Chapter Text
A man of average height and messy blond hair in a leather jacket was walking slowly in a dark rundown corridor of an apartment building. That man was a bounty hunter by the name of Billy Hargrove. He was climbing the stairs, the wood beneath his boots creaked at every step. It was one of those places where you'd only go if your other choice was to sleep in a dumpster. It almost looked as if he was coming back home after a night of drinking, however he was looking carefully at each closed door as he passed by. There was a cigarette hanging from his mouth while he prowled the hall like a hound. He was searching for one door in particular and it didn’t take him long to find it. It was a mystery what he recognized about it, as it looked indistinguishable from any other on this floor.
He stopped next to it and took the cigarette out of his mouth. He listened at the foot of the door, focused on detecting any noise that could come from inside. After a few seconds he was satisfied with what he heard - or rather didn't hear - so he took out a small leather pouch out of his pocket. Opening it fast, Billy took out a small set of tools and used them to pick the lock - his fingers worked fast. This wasn’t his first time picking a lock.
“This is too easy…” he muttered. He couldn't help grin while taking a break from lockpicking to take another drag from his cigarette. He almost felt giddy at the thought of finishing the hunt this fast… but his fingers slipped when he went back to picking the lock. He dropped one of the small metal tools. He leaned down with a frown and a growl to grab it-- a deafening shot from inside the room punched a gaping hole right above the doorknob! It missed his head by just an inch. “Shit!” He spat. Startled he tried to jump back, but instead he tripped and fell back, losing his cigarette in the process. He was fast on his feet again, taking out his revolver from the holster hanging on the back of his jeans.
Billy lingered close to the ground before he carefully peeked through the gaping hole above the doorknob. He saw a guy carrying a shotgun in hand, getting out through the window going to the fire escape.
“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere, Bouchet!” Billy screamed after his bounty, right before kicking in the door – pistol first. He ran to the window, following the guy running down the fire escape - shot and missed. He knew he wouldn't be able to catch him if he followed after him so he turned around and doubled back. He ran fast through the crappy apartment, back through the rundown corridor and down the staircase.
Bouchet finally reached the ground. He jumped down hard in a puddle, triumphant at the thought that he had lost the bounty hunter from sight. He didn’t allow himself to relax too much. Without a second to rest he started running as fast as he could through the dark alley. Just before he reached the corner of the building, and consequently the street, suddenly the bounty hunter appeared in his way. Bouchet stopped in his tracks, almost falling over. Without much thought, he aimed his weapon and shot. Billy jumped out of the way of the spray of lead, just in time. The shot obliterated a trash can, instead of his body. Bouchet turned around without waiting to see if he’d done any damage and started running in the opposite direction. Billy was still hiding behind the corner. He peeked carefully behind the trash cans before jumping back into the chase.
A car from the other side of the alley approached fast facing Bouchet. The hunted quickly redirected his route around the car, but the driver’s door suddenly opened, smacking him right off his feet. The car stopped with a whistle of the tires and a foolish looking dude jumped out of the driver's seat. He wore dirty jeans and a plain shirt that had probably been white in another life. He was holding a giant gun flimsily like it was a heavy toy he wasn't quite sure how to use. He sprinted toward Bouchet who was still lying on the ground.
“Come on!” the man grabbed and lifted his pray fairly easily; then he pushed him against the metal fence that was blocking the other exit of the narrow alley.
That's when Billy finally caught up.
“HEY!…” he shouted out of breath. He recognized the guy straight away. “Tommy? What are you doin’??” he asked absolutely bewildered, still panting heavily.
“He's mine, Billy. Now get lost!”
“Fuck you his yours . He's MINE! Lonnie assigned this guy to me. What the hell are you doin’??”
“Well, then go straighten it out with Lonnie. I'll collect the money.” Tommy laughed, uninterested in the politics of it all.
“I almost got killed tryin' to get this guy. He shot at me...''
Tommy pointed the giant gun at him. Billy stopped mid-sentence and lifted his hands up, but not very high up. Like it wasn't worth lifting them all the way up.
