Continuing… He grimaced and growled and launched himself toward me. He made it about 0.5 meters before an Ankylosaur tail club (or Thagomizer, whichever) connected with the right temporal region of his cranium. He never hit the ground as Toivo had him in a severe and decidedly uncomfortable-looking hammerlock. He had the goof’s hands pinned before gravity could fully take over.
I produce three inescapable thick plastic Zip-ties, of which I always carry a supply, and bind his wrists as Toivo frog-marched him back to his seat.
“Ribbit. Ribbit, asshole”, Toivo snickered all the way back to the land of the cheap seats.
His significant other or sister or first cousin or whatever is seated and begs us not to turn the plane around.
“He’s just drunk. That’s all!” she says like that’s some form of excuse.
For some. Maybe.
For your buddy, lover, cousin, whatever; no way.
“OK, then he’ll be handed over to the Japanese authorities when we land. No skin off my rosy-red proboscis.” I replied as Toivo unceremoniously dumps the miscreant in his aisle seat with a decidedly agreeable, and somewhat soggy, “kerflop!”.
Seems our loudmouth drunk needs his big boy pants before he begins a drunken tirade.
“Ick”, I noted to Toivo, reminding him that there are sanitizer stations all over the plane.
“Tidy up, “ I said, “No idea what communicables this carbuncle is carrying.”
I fit the next set of zip-ties snugly around his ankles as his significant something-or-other goes positively apeshit.
“You have no fucking right! Who the fuck do you think you are!?” she bellows.
I turn from grinning ear-to-ear at Toivo and look directly into this piece of human flotsam’s vacant, vapid eyes.
“I, ma’am, am the
MOTHERFUCKING PRO FROM DOVER and this is my able-bodied assistant, Mr. Hyde.
<
EEGAH!> replies Toivo.
“Thank you, able-bodied assistant”, I say to Toivo as he’s already wanting to head back to Business Class to begin ordering drinks from where he left off previously on the drinks menu.
I continue with this refugee from Uncle Tom’s Medicine Cabinet by letting her know into exactly what world of fuckery her significant whatever just wandered.
“I am also a duly authorized United States of America Air Marshall”, as I pull my Diplomatic passport and show her the very shiny and very official badge I keep there.
“So, if you would like to join your…whatever…when we land by being bound over to the local Prefecture Police personages, then, by all means, keep irritating me. My assistant and I have a
very large supply of inescapable zip-ties.” I said, lowly, slowly, and growly.
She sat down suddenly, shut up, and was unpredictably very interested in the carpeted floor of the plane at that point.
I had Toivo connect the guy’s wrist zip-ties with his ankle zip-ties.
I look at my watch.
“Hmmm…6.03 seconds. Very nice, Mr. Hyde. A new record. You win a cookie. And a cold one.” I smiled at Toivo who realized that all, except his throbbing hangover, was forgiven.
“All set?” I asked. Toivo nodded in approval, and we departed that scene and headed back to Business class and away from the pedestrian displays of such hoi-polloi.
Luna greeted up with a brace of fresh cocktails.
“Why thank you, Luna”, I smiled, “How did you guess that corralling idiots was thirsty work?”
“Oh, Doctor Rock. You not tell me everything. You no Air Marshall.” She joshed.
“Funny.”, I said, digging out my passport, “This here says that I am.”
Luna looks more closely and swoons a bit.
“You are Pro from Dover! I hear you. Everybody in plane hear you! You are too funny to be Air Marshall!”, she laughs.
“Probably, but I’m on the injured reserve list. Oh, look. My drink’s gone dry…”
Luna laughs, Toivo stammers, and I get a refill.
Sleeping Ugly, in the rear of the plane, is still snoozing off his brush with death when this character in a natty and expensive-looking three-piece suit wanders into Business Class.
“You are Dr. Rocknocker, the,
ahem, very loud Pro From Dover?” he asks.
I sit up straight, rearrange my work area and affirm that is exactly who I am.
“Might I take a look at your credentials?” he asked, very politely.
“You might if you tell me what this is all about,” I replied.
“I’m Bill Hubbard, and I’m the Air Marshall for this flight.” He says.
“Well, Bill. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Rocknocker, and Air Marshall
pro tem for any flight I’m on. Call me Rock. That’s what the guys at the Agency call me.” I smile brightly.
“Ah.
That explains it. Might I see your credentials, Doc…er...Rock?” He asks.
“Certainly.” As I produce my Red Russian Diplomatic passport.
