creepy and hatboy – ninjagirl’s yakuza connection

ninjagirl’s yakuza connection

ninjagirl said she knew someone who could help us on our journey to finding our terrorist foe.
the only problem, she said, was that he was a yakuza officer working in australia to keep a tight grip on the seedy underworld of our fine city. she said we’d have to be prepared to come to some agreement pertaining to his continued activities and our continued ignorance of his supposed maybe spooky activities which could perhaps be bothersome to our sometime moralistic, legalistic, and politic maybes. or something equally confusing.
hatboy and i didn’t bother to work out what she was trying to say.
“you think he’d sell us a cheap widescreen tv?” hatboy asked.
“or a fourth dvd player?” i asked, getting into the spirit of things.
ninjagirl said he probably wouldn’t. apparently the yakuza don’t deal in home entertainment of an electrical nature. but he might be able to get hold of a decent set of chopsticks.
“only one of you,” she said. “can come with me.”
hatboy snatched up his bagpipes and hefted his sock knife. “right,” he cried. “i’m ready to do battle with those ya’scuseme creeps! they’ll give us much-info-knowy, or i’ll go to work on their eardrums!”
ninjagirl dragged me by my ear until i yelped.
“come on, creepy. let‘s go.”

the yakuza pool hall

ninjagirl’s yakuza buddies leaned against the bar and scowled in my general direction. dozens of local yakuza haunted the poolhall, squinting at me through the smoky landscape of coloured balls and green pastured tables.
they looked mean. all of them.
“be careful what you say,” she told me. “and careful what you do. don’t smile. don’t wink. don’t walk too fast. don’t sweat. don’t even think about frowning. and whatever you do, don’t act like a super-sidekick.”
i nodded. “can i get a coke?”
“creepy, get a coke only if you really, really, have to.”
i had to.

crime buyz

i wandered toward the bar, ignoring the collective glares and pointed sniffings.
i didn’t have a tattoo and they knew it.
i squeaked open the fridge door and all the yakuza who hadn’t been looking at me decided i was worth grunting at. ninjagirl sighed and tried to look like she didn’t know me.
i put the coke on the bar.
the guy behind the counter pretended to not notice me.
one yakuza soldier seemed to be daring me to open the bottle without paying for it.
i cleared my throat with a polite cough. “excuse me,” i said to the counterguy while taking a card out of my pocket and flashing it in his general direction. several yakuza soldiers went for their guns. “but do you take crime buyz?”

the yakuza soldiers are friendly

the yakuza soldier, who was first to go for his gun, burst out laughing.
“don’t worry, fellas,” he cried. “he’s one of us! he just looks funny is all!”
the rest of the yakuza nodded knowingly and after a few pitiful glances in my direction, went back to smacking balls into baskets, or pockets, or whatever they were. the game looked vaguely interesting.
ninjagirl walked up behind me. “i don’t know how you do it,” she muttered. “every time i think you’re going to get killed, you do something dumb enough for people to believe you’re harmless.”
the counterguy gave me back my crime buyz card and grinned at us. “anything else, creepy?” he asked. “need a glass for that coke?”
i shook my head. “no thanks, i’ll be fine.”
the yakuza soldier noticed ninjagirl and nodded toward a large door at the back of the pool hall. “he’s back there. he’s been waiting for a long time. you’re late.”
ninjagirl pointed at me. “does he look like someone you could depend on?”
the yakuza soldier stared at my best mambo shirt and chortled. “maybe not.”
i trotted after ninjagirl as she stalked through the smoke and gloom. “did he just say we were late? you didn’t tell me we were late. if i had known, i’d have hurried up.”
“shut up, creepy, or you will be.”
“what?”
“late.”

the yakuza lair

“now, before you enter, you’ll have to convince the two bodyguards that you’re worthy of admittance,” ninjagirl said. “so be careful.”
i grinned at her.
“and stop grinning!” she hissed. “you’re making me nervous. now, act macho, it’s the only way to earn their respect.”
the two bodyguards eyed me up and down for a few seconds before one of them demanded to know why i thought i should be allowed to go inside.
“because i’m expected?”
they didn’t like that answer. neither did ninjagirl. they said so.
“i’m sorry,” i apologised. “it’s my first time.”
ninjagirl sobbed.
“that’s okay,” one of the bodyguards said. “i remember my first time. i was nervous as hell. so, okay, why should we let you in?”
“umm, because if you don’t, i’ll do sadistic things to your kneecaps with a tub of margarine and a spoonful of soy sauce?”