“Back off, goddammit! I said I'm takin' him, all right?”
“All right, Tommy,” he told him calmly.
“This guy's worth $1,200!” Tommy screamed back.
“Okay, okay. What the hell are we fightin' for?'' Billy smiled and laughed a little, as if this whole thing was just silly at this point. ''We're friends…” he continued.
”Nothin' personal, Billy, but fuck off , all right?” Tommy wasn't having it, but his guard was already a little down.
“Take it easy… Jesus.” Billy's hands were still up, but suddenly his expression changed. “Tommy, watch out!” he screamed and pointed at something behind Tommy. The trick worked like a charm, and Billy punched him straight in the face the second he turned to look. Tommy fell down like a bag of potatoes, letting go of Bouchet who he was still up against the fence. Billy took over his place without missing a beat, putting the handcuffs on.
“What the fuck's goin' on? You guys ain't cops.”
“No, we're ballet dancers..." Billy retorted. "Didn't your mother ever teach you how to react to strangers? Not to shoot at them? Huh?” he grabbed him by the neck and pulled him away from the fence, shoving him inside Tommy's car. “Hey Tommy, thanks for the car. You sleep, and I'll bring it back a little later,” he said without being able to hold back a smile. He got into the driver's seat, closing the door with a bang. The tires whistled as he drove away.
+ + +
Billy was dragging Bouchet by the arm through the police station’s impound parking lot; a bunch of papers in his other hand. He opened the door, which led into a stale-looking office space, lit by fluorescent lights. When he stepped inside he faced a long corridor with unknown end and a few police officers minding their business. One with a mustache was standing in front of a tiny cubicle right next to the door. Another was behind a glass barrier going over documents.
“Got a delivery for you, Gooch,” Billy declared all business-like to the chubby cop with the mustache.
“Billy.” Gooch looked unimpressed, not even happy to see him. ''The soda machine's been out for a week and a half.” He told him expectantly as if Billy was the handy man and he was late to do his chores. That attitude obviously annoyed the bounty hunter but he made an effort to hide it. The cops had always looked down on bounty hunters. “Check that for me, would ya?”
Gooch took the papers off his hands and started looking through them, while Billy was still holding Bouchet’s arm firmly.
“What do we got here?'' Gooch looked over the documents fast. ''Alright… Did he give you any trouble?” He lifted his eyes only.
Billy looked over the guy who had almost blown his head off with a shotgun.
“Did you give me any trouble?” he asked him with an amused smile.
“Fuck you! ” Bouchet spat back.
“He didn't give me any trouble,” Billy answered, shaking his head with a smile.
When Gooch was done looking through the papers he left them at the counter with the officer behind the glass barrier. He then took the apprehended criminal off Billy's hands.
“Fuck you, too, man!” Bouchet didn't miss to yell at the cop as well.
“Move!” the cop pushed him.
“I know my fuckin' rights!... ”
Billy turned to the glass barrier. The other officer was already processing his papers. He leaned on the counter before exhaling. In a very tired motion he buried his face in his hands. He was dying for some rest but instead he was doing this shit. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, trying to wipe away the sleep from his vision. By habit he got his cigarette box out of his pocket and he lit one while waiting. He took a few drags out of it before glancing at his wristwatch. The clock hands were not moving…
Just then the cop handed him back the papers. Billy bit down on his cigarette as he took the documents. He looked through them fast, finding the one he needed out of them. He looked at the sheet of paper for a second to be sure it was filled out alright and then headed for the door.
Outside, the morning was still early. He walked for a while, breathing in the chilly air. There was absolutely no one on the wide dirty street he had reached. Above him various neon signs were still lit and all of them stated the same thing - “Bail Bonds. 24/7 ”. He looked at his wristwatch again, fiddled with it for a second, then brought it up to his ear. The hands sometimes jolted back to life but this was not one of those times. After a heavy sigh he left it alone and turned to a bright green door, leading into an office. Its waiting room was composed only of one sad little wooden bench and some magazines to the side of it. That little space was separated from the other part of the office with a tiny swinging wooden door. Behind that, there were at least four big desks buried under piles of papers and letters. On the first one, even the desk lamp was sitting on top of a pile of papers. Only one of those desks had an occupant. It was a man with his feet up, and he was talking on the phone.