He looks very confused.
“Open it”, I offer.
“Well, I’ll be damned. There must be some great stories that go with all this.” Bill smiles.
“That there are”, I say, retrieving my credentials and asking if Bill would like to join Toivo, yet another covert character, and me in a drink.
“Nah, thanks. However, if you don’t mind, I’ll take over that hogtied idiot back in economy for you. You look like your plate’s full enough.” He offered.
“That’s fine by me. I’ll have an IR (Incident Report) for you directly.” I replied.
“Damn. You really are a Marshall. Pack a plaster cast instead of a piece. Nice.” He laughed.
“Just my way of being disarming,” I replied.
Bill chuckled, shook his head, rolled his eyes, shook both our hands, and returned to his seat.
“Nice guy. Glad he’s here. I want nothing else to do with that loudmouthed asshole.”
“That much is certain”, Toivo agreed.
“Well, since you’re back with the living, care for a drink?” I asked as I motioned to Luna.
“You are -not- human”, Toivo gasped as Luna repaired to the galley to make our drinks.
“That”, I smiled as I drained my drink, “is something which I never claimed to be.”
Well, life wore on. We landed at Narita Airport in Tokyo without further incident.
Drunky McAsshole was escorted off the plane by Bill and he looked very, very unhappy indeed.
I nodded to him and tipped my drink in that inimitable Midwestern manner.
He didn’t even nod back.
The prick.
Anyways.
I thought we were headed to Haneda, but something must have changed in-flight. No worries, since all I have to do is collect my luggage, find a driver and get him to take me to the train station.
I wander down the jetway, Toivo close behind. He’s headed to the Marunouchi Business District, and I’m headed for Tokyo Station. I could take the train, it’s only an hour and about 3,000 yen, but I had a compelling reason not to go.
I didn’t fucking want to.
I’m walking slowly away from my terminal, and head over to passport control and baggage.
I’m through in a trice, and now I’m wondering what the fuck I’m going to do. A couple of travel cases, my well case, a buggered left hand, and…
As I walk out of the baggage area, I see this whisper-thin chap holding a placard: “Doctor Rocknocker, USA”.
Hmmm…
“Hello? “ I asked the gaunt, thin-clad one.
“Hello. You are Doctor Lock…Lockrocker…Doctor…” He stammers.
“Yeah”, I say and hand him my business card, “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock. It’s so much easier for everyone.”
“Ah, yes. So, Mr. Dr. Rock. Pleased to be meeting you. I am from the train company. You have First Class on the Tokyo-Sapporo express?” he asks.
“Why yes. Yes, I do.” I replied.
“Then you will come with me. I will escort you to ground transportation to the train station and to your First Class chamber on the train.” He bows slightly and whistles shrilly for a porter to handle my bags.
“Thank you so much…um, and your name?” I ask.
“I am Gin, your humble servant”, he actually and really says.
“Gin? No shit? Excuse me. Sorry, that just slipped out. What a perfect name. Damn glad to meet you”, I said and extended my less damaged right hand.
He bowed, I sort of bowed; my back cracked like old kindling. He extended his hand, I extended mine. He bowed and I tried to shake his hand. If I were watching this from the outside as a spectator, it would have looked riotously funny.
I finally grab Gin’s right hand and at long last, a manly handshake ensues.
“About fucking time”, I muttered under my breath.
Gin and I are walking slowly to ground transport when he sees my slight limp, another gift of being a hired gun and traipsing all over the world. That and stopping a .45 with my thigh a few decades ago. That didn’t help much either.
“Stop here. I will get an electric cart.” Gin ordered.
I was a bit all-in by this time and too tired to argue.
“Groovy. Can I smoke here?” I asked.
“Not yet. Must wait until we reach outside.” He informs me.
“Fair enough.” I clip my cigar and shove it in my yap, but I didn’t light it.
Gin was going to lodge a small protest, but I say that I didn’t fire the thing up.
A cart arrives and we toss all my luggage and kit into the back. I take the passenger seat and Gin rides shotgun directly behind me.
“Gin, tell me, COVID is the reason it’s so quiet here,” I ask.
“Yes, Dr. Rock”, Gin exhales loudly, “It’s killing us who work in the ground transport and hospitality industries. Very bad. Not so many people die, that is sad, many, many more go hungry and lose jobs. This must stop soon.”
“I could not agree more, Gin”, I replied.
He’s just earned himself a real hefty tip, I muse, local tradition be damned.