mutual machismo

“wow,” the second bodyguard looked impressed. “that’s pretty tough. don’t think i’ve ever heard anything tougher than that. i mean, that would really hurt! anything else? can you prove how tough you are? i mean, we get tattoos, you know. kim here has a big dragon on his back. that’s pretty tough.”
“once, me and hatboy sat through an entire episode of seinfeld and only screamed once.” i decided not to mention it was because the remote was broken and we didn’t know how to change the channels without it.
“a whole episode? i don’t believe you. what was it about?”
i smiled a small, evil little smile which revealed the depth of my experience. “nothing,” i said. “absolutely stuff all.”
the two bodyguards began to look nervous.
“well,” they said. “you’re too tough for us. i don’t know that we could stop you from going inside if you really wanted to.”
ninjagirl looked stunned. “what? that’s it? aren’t you going to arm wrestle or anything?”
“why would we want to do that?” the second bodyguard frowned. “he might hurt our wrists.”
“or your fingers,” i said. “can’t do card tricks with fingers of no-nimble-movey.”
“that’s right!” they agreed. “no way at all. who’d be dealer on poker night if we all had bruised knuckles?”
“best to avoid arm wrestling. we could try a round of two-up. person who wins the most is toughest.”
“that’s too aggressive for me,” the second bodyguard said. “what about you, kim?”
kim trembled. “no way. this guy watched seinfeld. a whole episode. that takes testicles.”
“and mild corrective brain surgery,” i told them, pulling out my certificate stating i’d lived through just such an operation.
“please, come inside,” the first bodyguard said, flinging the door open. “takeshi will be honoured to meet you.”
their looks of awe crept into the room behind us and, as they closed the door, the two bodyguards looked at each other. “glad we didn’t mess with him,” kim said.
ninjagirl grumbled as we went inside. “i really hate you, creepy. with a passion.”

takeshi and his goons

takeshi leaned over a snooker table and potted a red ball.
behind him, two goons stood like granite statues. they made an odd pair. one of them was absolutely the largest chunk of human meat i’ve ever seen. he was totally rock solid and could probably teach weightlifters how to feel inadequate.
his partner was by contrast a small man, with thin-rimmed glasses and a rattish face. and, contrary to popular goon behaviour, he was reading a book. he never seemed to take his face out from his book, unless it was to answer a mumbled question posed by his large partner.
ninjagirl went to takeshi and the two began to mumble to each other in japanese.
i decided to be friendly and waved to the goons. “hi, guys.”

staples and ray

“we allowed to acknowledge his presence, ray?”
the little man flicked a few pages, ran his finger along a few lines and shook his head. “says here we’re supposed to maintain a quiet dignity and ignore the boss’ guests.”
“damn,” the big one growled.
“unless they get rowdy. in which case we’re allowed to acknowledge their presence with a large, fairly violent, yet probably very creative, use of force.”
“oh, goodie. you think this lot will get rowdy?”
“i hope so, staples.”
the big goon grinned at me, while maintaining his quiet dignity.
i blinked at them.
“hey, ray, is blinking considered getting rowdy?”
“that depends, staples. is he blinking in what you’d consider a threatening manner?”
“i don’t know, ray. let’s watch him some more. maybe he’ll do it again.”
“if he does it again, you can be assured he’s being rowdy. then you can show him your knuckles.”
“very fast?”
ray looked up at me with a steady cold expression which invited me to blink. “yes, staples. very fast indeed.”
i struggled not to blink.
“think he’ll do it, ray?”
my eyes burned.
“i hope so.”
my eyes were very dry.
“i think he’s gonna blink, ray. any second. yeah, he’s gonna blink.”
“what if he doesn’t?”
“does staring constitute a rowdy offence?”
the little goon flicked a few more pages. “according to the goon manual, staples, staring does indeed translate as rowdy behaviour. if he keeps it up, show him your foot.”
“very fast?”
“not too fast, staples,” the little goon said. “don’t want to break all his ribs.” he looked up from his book again. “not at once, anyway.”
“creepy!” ninjagirl snapped. “stop playing with the goons and get over here!”
i went.
“pity,” staples sighed. “i haven’t disabled anyone in a whole week.”