“Byers's Bail Bonds. No, it's cash only. No checks, no cards. I'm sorry, ma'am. That's the policy. I wish I could help you out. Sorry.” It was incredible how he could talk without taking that cigarette out of his mouth.
Without saying anything Billy handed him the papers from the police station.
“Just dropped off Bouchet,” He said after the guy hung up the phone. “Is Lonnie in?”
The guy was looking through the papers.
“So you finally caught someone, Billy.” It wasn’t a question, and it sounded a bit condescending even if it was supposed to be a joke. Billy didn’t know anymore. Whatever it was he wasn’t in the mood for it.
“Benny , is he in?” Billy repeated the question. With the night he’d had, he was already very tired so getting angry was a bit beyond him. He took a deep breath, trying to keep the sleep away from his face again, and while he was doing that he got himself another cigarette. It was his anti-sleep medicine.
“I think that's terrific,” Benny said, smiling.
Billy wondered if had he read that last remark correctly. Were Benny’s words rude or had he just thought they were because he desperately needed some sleep?... He decided not to dwell on it.
“Billy! I’ve been tryin’ to reach you since last night.” Lonnie appeared as if from thin air. His hair was slicked back, showing off a receding hairline. He was dressed in a colorful Hawaiian shirt and big brown pants held up by suspenders in the same color. “What do you got for me?” he asked, stopping right in between both men.
“Been tryin' to reach me?” one of Billy’s eyebrows jumped up. He was absolutely sure the guy was talking through his ass, because he had checked his messages and there were none from him. However he decided to just get down to business. “It's Bouchet.” he pointed at the papers in the Benny’s hands.
“Ooh, Bouchet. Good score, Billy! $900, right?” Lonnie exclaimed cheerfully.
“No, it's $1,200,” Billy corrected him calmly.
“No, $900,” Lonnie insisted, just as calmly.
“That's-- that's $1,200. Come on ,” Billy sighed, rubbing one of his eyes. He was too tired to have this argument.
“No. Yeah, you're right,” Lonnie backed down finally, still keeping that smile as if he just remembered the sum correctly. He grunted while he walked to the desk next to Benny’s and started to rummage through the drawers. He finally found what he was looking for. It was a white bottle. “My stomach's killin' me,” Lonnie explained taking a big gulp from the white bottle, probably stomach medicine. “I'm goin' over to Chin Loo's for breakfast. I want to talk to you,” he told Billy while taking another big sip.
“About what?” Billy was absolutely sure that he didn’t want to talk to Lonnie. It never led to anything good.
“I'll tell you there.” Lonnie closed the white bottle and threw it somewhere in the pile of papers. He looked as if he was in a hurry. As always.
“Could I have my money first?” Billy asked, knowing full well what the answer was going to be. One of his hands was on his hips, the other was holding his cigarette.
Lonnie looked at him almost bewildered.
“Of course… What, do you think? I'm gonna try and stiff you?” he laughed as he was putting his jacket on.
“You?” Billy exclaimed with unnaturally high voice. “Never!” He shook his head laughing. He turned to Benny. “He would never try and stiff me.”
Benny was just smiling. He didn’t want to lose his job so he didn't say anything.
“Do I detect some kind of sarcasm here?” Lonnie sounded offended. He even stopped putting on his jacket halfway to express how hurt he was feeling.
“Never,” Billy answered with the same smile.
