On the east side of Thoracia, a well-populated city on Ganymede, there was about three square blocks known as "The Neon Strip". The Neon Strip consisted of nothing but upscale department stores, high-quality boutiques, and polished eateries.

Only a small portion of Thoracia's inhabitants could regularly afford to sample the dainty wares of The Neon Strip, and it was not at all uncommon for visitors to eagerly flock there, only to be turned back, discouraged by the high prices. Considering that, the more shrewd business owners in Thoracia began to set up businesses right at the border of The Neon Strip, hoping to catch the attention of those with a slightly more limited disposable income. The plan worked like a charm, and soon, business space in "The Sunset Strip" became just as valuable and envied as anything over in Neon.

One of the most lucrative businesses flourishing in Sunset was a bar and grill called 'Saltwater Cowboy'. The land value was low, as the only piece of actual land involved in the property was about 400 square feet of beach, and a small dock. That dock led directly to a modified fishing boat which had at one time been prepared to fly in space. But those internal workings were long gone, and now the ship, which always had a faint odor of smoke about it, was permanently anchored into the seawall. Deprived of its original function, it was now equipped and prepared to float, and served as an authentic restaurant.

Naturally, 'Saltwater Cowboy' served primarily seafood, although they also prepared excellent steaks, and every few months, 150 freshly dressed racks of lamb would show up in the hold. Combining such fine dining with a suitably rowdy full bar made for an enjoyable experience, and the restaurant grew in fame, drawing customers from several cities away. The strong flavor of sea salts gave the seafood a unique taste. Many of the dishes were prepared by wrapping meat in banana leaves, covering the whole dish with filtered, sifted sand, and roasting for hours. The results spoke for themselves: juicy steaks, richly textured roasts, and slabs of meat that fell apart in their own marinades.

It was to this particular restaurant that Faye Valentine came one hot and lonely summer's evening, spurred by loneliness. Ever since Spike had vanished into the darkness of space and gone to his irrevocable appointment with Vicious, she hadn't felt at ease living on the Bebop. Despite Jet's attempts to offer her a home, she simply couldn't stay, feeling in her heart that Spike wasn't dead, that he was still out there somewhere. But two years had passed, and inspiration had long since faded, replaced by a sense of obligation. When duty had lost its grip, guilt set in, to be followed by boredom. Unable to return to the Bebop, unable to make any contact with Ed, and still unable to locate Spike, she had come to Thoracia careworn and depleted.

The first thing she asked upon meeting one of the locals was, "Where can I get a good drink?"

The man had pointed her in the direction of 'Pleasure Island', after giving her a long once-over. But one glance at the lunch menu told her that the place was entirely out of her league. Timidly, she asked her server for a slightly less expensive bar. The young man's chuckle relieved her anxiety. "Don't worry, you're hardly the first person who's asked that today. You should try 'Saltwater Cowboy.' I go there myself when I'm off work."

"I'm new in town."

"Of course." He ripped off the unneeded order sheet and scribbled down directions. "Go back down the hill until you see a blue convenience store and a fruit stand, then use these directions. Walking, you should be there in less than ten minutes."

She followed the directions dutifully enough, and quickly found herself on a beach, trudging through warm, soft sand towards a pier. She blinked twice at the ship moored in the harbor. "God, that looks just like the Bebop." Painted on the corroding metal was an appropriately amateurish caricature of a cowpuncher riding a fish.

She stood on the dock, looking at the deck where she and Spike had often sat and stared at nothing for hours. There were all weather tables bolted to the surface, graced by sturdy, dark blue shade umbrellas. People sat there now, laughed, drank, and enjoyed themselves. On her ship. Her home. And she didn't even feel welcome there anymore.

A voice near her interrupted her reverie. "Can I get you anything, miss? A drink? A table?"

She looked up. A young man with deep red hair was standing in front of her, clutching a menu. He looked eager to please, and despite her bout of self-pity she smiled. "I just need a seat at the bar, please."

Obligingly, the host led her straight to the bar, where she sat and relaxed in the cool air. It caressed her bare shoulders with a mild touch, inviting and gentle. She ran her nails over the counter absently as the barkeeper approached. "Hey there, miss. Wantin' a drink? We've got margaritas on a happy hour special tonight, they're only two wulongs."

Faye smiled again. Already, she was smiling twice as much as she had for several days running. "I'm not really a margarita type of girl."

The barkeeper smiled back. Although Faye could tell that she was at least 45, the woman was remarkably well preserved. She hardly looked her age, with rich black hair that fell in a redundancy to her waist, and a perfect set of teeth. Her light blue eyes sparkled with vivacity, and her skin was still quite firm, with little need for makeup. Faye gazed at her with a slight twinge, envying the ability to genuinely grow older so gracefully.

"Y'know what…" Bottles clanked as the bartender began to set up for her shift. "I'm not either. They taste like soda to me."

"Me too."

"You should try the top shelf Marg, then." She removed two glistening bottles of Ouzo from a back cabinet. "Cuervo Gold, Grand Marnier, Cointreau float. Good stuff."