snooker with the yakuza

“so, creepy. you think you are tough, uh?”
i shrugged. “i ate a bag of marshmallows, once.”
“that is nothing compared to the eating of several bowls of boiled broccolli and potatoes!”
“vegies!” i cried, taking a single horrified step backward. “woah!”
“yes, creepy. i am the leader of the yakuza here in your little corner of australia. you will learn respect, or you will follow in my footsteps.”
“you mean . . .”
“yes, creepy. i will make you eat vegies.”
“ick.”
takeshi looked satisfied that i was suitably impressed before tossing me a stick thing. “you play snooker, creepy.”
“no.”
“it was not a question.”
“oh.” i tried to figure which was the ‘up’ position. i thought i’d found it when takeshi proved me wrong by using his stick to make all the balls jump about from their neat geometric position.
“hey, you ruined the pattern!”
“you will now have your turn. i will win, and you will give me respect. then i might consider your request for information.”
“deal,” i said, looking at the position of the balls. “now, how do you play this game, again?”

the rules

“so, i have to put the balls into the holes.”
“for the thousandth time, creepy!” ninjagil shouted. “yes!”
“just take your best shot,” takeshi growled.
“can’t i just put them all back into their right spot?”
“no!” ninjagirl screamed, then slumped to the ground. she looked up at takeshi. “why me? can’t you just cut his head off?”
takeshi laughed. “no, that would be rude. he’s my guest. we will play snooker, and i will win.”
i leaned down onto the table and looked at the white ball. “i hit this one?”
“yes.”
“and it hits the others?”
“yes.”
“i think i’ve got it.”
“good.”
“with the fat end, or the thin end of the stick?”
“the thin end.”
“oops.”

laksa

after beating takeshi at snooker, i decided to go find a good restaurant at which we might all consume some laksa.
ninjagirl suggested the white lotus.
they do a good laksa, she said.
takeshi didn’t appreciate losing to someone who admitted only playing a “few games with hatboy on the playstation.”
staples and ray considered “rubbing” me out, but takeshi reluctantly decided it was in his best interests to let me live. after that, ninjagirl put her sword away.
as we all wandered off to the restaurant, she shook her head and sighed at me. “i don’t know why i let you live.”
“because you’re secretly in love with me?”
ninjagirl stopped in her tracks. “takeshi?” she said. “you can kill him now if you like.”

blindman plays the blues

he sang about a guitar weeping.
the white lotus was a funny place, i thought, for a blind man to sing the blues.
ninjagirl asked the waitress why he was there. her name tag said her name was yali.
yali told ninjagirl that the blind man was a friend of the owner. “but he plays pretty good,” she said. “he likes noodle, so he plays for noodle. good bargain.”
i agreed.
takeshi said it was a stupid idea. “who ever heard of japanese blues? we don’t get the blues! blues is for bums living under bridges with bottles for company.”
“what about karaoke?” i asked.
takeshi scowled at me. “you got something against karaoke?”
“gosh no,” i said. “some of my favourite songs are used in karaoke bars.”
he pointed his chopstick at me in a threatening manner. “come on, creepy. you name one karaoke song.”
“how about land downunder?”
he studied me for a while. “okay, you get away with it this time. but i find you mocking karaoke, i’ll chop your liver and feed it to you, sushi-style. you get me?”
“yep. no mocking karaoke, or my liver’s fish.”