“Where have I inherited this reputation?” Lonnie insisted. “I have never done business with anybody, and Benny is my witness...” he pointed very energetically toward Benny. Benny on the other hand just looked at him, saying nothing. “...that I have ever, ever, ever...” he had no idea how to continue, but his big hand gestures were supposed to distract from that. “Has that phone ever rang... Has that phone ever rang with a complaint about me?” he added finally. Benny and Billy shared an amused look. “Never, never,” Lonnie answered his own question, then without losing any more time he patted Billy on the arm. “So let's go. I'll buy you some breakfast.”
“I don't eat breakfast,” Billy replied dryly.
“Well then, have an early lunch.” Lonnie wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Let's go.”
Both of them were sitting at the corner of the bar at Chin Loo's dinner. Neither of them had ordered more than a cup of black coffee.
Lonnie leaned in close to Billy who was just getting a sip of his drink.
“You ever hear of a guy named Steve Harrington?”
“The King. Yeah, I know who he is.” Billy nodded.
“What do you know?” he pushed.
“He's that accountant that embezzled a couple of million from some Vegas wise guy and he gave it to charity,” Billy recited uninterested.
“That's very good. Only thing is, that it wasn't a couple of million. It was $15 million. And it wasn't some Vegas wise guy. It was Martin Brenner,” Lonny explained carefully.
“I know, I know. I can read the papers.” Billy rolled his eyes taking another sip of his coffee.
“Look, I don't want to bring up the past, but...” Lonnie started carefully, but not very. He gave Billy a knowing look. “...isn't Brenner the guy that ran you out of Chicago when he was runnin' things back there?”
“He didn't run me out,” Billy said matter of fact.
“Yeah, right right right. You gave up bein' a cop to do this shit?”
Billy had already been in a bad mood and this conversation was not helping. It was playing on his nerves, and it was taking all he had to try and hide it.
“Alright, what's the point?”
“The point, Billy: I bailed out the accountant. I didn't know who he was at the time. I mean, had I known, there’s no way I would've put up the bond. I mean it's only a matter of time before Brenner vanishes this guy from the planet and I'm out $450,000.”
“You're out $450,000 on this guy?” Billy finally looked interested.
“No.”
“No?”
“No! Because I got you, and you're the best, and you're gonna find him and bring him back,” Lonnie stated, smiling ear to ear.
“Yeah, right.” Billy replied sarcastically. “How do you even know this guy is still alive?”
“Because this guy is crazy. He sends postcards to Brenner. He's tellin' him what a great time he's havin' with his money!” Lonnie had started with the big hand gestures again, but his smile was gone.
Billy was thinking.
“How much time you got left?”
“Friday, midnight, I default. I eat the $450,000.” Lonnie took a deep breath and exhaled it desperately with a hand on his forehead.
“This Friday?”
Lonnie nodded.
“That's five days!” Billy burst out. “Forget it. You go find him . Give me my money.”
“Billy, alright, look. Listen to me.” Lonnie folded right away. It was obvious he was very desperate. “I'll give you 40-- I'll give you 50 grand.”
“$50,000?!” Billy was sure this was some kind of joke. “I gotta chase you down for $1,200. Forget about it.” He shook his head. He wasn’t angry, just not falling for it.
“No, no, no, no, Billy, please,” Lonnie started to beg. Billy was surprised he didn’t fall to his knees.
“Billy-billy –nothing.” He made fun of him. “Forget about it. What else you got?”
“I ain't got nothin', this is it! If you don't find this guy, I'm out of business!”
Billy looked away, somewhere far away. Thinking. “Lonnie... I'll do it for $100,000.”
“$100,000? Are you out of your mind?! This is an easy gig. It's a midnight run for chrissakes.” He got the words out so fast he forgot to breathe. He couldn’t believe his ears.
“Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm tired of gettin' shot at. I'm tired of this miserable fuckin' business, and every lowlife that I run into. If you're gonna pay me, you gotta pay me what's right. You want me for this job, give me what's right.”
“First of all, the guy is an accountant.” Lonnie was shaking his head still shocked at the price. “He's not gonna shoot you. All you have to do is find him. You put him in a bag, hit him with a rubber hose, bring him home...”
“That's easy for you to say. Listen to me, it's $100,000, no more, no less, and I want a contract.”