Faye pondered. "That's not a happy hour drink, is it?"

"Believe it or not, it is. They're normally seven wulongs, but they're two for one. Wanna try?"

Faye decided to try. The woman pulled three different glass bottles from the wall, measuring and pouring, mixing and shaking, and finally straining out pale green liquid into two ornate glasses before handing them over. Faye swallowed and gasped a little as the liquor seared her throat. "Whoops. Guess I've got to take it a little easier."

"It's top shelf, honey," the woman laughed. "Strong liquor in there. Don't suck, sip."

She took the advice given and sipped more slowly. This time the drink went down more smoothly and consoled her. The bartender nodded. "Name's Mak. Yours?"

"Faye."

"Nice to meetcha, Faye." Mak began to chop garnishes as she eyed Faye shrewdly. "You're not of Big Poppa's girls, are ya, Faye? One of the newer ones, maybe?" But at the puzzled look she got, she decided that it would do just as well as completely change the subject. "Never mind. You want food, too, darlin'?"

"Maybe in a little bit." Faye sipped and chewed on the ugly straw as a TV screeched in the background. She looked around. Too many happy people…it made her entirely too jittery. She didn't belong with cheerful couples, loving families…she belonged to a world of outcasts and shadows. Being thrust into the light like this just made her overwhelmed with anxiety.

She laughed and took another quick gulp. "God, it sounds like I'm talking about a cockroach." She picked up a menu and took a glance at the appetizers. Broiled alligator tail. Steamed crawfish. Peel and eat shrimp, served hot or cold. Steak quesadilas. She pursed her lips, trying to decide.

"Hey, you one of the new girls?" a voice asked.

Faye looked up at a woman wearing a beaded halter top and pants that struggled against physics to stay put. She cringed as the girl bent over to lean on the counter. What an awful makeup job…it made the poor thing look at least eight years older than it should have. The garishly blonde hair that spilled over her arms was frazzled and kinky, a sure sign of peroxide damage. This woman looked as artificial and cheap as Mak looked real. It was a disturbing comparison, especially when she recalled the similarity of the questions posed. Her voice quavered slightly as she answered. "'New girl?'"

"Ain't you Big Poppa's new girl? You look like someone he brought in the other day."

"Stacy," Mak snapped as she walked down to the end of the bar briskly. "Don't bother her."

"Ain't she the new girl?" Stacy asked insistently. "Cuz if she is, I got a job for her."

"Stacy," a deep voice growled.

All three women at the end of the bar looked up. One mouth fell open in surprise, as Faye promptly turned a deep shade of scarlet. "Jet."

Stacy looked surprised, and upset. "You know Big Poppa?"

"She's not the new girl," the man rumbled. "And you're not getting the rest of the day off, so forget it."

Infuriated, but impotent, Stacy stalked out of the bar and back onto the dock. Mak handed Faye a bar napkin and acknowledged Jet with a grin before heading back to the other end. Faye dropped her eyes, face still flaming.

"Is this stool open?" At her mumbled 'yes', he took a seat immediately to her left, shielding her from view. She was about as grateful as she could be under the circumstances: a few looky-loos who had been trying to get her attention were now quite discouraged.

"You haven't paid for these yet, have you?" he asked, pointing at her drinks. Without waiting for her to answer, he called for Mak, who came instantly. "Yes, sir."

"Whatever she's eating tonight is on me. Ring up her tab as a manager's meal."

Mak nodded before going back to her other customers. Faye finally looked up at him, face twisted with rage. "So you're a pimp now."

He shrugged ever so slightly. "If you'd like to call me that. I prefer to be called a businessman."

She resisted the powerful urge to throw her drink in his eyes and slap that smug smile right off his damned lips. A businessman. Trafficking in human misery. "You're disgusting, Jet. You're worse than Vicious."

He let one leg fall off the stool lazily as he smoothed out his suit. The metal arm balanced his body between stool and bar at a precarious angle, while the fleshy fingers searched deftly for his cigarettes. Having located his quarry and lit up, he blew a ring of smoke and looked at her coolly. "I'm sorry that I've disappointed you, Faye. But some of us had to going on living in the real world while you went out gambling your life away and chasing after ghosts." He straightened up with admirable quickness and caught the hand flying towards his face. "And hitting me isn't going to bring him back, either. So enjoy your drinks and your dinner." He dropped her arm abruptly before walking away.

A few errant tears puddled in her dark green eyes before slipping out and adding their salt to her margarita. She looked up at the bar, mumbling to herself. "This bar…right here…it used to be part of Spike's room…and down there was mine…but it's all gone now. You really can't go home again." She gestured to Mak.

"Ready to order now?"

"Yeah," Faye said with a sigh. "What's the most expensive thing on the menu tonight?"

The pretty bartender didn't even have to look while she answered. "Filet mignon and Ganymede Rock Lobster."

Faye thought about it as she finished the first margarita and dove headfirst into her second. "What's the best thing to eat? What would you personally recommend?"