We arrive outside and I ask Gin if I can fire up my heater now. He tells me yes, and that it would be fine to smoke in the vehicle that’s going to take us to the train station.
“Well, if that ain’t just ducky!” I chuckle. Gin looks on, very confused. “That’s great, Gin. Many thanks.”
“Ah. So…”, Gin says slowly. “Your ride is over there, we should be there in a few minutes.”
“Fair dinkum, Gin”, I say in austral approval.
I figured we’d be taking a sedan or van or SUV on the outside. Instead, Gin wheels us up to the second largest car, I would suppose, in the whole Goddamned prefecture. It’s a chauffeur-driven limo from Supernova-Zipline Limousines. It’s fucking huge; a stretch Mercedes limo. It probably has its own zip code, if not its own area code.
Gin grabs my bags and shoves them in the boot, scurries around, and pops open the rear door. I slowly de-putt-putt and ease into the opulent back seat of one of the largest cars in which I’ve ever had the pleasure of riding.
Jesus Q. Christwagons! Full bar! Stocked humidor! Satellite phone! Satellite TV. Satellite internet! A fucking closed-circuit telly system for the interior and exterior of the vehicle. An intercom for communicating with the driver.
“What?” I asked Gin, “No jacuzzi?”
“That car was busy today”, he smiled.
“Shame.”
I literally goggled the inside of this vehicle. It’s ridiculous in its opulence; especially for the likes of me.
“All these are here at your disposal. Of course, you will be charged for what you use, although the driver has already been paid. A gratuity is up to you when you arrive at the train station.” Gin informs me as I take a quick break from stuffing my carry-on with bottles of exclusive Japanese alcohol and fine cigars from around the world.
“Send the bill to these characters”, I say and hand him one of the many business cards I filched from Agents Rack and Ruin.
“By your leave”, Gin smiles. He will not be accompanying me to the train station, but his counterpart will meet me there and get me to my cabin on the train.
I make certain I sneak him a hefty gratuity’ Oriental proclivities be damned.
He accepts, looks at the pile of yen furtively, stashes it in his pocket and barks some orders into the intercom. By the time we exchange handshakes, the limo has been started and we are ready to attack traffic.
Tokyo traffic in a huge limo.
This should be fun.
But it twern’t.
The locals were deferentially courteous. They waited quietly until the winds shifted and the driver maneuvered the land yacht out of the parking place and into the wind and traffic. Once rolling, other drivers seemed to intuitively know this was not a normal vehicle and gave us a wide berth.
Well, where the blinkered hell is the fun in that?
I settled back in the far back with my seat reclined, a drink at the ready and my already lit cigar.
Yes, I was ready for anything.
But, nothing untoward happened.
Nothing but an interesting hour-long trip through a surprisingly vacant Tokyo. COVID I reckon, but we arrived at the train station less than an hour later.
It has to be the cleanest damned train station I’ve ever seen. Absolutely immaculate. Tons of stores of every imaginable description, plus a very well stocked duty-free.
I was already fairly well stocked, but I dropped by a House of Havana to see about a few cigars.
HOLY FUCKING GASP “So sorry, not at those prices.”
Holy shit. Who can afford a cigar habit in Japan? Christ on a crouton. Prices for Havana cigars fully 200-400% more expensive than the usual extortionate price one pay for these dubious smogs.
A courtesy car pulls up and asks if I was “Dr. Roclocncker” or something in that linguistic style. I affirm my identity verbally and with a business card, which the driver appreciates.
He, without asking, by the way, grabs my luggage, tosses it into the golf-cart
cum field transport and then asks me to park myself in the cart.
I ask, “Wot’s, uh, the deal?”
“VIP transport. Please to be hang on”, he says and we accelerate out into the thin crowds.
Within minutes we’re at my platform and my driver asks if I’m taking the Sapporo Express or the Tohoku/Hokkaido Shinkansen from Tokyo to Shin-Hakodate-Hokuto and transfer to the Hokuto limited express to Sapporo.
“The former”, I reply, somewhat vexed that they more than one line First Class, to Sapporo.
“Excellent”, he replies, and after going over my tickets, confirms what I had been told.
It really isn’t “First Class”, it’s “Gran Class”.
Evidently, there a difference.