“Contract?!” Now he was insulted.
“That's right, I want it in writing. $100,000, and I'll have the King here for you by Friday night.” Billy told him calmly taking a sip out of his coffee. “Now, can I have my $1,200, please?” he extended his hand.
Lonnie looked at him for a second before crossing his legs. He put his left foot a bit up and took out a wad of cash from his sock. He handed it to Billy with a frown.
“Man, you’re worse than any crook I ever put a bond up for.”
+ + +
Billy was walking down a wide corridor painted in plain blue and white. It was filled with passing people; some of them wore ill-fitting suits, others wore police uniforms. He pushed a door open and he was standing in a very busy Police Precinct. It was a wide open space filled with desks and busy people.
“Florence?” Billy tried to call out to someone in the crowd but still tried to keep his voice down - it turned into a very aggressive whisper-yell. The woman he was calling was older, a bit short with big round glasses. “Flo.” He smiled wide and waved when she noticed him.
“Hey, honey. How are you? What are you doin' here?”
“Listen…” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I need a favor.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Of course you do.”
“I need to see the booking slip of a Steve Harrington,” Billy leaned in, lowering his voice. “H-A-R-R-I-N-G-T-O-N,” he spelled it for her.
Florence led him down the file room. There were endless rows of giant shelves that almost touched the ceiling, and on them - rows of countless folders, color coded and in their designated places.
“There you go.” She pulled a folder, no different than any other beside it. Flo looked through its content and then she handed one piece of paper to Billy. He looked it over carefully from both sides. On it was printed out all of Steve Harrington's personal information. On the back side there was something scribbled down with a pen.
“Yes!” Billy said to himself.
“What's that?”
Billy put down the paper in Flo’s hands and took out a pen and a tiny notepad from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
“The number he called right after he was arrested,” he answered while writing it down. “212 area code… Looks like I'm goin' to New York.” Billy smirked.
The bounty hunter was out of the building and he was thinking about his next move. While walking down the stairs his hand moved by itself to grab a cigarette from his pocket. Just before he could, a mean-looking man in a black suit got in his way. He was wearing flashy sunglasses. Billy looked him up and down trying to not respond with anger.
“Are you Billy Hargrove?” the man spoke.
One of Billy’s eyebrows shot up and he looked around. Three other guys in brown suits and sunglasses surrounded him.
“Excuse me?” Billy said, not sure if he was asking him to say that again or just move so he could go on his way.
“Are you Billy Hargrove?” the man repeated.
“I'm sorry, do I know you?” Billy demanded.
“Jim Hopper, FBI.” He took out his FBI-ID badge and opened it fast before returning it to his pocket. With just one look Billy determined that this guy put a lot of effort into his image - trying to look cool.
“That's a nice badge.” Billy looked at it nonchalantly. “How can I get one of those?” he teased, knowing full well the agent wouldn't like that attitude.
“I want to talk to you, Billy,” Jim Hopper said flatly.
“Yeah?” Billy was not in the mood. “Why don't you call my secretary?” he added, his temper slipping away.
“Yeah, very funny,” Hopper commented, but there was no humor in his expression. The guys surrounding Billy started to close in, and one of them put a hand on his upper arm. Billy made an attempt to just go around Hopper, but the agent stopped him. “I want to talk to you.”
Billy was giving it his all to stay patient with these clowns, but that ship sailed when the men in brown suits grabbed both his arms.
“Take your hands off me!” Billy growled, struggling to get free, but they just dragged him away.
Hopper fixed his suit as though nothing had happened.
The men forcefully stuffed Billy in the back seat of a car.
“Jeez ,” Billy muttered while the guys were getting in after him. One on each of his sides. “Take it easy!” he yelled after they pushed him a little too hard.
Inside the car was all leather and everything nice - probably expensive. Jim Hopper got in the passenger seat in front and somehow all of them closed their doors simultaneously.
Had they practiced this?
Hopper slowly started to turn around but stopped around the middle, looking sideways.