"Hmm." Mak slid a frosty bottle of beer down the bar to a young man who was flirting with her, and rather badly at that. "I'd personally go with the dried peppercorn rack of lamb. Second most expensive item on the menu."

Faye took a huge swig of her drink, draining the glass. "I'll take it." She grimaced as the cold liquid suddenly gave her a throbbing headache. "Let me have a vodka martini next, please."

"How does it taste?"

Faye finished chewing before she answered. "It's delicious."

"Good." Mak leaned in a little closer before continuing. "Y'know, Big Poppa made that for you, special."

"Really." The meat suddenly felt dry and rubbery in Faye's mouth.

"Yep. He wanted to know which order was yours so he could cook it himself." She stood up as the drink printer whined out an order, snatching up the ticket. "You known him long?"

"A few years," Faye answered, stirring the hot, mealy potato around in its skin. "We used to work together."

"Hmm." Mak pulled down the bottles that she needed to mix two different drinks. "He showed up in Thoracia about a year ago with this ship, but it used to be set up to fly in space. It took about three weeks to get it renovated and made into a space big enough to hold a restaurant."

Faye's voice shook. "That space you're standing in…it used to be my friend's bedroom."

"Really?" Mak looked at her solemnly as she strained out refined alcohol into shot glasses. "So you and him was pretty close, huh?"

"Not really," Faye muttered.

Mak walked away to serve the drinks and take an order, leaving Faye alone. But when she returned, she motioned for the purple-haired woman to lean in closer. "Usually, when a pretty girl comes in alone and sits at this end of the bar, we all know she's one of Big Poppa's girls."

"He's a pimp," Faye said, disdain evident in her voice.

"I dunno 'bout that. See, he never takes money from his girls, and he don't let 'em do their business here. Mostly, he keeps guys from beating 'em up and keeps 'em fed. It's a pretty hard life for some of 'em. I think he's pretty nice to do it at all myself."

Faye didn't respond this time, taking a gulp of the vodka and vermouth combination.

"That Stacy girl that was talking to you earlier, she's probably gonna be gone soon. I'm surprised he took her in at all. She ain't been nothing but trouble since she came, stealing from the other girls and trying to handle business here in the store. She was trying to get you to take a john for her, that's why I stepped in." Mak put the bottles back in their wonted place. "But y'know, you can't be too upset if people think that you're…working. You're dressed a little funny."

Faye's mouth quirked. It was true. But still…it had never caused problems before.

Then again, she had never actually known a pimp before.

She thought about the Jet that she had seen next to her. Silk suit. Patent leather shoes. Designer sunglasses. He had been wearing more wealth on his body just then than they, as a collective crew, had been able to make chasing multiple bounties. He had enough money to actually permit her to take advantage of his legitimate business, and she was angry with him for it. Why?

Why else? Because in making it on his own, and being wildly successful, he had shown that as much as his crew relied on him, he could get along just fine without them. He didn't need Ed. He didn't need Spike.

He didn't need her.

And it also meant…he had forgotten. Spike's death, while sucking all of the air from her world, to all appearances had hardly made a dent in his. How could he go on, smiling, laughing, flirting, while his best friend's body lay rotting in an abandoned building somewhere?

How dare he?

The dinner was done and she didn't want anything else to drink. Mak had offered her a dessert, but Faye had refused upon hearing the word "chocolate". It reminded her entirely too much of endless days spent in the Redtail, without gas and without food, surviving solely on candy.

The evening crowd was definitely picking up, and Faye soon became aware that her seat was wanted. Stacy, the girl she had met earlier in the evening, had returned, pushing her way up to the bar and practically demanding a drink from Mak. She glanced down at Faye as Mak handed her a bottle, curling her thin lips with displeasure. "You still here?"

"Stacy, cut it out," Mak said sharply.

The girl sucked her teeth derisively, neither moving nor taking her eyes off Faye. It was quite obvious, to Mak at least, that Stacy was both contemptuous and deeply jealous of this new girl. She crossed her arms and leaned against the back bar as she wondered where Jet had managed to get hold of this one. She looked so sad. Crushed. Like a rose that should have been blooming and ripe with color, but through some unfortunate set of circumstances had wilted in its prime.

"Hell," she muttered as she picked up a bottle of butterscotch schnapps, "listen to me gettin' all poetic. Next thing I know, I'll start wantin' to find a husband or somethin'."

Author's Notes:

1. In case you can't tell, Don Henley's "Down at the Sunset Grill" inspired several items in this chapter. Great song. The chapter name itself, however, comes from Supertramp's "Take the Long Way Home," also a very neat song.

2. 'Saltwater Cowboys' is the name of an actual restaurant in Tampa, FL. Never been there myself, but I've got a good imagination.

3. Mak and Stacy's voices and inflections are based on people that I know. Darn shame, that.

4. And a little comfort for those of you who are already starting to get a funny taste in your mouths concerning this fic: while Jet is most definitely a pimp, Faye is most definitely NOT his ho. So fear not.

Chapter 2 be coming soon!