From the brochure: “The Gran Class involves the use of a special train car with ample seating room (the more, the better), as well as the constant attention of your host or hostess. Trains generally have one Gran Class car along with standard and green cars. Service is also a point of interest in the Shinkansen Gran Class. Upon entering the train, an attendant will guide you to your seat. You will then be offered such amenities as a menu, drinks, blanket, drinks, warm towel, drinks, slippers (which may be taken home by the passenger), drinks, eye mask, and drinks.”
OK, I may have edited that a bit...
Once settled in and my bagged luggage whisked someplace safe but out of sight, I was handed a menu. They were very cautiously deferential about my plastered hand and made every effort to be extra accommodating for me.
I flip open the menu and read: “Our service reflects the land traversed, and is attentive to individual needs so that you may enjoy the trip in your own personal way. We are honored to make your travels a high point in your journey. The attendant can be called to your seat at any time using a button on the armrest. The menu options include gourmet delicacies, all locally sourced. For example, you may order a bento box featuring locally grown vegetables, along with fresh apple juice produced in Aomori*. Other options include drinks, snacks, alcoholic beverages, drinks, and a western-style lunch. All food and beverages are provided at no additional cost.”
Highly unlikely.
The train imperceptibly lurches and we’re moving out of the station and headed on our way up north.
Only 831 or so kilometers and this is one of the first runs of the Sapporo Express where you don’t have to stop after 4.5-5 hours, de-train, then catch a new express the rest of the way to Sapporo from Hokkaido.
This is just a very recent addition to the rail lines in Japan, and I’m among some of the first that get to experience a shakedown cruise and see how nice the cabin attendants can be towards me.
Halfway through my first drink, a Shochu (焼酎), which is a distilled liquor (like vodka), and fresh carbonated lime drink which I faux-racistly dub “The Locknockel”.
So solly. I’ll attempt to quell that impulse from here on out.
I’ll probably not be overly successful.
I am asked if I will be ordering lunch. I reply in the affirmative and leave it to them to find the best of what they think I’d probably like. I did ask for another drink, though. That appeared within seconds.
I’m slurping this new concoction and I glance out the window. Everything’s a fucking blur.
“Whoa! What kind of drinks do they serve here?” I asked, but Ford Prefect was nowhere to be seen.
It’s not the drink, it’s our velocity. Already we’re topping 300 KPH. You couldn’t prove it by me. It was smooth as silk and amazingly disconcerting to not feel at least a little bit of shimmying or shaking.
Not on these lines, Buckaroo. These are welded rails. Welded, ground and buffed to a high sheen.
The ride was smoother than my next drink, a Rocknocker made with Ao vodka.
“Named for the Japanese word for “blue,” Ao is made from Japanese rice and water sourced from the country’s southern island of Kyushu. Distilled in copper pots and refined through a bamboo filtration system, this vodka is creamy and lush, with an ethereal lightness and purity reminiscent of fresh spring water.”
It is also probably the favorite of distant dragons and important ancestors.
Anyways, the trip proceeded pretty much along these lines. Smoking was
verboten aboard all Japanese trains, but when I asked about the fact that I recall, or so I thought, that one of the perks of Gran Class was a private room where a passenger could while away the time along whatever ways he or she would choose, they were ready to allow me a cigar.
“No, wouldn’t be proper”, I maintained, “Wouldn’t be right”, I continued and handed each of my three personal retainers a cigar.
They each brought me a version of a drink they just knew I’d like based on my past few hour’s consumptions.
They were right. They were all quite lovely.
Now, truth be told, my left mitt was bothering me. Somehow the pain messages were finding a way upstream and I had to admit that it positively throbbed. I decided to forego any further libations for a while and try some of that ‘pain medication’ the medicos back in Caracas gave me.
“This is in case you have harsh pain”, Dr. Esparraguera and Dr. Díaz told me, “That is, more than your usual.”
“What is it?” I asked eyeing the large and frankly suspicious-looking black capsule.
“Oh, just a bit of morphine. A shot of ketamine. A little oxycodone. A drop of buprenorphine. Some tramadol and a smattering of Thorazine. That and
just a hint of mint.” They replied.
I wondered if I needed one or two.
Well, like my dear ol’ departed Granddad used to say: “When one’s not enough, and two is too many; best take three.”
Hey, I have a high pain threshold and I live with chronic pain. Now this hand was beginning to hurt to the point of a minor annoyance.
I swallowed three with the rest of my drink.
Then I was being roused by one of my cabin attendants.
“Sir, we are here. Sir? Sir? SIR!?!” the panicked attendant called.
“Oh, yes”, I snarfled. “So we are. Thank you so much for a splendid trip.”
