl."

The Swordfish II cuts through the yellow clouds of Venus, landing with a heavy thud in the rusted outskirts of Tijuana. Spike steps out, the collar of his blue suit turned up against the wind. The city is a graveyard of half-finished skyscrapers and neon signs that flicker with dying gasps. Cowboy Bebop

Spike pulls a fresh cigarette from his pocket and strikes a match. The flame flickers in his mismatched eyes—one seeing the present, the other trapped in the past.

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. "Maybe I did," he says, exhaling a long plume of smoke

"There’s a bounty," Faye chirps, suddenly sitting up. "A small-time hacker named 'Blue Note.' 50,000 Woolongs. He’s hiding out in the ruins of Tijuana."

Spike is staring at the ceiling, a cold cigarette dangling from his lip. It’s a dust bowl

Faye looks at him, her eyes uncharacteristically gentle. "You look like you saw a ghost, Spike."