laksa is soupy

takeshi watched me as i ate my laksa.
he didn’t like his laksa. he said it was too spicy. laksa, he said, shouldn’t be that spicy. i said i liked it spicy. “you know, creepy,” he said. “i don’t think i trust you very much. you look too much like a super-sidekick.”
ninjagirl kept eating her sushi.
“must be the shirt,” i said.
takeshi shook his head. “no, i don’t think it’s the shirt. in fact, that shirt is your one redeeming feature.”
“you like mambo shirts?”
“not really. but no super-sidekick would be so completely tasteless as to wear such horrible shirts.”
i couldn’t decide whether to be insulted or complimented.
luckily, i was saved from interpretation games by the timely arrival of an angel.
a beautiful angel, whose name was akiko.

akiko

her eyes were cool, like a flowing river of mineral water.
the dew which dripped from mountain trees sparkled on her mouth and the subtle murderous colours of a sunset lingered in her smile. there was about her an air of something so completely and utterly right that everything seemed to click just that little too snugly into place.
i sat back against my chair, attempting the look of one who hasn’t been hit in the face by some extremely hard and heavy blunt object.
i tried to smile.
i tried to think.
i tried to say something ordinary but the words were lost to me.
“that’s creepy,” takeshi said, pointing his chopstick.
she smiled a little wider. “sure is,’ she said.
i kept staring.
i couldn’t blink.
at least, not until ninjagirl kicked my ankle.
then i screamed. but that was okay because akiko just kept smiling at me, her eyes digging into my skull and burying themselves in the little nest that my brain made for them as she said in a slow honey-flavoured voice, “i love a man who screams.”

bring it on

“that’s it!” takeshi cried. “i’ve had enough!”
i fell from my trance like lucifer to the earth. “huh? what?”
akiko sighed. “not again.”
“no, that’s plenty,” takeshi said, slamming his palms onto the table. he glared at me. “no more mucking about. it’s not enough you beat me at snooker. it’s not enough ninjagirl prefers to live with you than me! it’s not enough my goons talk to you when they never talk to me! now my sister flirts with you! you are not human! you must be a super-sidekick. i therefore challenge you to a duel to the death, you foul beast! now, choose your weapons!” and he flung the menu at me.
i looked at it.
there were so many cool things there.
sweet and sour this and that.
mild curry this.
red curry that.
soy this.
garlic that.
finally, i found what i was looking for. i pointed it out to yali, who quivered as she stood beside me. “please, sir! you can’t possibly want that one!”

this is it

i smiled up at takeshi, who wasn’t looking very happy at all once he’d noticed my choice of weapons. “if he’s game, i’m game,” he managed to say.
ninjagirl leaned over to see what i had chosen. “oh my god,” she whispered. she looked up at takeshi. “you don’t have to go through with it. please, takeshi. i’ve seen his curries. they melt pots. don’t do this. just shake and forget it. it’s not worth your life!”
takeshi grit his teeth. “no! if he can take it, then i can take it twice!”
i nodded to yali, who trembled in fear. “go make it, yali. and don’t forget, i like mine garnished with plenty of chopped chilli goodness.”
“me too!” takeshi hissed. “double garnish.”
yali nodded. “any drinks with that?”
i grinned. “orange juice. large. make it a jug.”
akiko gasped.
takeshi flinched. “two jugs.”
yali was almost weeping as she skipped off to get our thai green curries.
ninjagirl put her head in her hands. “creepy, you will be the death of me.”

green thai curries at the teahouse of doom

the curries came quickly. yali dropped them in front of us, using protective tongs to do so. i siezed my spoon of much curry-holdy. takeshi took up his instrument of curry-shovelly.
i took a sip of juice. takeshi took a sip.
a droplet of sweat ran down his forehead. it dripped over his eye. he pretended not to notice.
i dipped the tip of my spoon into the curry and then touched it to my tongue.
he followed suit, and dipped his spoon into his curry, then touched it to his tongue. he hid the flinch very well, but i noticed it.
i grinned, knowing by his reaction that he wasn’t a professional curry-eater.
he knew i knew and clenched every muscle in his mouth.
“get on with it,” he growled.
i nodded, slowly, and picked up a bun. i dipped it into the curry and raised it to my mouth.
he watched my every move.
i opened my gob of much curry-bun-drippy-eaty.
i pushed the bun inside and squished it down.
the juice ran like liquid fire down my throat, carrying the bready stuff into my belly.
takeshi followed my example, reaching for juice straight away.
i shook my head.
bad move.
the juice only served to make the fire burn brighter.
suddenly, he knew he was about to die. he hadn’t known about the juice. his cheeks burned red. he struggled to keep his scream silent.
i looked into his eyes which remained defiant. i smiled, a cruel smile, and said in an even tone, “okay, let’s eat.”