She stood back to allow me room to go from horizontal to vertical.
“Ah! A few hours kip after a couple of drinks. I feel slightly more human again.” I said as I stretched and produced sounds like a cord of old firewood being run over by a custom Oldsmobile Rocket 88.
No one dared say a word, although there was a lot of body language flying around. They got my baggage and all my other bits-and-pieces loaded up and ready for me to travel.
I swear, I hadn’t walked 100 paces when we’re on the platform and there’s another thin-clad one with a “Dr. Rock” sign.
He walked over to me, I guess I give off Rock-ish vibes and ask if I am who I am.
I verified I was who I was.
Back in the read confines of another limo, a bit smaller than the one in Tokyo, but still none too shabby, and we’re headed to the labs of ウルトラシークレットテックカンパニー株式会社 [Ultrasecret Tech Company, Ltd.].
“How long until we get there?” I ask.
“Not long”, Came the reply, “20 minutes.”
“May I smoke?” I asked.
He pulled down a hand-polished wooden cover and a fully outfitted humidor sprang into view.
“I’ll take that as a yes”, I smiled and pulled out my pocket humidor and produced a smallish cigar that I figured would take about 20 minutes.
My co-pilot was watching very closely, and of course, I offered him one.
“Grab a spare for the driver”, I said, “But hold on to it until we get where we’re going.”
“Yes, sir”, came the brisk and rapid reply.
We arrived at the labs, which were housed in a very nondescript gray, closed window 5-story building. Could have been a bookbinder’s. Could have been a Gentleman’s Club. Could have been an abattoir, for all I knew.
Everything was done in muted and tasteful shades of gray, teal, light tannish brown and pinkish-mauve trying to go all purple. Carpets. Walls. Ceilings. Going to take some reconnoitering to get the layout of this place, I mumbled to myself.
“Dr! Rock! Hello! So glad you are here!”
It was the team leader, Dr. Uchibayashi Iesada, called Uchi from here on out.
The rest of the team, all doctors, were Yuhara Hideaki (Youhoo), Bando Michinaga (Bando), Fukutsuchi Kosho (Fukkit…no really), and Ms. Dr. Sasagawa Kaneru (Sassy).
And those are the names we used in parenthesis as I’m not going to type their names over again.
There was much bowing and handshaking and distribution of business cards. Again, to any outsider, it must have looked uproariously funny.
Seems I was to have my hand scanned today so the procedures can begin bright and early the next day.
I was told that I’d be staying here at the labs as they have one floor converted to a 5-Star Hotel, another floor for meetings, meals, and recreation. More floors for research, medical procedures, and whatever else these characters were into.
They are really big on cybernetics, robotics, automation, miniaturization, and human-machine interfaces.
Guess that’s why I’m here.
I was taken to my suite on the 5th floor, and damn, they weren’t kidding. This room was right out of the playbook of JP Morgan. Plush, well outfitted with every known electronic gizmo, probably surveillance cameras that could diagnose your drink before you had time to stir it, and a plush California King bed, Jacuzzi, and bar.
None of that mini-bar shit. Here, you’re good enough for a room, you’re good enough for a real size bar.
Plus, I had my own geisha.
Not for funny business, but a real geisha type person to aid and assist me while I was at the lab.
Her name was Ouchi Sakurako. She always addressed me as “Sir”, even though I told her that everyone calls me “Rock”, and that I was to refer to her as “Ouchi”.
Since that was her name.
She also told me what was expected of me and what I was to expect of her.
I was “Yōjin”, which I finally figured out, was Japanese for VIP. I was also 親分, which is “Boss”. Basically, I call the shots.
Ouchi was 従者, which is a bitch to translate; as it could be servant, valet, attendant, follower, assistant, or all of the above. She was an employee of the labs, specially hired for this position and she took it damned deadly seriously.
“No funny stuff”, she reiterated, wagging a finger at me.
I’m standing in my stocking feet, my square-toe Size 16 Black Caiman cowboy boots growling from the floor as I stand there, bereft of foot apparel, in my bespoke Cargo Shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, left hand bandaged like an Ankylosaur tail club, smoking a huge cigar and quaffing a fresh drink. I tilt my Stetson back on my forehead, peel off my Wayfarers, and give Ouchi a thoroughly washed stink eye.
“Do I
look like I’d be into funny stuff?”
Ouchi tried. Give her ‘er due. In the style of Montalván, she really tried.
She burst out laughing.