“You know it's a $10 fine for jaywalking in Los Angeles?” Billy decided to mention.
“Shut up.” Hopper cut him off. “What I want to know is, are you working on anything having to do with Steve Harrington?” He was still not looking at him when he was asking the question. Hadn’t even taken his aviators off.
Billy thought for a second. “Never heard of him.”
Hopper finally turned all the way around.
“Well, I believe you have heard of him.”
Billy looked left and right, at both men that were smushing him in the middle of the back seat.
“Let me tell you something, asshole. We've been working on this Martin Brenner thing for about six years. Harrington is my shot.”
Billy just stared at him in confusion.
“I'm gonna bring him into federal court and I don't want any third rate rent-a-thug who couldn't cut it as a cop in Chicago bringing him to LA on some bullshit local charge.”
Billy licked his lips and then took out a pair of sunglasses from the inside pocket of his jacket. He put them on very theatrically. Then he looked around the car smiling, happy with himself.
Hopper reached out and took the glasses off his face. Billy looked crushed.
“Do I make myself understood?” the agent asked.
“Can I ask you something?” Billy opened his mouth. He already knew this guy’s weak spot. He seemed like someone who took himself extremely seriously and with people like that the best way to poke at them was to not take them seriously. “These sunglasses, they're really nice. Are they government issued or do all you guys go to, like, the same store to get them?” He looked around curiously.
Hooper finally took his own sunglasses off.
“Do I make myself understood?” he repeated. His tone went from cold to ice.
“Can't you take a joke?” Billy asked as innocently as he could.
Hopper exchanged looks with the other guys. “Get him out of here.”
“No, let's talk some more.” Billy made an attempt not to laugh and also to hold on to the seat of the car while the men were pushing him out.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
At last Billy got out of the car. “If I hear anything, I'll let you know.” he told them very enthusiastically... not that the agent asked him to. “Good-bye. Have a nice day,” he said, slapping the guy's hands off himself. He took a few steps to cool himself off. He fixed up his jacket and turned toward the car. “Can I have my sunglasses back?”
Hopper extended his hand through the window but instead of throwing them at Billy he threw them up in the air. “Here's your sunglasses.”
Billy jumped to catch them. The car took off as he fumbled and dropped them.
“Thanks!” He screamed sarcastically after the car. After the car was gone of sight Billy reached into his jacket pocket and took out a FBI-ID badge. “Thanks for this, too,” he smiled, opened it and examined it. "Jim Hopper." He read the name on it, then looked back in the direction of the already gone car. “Hopper,” he repeated, trying to familiarize himself with the name. He closed it and started to walk slowly down the street-- then suddenly stopped and dramatically flashed the badge. He laughed to himself, putting it back in his pocket.
+ + +
Billy was on a plane on his way to New York. However he was not kicking his feet back and taking a nice nap on the way. Instead he was working on something on the folding tray. His eyes were focused down on his hands. He was cutting something with a tiny pair of plastic children's scissors. A kid was sitting on the seat beside him, and his attention was entirely on what the bounty hunter was doing.
Billy glanced at the kid, stopping for a second with the cutting. The kid met his eyes. Billy didn't say or do anything; he just got back to work.
On the folding tray the FBI badge was opened and laid out. There was glue and scissors, as well as a line of photos that he had taken in a photo booth. He was cutting one of them out very carefully. It was a picture of him in a cheap black suit, looking very seriously at the camera. When he was satisfied with how he had cut it out he put some glue on the back of it and carefully placed it on top of the picture of agent Jim Hopper.
The kid looked very suspiciously at him, maybe finally figuring out that what this man was probably doing something wrong. The kid stared at Billy's face, then back at his handiwork. At that moment Billy was pressing down on the picture waiting for the glue to dry and set. When that was done, he lifted up the badge and examined it. The kid was also staring at it still, curiously.
“How's that?” Billy asked the kid.
“Looks fine to me.’' The kid replied, looking very impressed.
Billy nodded proudly at himself.