green curry off

“you take one mouthful,” he said. “then i take a mouthful and we’ll see who loses.”
“by the mouthful? hell, no,” i said, much to his horror. “let’s go bowlful by bowlful. yali? better get me another bowl of this scrummy green thai curry goodness. i’m gonna need it in about ten seconds.”
and, without wasting more time on words, i did what hatboy would call “murdering” a curry.
the slaughter made takeshi go pale.
akiko looked more stunned than anything.
ninjagirl just looked bored. she glanced at takeshi, who wasn’t looking too happy. “i told you,” she said. “don’t say i didn’t. this crazy man eats chillies on his cornflakes. or, rather, he sprinkles cornflakes on his chillies.”
i finished my bowl, pushed it away and downed a glass of orange juice goodness which really made my belly feel as if a glorious puddle of lava had made a home in my guts. it felt very nice indeed. i pointed at his bowl. “your turn.”
“my god,” he croaked. “what have i done?”
“no time for regrets, takeshi old buddy. time for snacks. come on, now. eaties!”

attack of the prawn crackers

it was around the fourth bowl when i looked up and saw the pretty waitress. she was still shaking in fear at the sight of takeshi and myself trying to curry each other to death.
i saw akiko, nibbling her bottom lip. her shy smile rocked my intense relationship with my curry. some of it spattered down my jeans and ate a hole through my leg. i ignored it. i had many curry wounds.
i saw ninjagirl. her black hair framed her pleasant face. her eyes were shining as she stared at akiko. she was touching the tip of her sword as though eager to rip it from its sheath and bury the sharp pointy bit into akiko’s neck.
i wondered why she’d want to do that to such a pretty neck.
too much pretty, i thought.
and that’s when they attacked.
hundreds of crispy prawn crackers.
i shovelled them to the side of my plate, trying to avoid their snapping jaws.
one bit my thumb and i cried out in pain. then i raised my fist and crushed the biter neatly into fourteen thousand little bitty pieces. it screeched as it died and its pals got nervous.
they pleaded for forgiveness, but i wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
thirteen hundred prawn crackers later and my knuckles hurt but at least i was onto my sixth bowl of green thai curry goodness.
takeshi was reeling. he too had battled his share of prawn crackers.
he’d run out of ice from his juice and was now forced to sip the juice.
i’d run out of juice.
the curry was now bland, but i was in danger of exploding as my belly filled with curry.
takeshi knew his only hope of survival was to force me into exploding.
his belly was bigger.
he could take more, but his tongue was swollen and his lips cracked and bleeding.
i took my seventh bowl from yali’s soft tongs and gave ninjagirl a smile.
“one more for the road?”

seven bowls, one victory

takeshi groaned.
i ate it all. every last yummy drop of blissful green curry goodness.
he began to weep.
yali dropped another bowl in front of him.
i caught her arm as she went off toward the kitchen for my next bowl. “hey,” i said. “can you put some chilli in the next one? these ones have been a bit too mild for green curry. i’m not even sweaty!”
takeshi’s eyes fell out of his head. he picked them up and pushed them back into his sockets. “enough!” he screamed. “enough! i can’t take any more! you win!”
“you admit defeat?” i put down my spoon and ordered some coca-cola goodness and a bowl of scrummy lemon sorbet.
“i do. you win. if you can summon up some relevent haiku about grasshoppers and summer rain, i will gladly call you master, too.” he bowed his head and looked ashamed.
i opened my mouth and found ninjagirl’s sword pressed a little too delicately against my throat.

no haiku is good haiku

“creepy,” she said. “i will forgive you beating my friends in a battle of wits over the eating of a dish i consider to be none of your business, and i will allow that you probably don’t realise the trouble you’re in when you flirt with his evil sister, but if you so much as think about destroying a haiku, which will always be the only form of traditional enlightenment which remains pure and untainted by your capitalist society of assimilation and cultural destruction, i will slit your throat and feast on your blood. do you understand me?”
i couldn’t nod, so i said, “the thought never even occured to me. not even for the merest shadow of a second.”
she took the sword away. “good.”
“besides, the only haiku i could think of has frogs in it, not grasshoppers.”
“quiet.”
“although, i could probably do a summer rain one.”
“hush.”
“what about if i did one about frogs singing with grasshoppers about the summer rain in autumn while visiting a local volcanic spring for a bbq lunch and quick dip in the pond? i reckon i could make it sound real classy.”
“creepy, i’m going to gut you.”
“i’m quiet! see? shushed-up creepy. creepy of no-something-speaky. silent creepy. no-tongue creepy of no word-whispery, even. ah, here’s my sorbet.”

never eat broccoli sorbet

akiko’s foot slipped up over my knee.
i blinked across the table at her and she winked in return.
takeshi was busy applying icepacks to his mouth. ninjagirl sat next to me, spooning up her sorbet in slow deliberate scoops. she didn’t seem to be paying any attention to what was happening under the table.
but i could see that, under her wiry hair, her eyes were glaring solidly at the pretty girl rubbing my upper thigh with her toes.
i remembered a small piece of advice which hatboy had given me many years ago.
“broccoli sorbet is an amazing piece of work,” he’d said. “it’s not the usual kind of sorbet. on the surface it sounds mildly curious. you’d think about what it tastes like. you’d wonder if it were bland, sweet, or really broccoli flavoured. you’d think about trying a taste. just a small taste. a taste so small, it couldn’t really be considered a taste. but in the end, you’d realise that it’s not worth the vomit you’d end up spewing up all over the waiter.”
in short: never eat that broccoli sorbet.
i pointed my spoon at akiko. “you,” i said. “are broccoli sorbet.”

can’t win all the time

that’s pretty much when takeshi hurled himself across the table and put his hands around my neck.
and squeezed.
and squeezed.
and then dropped to the ground as ninjagirl hit him very hard with her sword.
i noted with particular disappointment that she used the blunt end, and not the pointy bit.
oh well. can’t win every time.

takeshi’s sore bonce

“you hit me!”
“you squeezed his neck.”
“he called my sister broccoli sorbet!”
“he was probably talking about her taste in shoes.”
“hey!”
“anyway, you shouldn’t be asking why i hit you. you should be asking why i didn’t kill you.”
“huh?”
“well, you are going to give us the information we want from you.”
“why should i give you anything? you just proved you’re not my friend any more, ninjagirl.”
“because, if you don’t tell creepy about the terrorist attacks on his fridge then yali will be picking your pieces up for tomorrow night’s chicken curry.”
“i don’t like this. i will call my goons, and they’ll take care of you.”
“you call your goons and they’ll be unemployed.”

creepy of much info-knowy

“bye, akiko!” i called as ninjagirl dragged me by the collar of my shirt through the door.
“call me!” she yelled back at me.
i struggled to get out of ninjagirl’s finger-grasp of creepy-clutchy, but she twisted me around and pressed her nose to mine. “if you call her, i’ll do those things i said i’d do to takeshi.”
i couldn’t see the connection, until she hissed, “to you, you idiot!”
“oh.” i shrugged out of her grip and fixed my mambo shirt back into place. “well. i don’t have her phone number anyway.”
“you better not have.”
“i don’t, okay? besides, she’s broccoli sorbet.”
“and what am i, creepy? am i broccoli sorbet?”
“uh, no. i never thought you were broccoli sorbet, ninjagirl. mango sorbet, maybe. but never broccoli.”
she squinted at me for a minute, then put her arm around me and walked me toward the train station. “my ancestors know i should kill you, creepy. i really should. you’re just lucky i like you.”
“must be my shirts,” i grinned.
“creepy, there’s no way on this planet i’d like you for your shirts.”
“what about my hat? do you like my floppy hat?”
“do you like my fist?”
“only when it’s not hitting me.”

Tags: asian cliches, creepy and hatboy, ninjagirl, yakuza