“Oh, hell”, I say to her, “I like you. You’ll do!”
“Ouchi?”
“Ouchi?”
“OK, it’s not
that funny a concept. You can stop laughing any time…”
Some people.
Ouchi was going to be with me for the duration. I was a guest, I was also a lab rat, however I was also a fairly high placed schmoe with connections. Ouchi had her own room in my room, which I thought was nice. Fairly basic amenities for her, but it afforded some privacy for the both of us if I needed to take a confidential call or I just wanted to take one of those uninspired butt-in-the-moonlight walks around my room.
I promised Ouchi that after the Myanmar incident, she would not have to worry about any shenanigans like that.
Ouchi gave me a tour of my suite, and as I hovered over at the bar, she committed several wanton acts of neatness. Boots in the closet along with my traveling bags. Hat hung on the hat rack. Sunglasses cleaned and left on my desk, next to everything she’s
ordnunked on, in and around my desk. My yukata (informal male dude guy’s kimono) was pressed and laid out, as were a fresh pair of Cargo Shorts, and a new pair of slippers. I had an assortment of shirts from which to choose, so I decided on an
R. Crumb print shirt.
“That should keep ‘em guessing”, I thought.
I had an appointment in a bit for some pictures. CAT Scan of the hand, MRI potentially, X-rays, the usual.
So, I figured they’d need me nice and relaxed, so I spent a few minutes instructing Ouchi in the fine art of making drinks.
She caught on quickly, and for the rest of my time at the lab, I don’t think I ever saw an empty glass. It either had a drink in it or it was drying from being freshly scrubbed.
She knew zip about cigars, but after a brief class on clipping and lighting cigars, I never had to worry about carrying or losing my favorite lighter.
I finished up my latest drink and cigar as Ouchi answered the door. There was an orderly with a wheelchair and was there to take me for some pictures.
The e-wheelchair was powered and could hit speeds of probably around 15 KPH, but I didn’t futz much with the controls as Sakakibara was a very capable orderly.
I was in and out of the radiology department in less than half an hour.
I dismissed Sakakibara as I wanted to execu-scoot around the labs and get the lay of the land. It was a very efficient layout of orthogonal ranks and file, so one couldn’t get too lost as the patterns repeated both horizontally and vertically.
Alas, I couldn’t smoke in the passageways and the tour got slightly boring after the next two floors of gun-metal mauve painted walls, excessively clean and detailed and primped halls, tasteful Scandinavian Modern art, fixtures, and floors.
It was like a hospital on steroids and I reminded myself that I hated hospitals, no matter how benevolent.
Besides, I was getting a wee bit cranky, cramped in the admittedly oversized wheelchair. I had decided, then and there, that I needed strong drink, a cigar, and a few laps in that Jacuzzi which I had only briefly glimpsed earlier.
I ring the door of my suite and Ouchi answers.
“Dr. Rock,” she says, “You are back. All go as planned?”
“Yes, Ouchi”, I replied, “However, now it is time for you to make yourself scarce as I need a
very strong drink, a huge cigar, and reservation for a few hundred laps in the Jacuzzi. We don’t have a robe anywhere near the size that would cover my ample corpus, so it’s my Body Armor T-shirt and boxer-briefs. No funny business, remember? So you get to sit this one out.”
“No, Doctor”, she said in a most defiant manner, “I am your 従者, I will accompany you to, and in, the baths. You will be submerged and with your left hand in a cast, it will need to be wrapped and sealed in plastic. I will make you a drink, cut and light your cigar. You will sit. You will wait until I return. I will get you a robe and swimming costume. Now stand so I can measure you.”
“Umm, Ouchi,”, I coughed and swallowed, “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. Everything up to you helping me into the Jacuzzi is fine, but that’s solo territory. I can manage, trust me.”
“I will hear none of this”, she said in a loud, steady voice. “I have my orders, and now you have yours. Sit. I will return with your drink and cigar. Then you will be measured so I can properly clothe you for the baths. I will hear no more of this. Are we
green, Doctor?”
I looked at Ouchi with huge, wide laughing eyes.
“Green? Half a mo’, guv.” I smiled, “That’s my line. Where did you ever hear that?”
“I am very thorough”, Ouchi smiles. “I read your dossier before you arrived. It’s part of my job to know my clients.”
“Damn, Ouchi”, I smiled broadly, “Guess I can’t put one over on you. Very well. Veridian!”
“Veridian?” she asks.
“From lime to moss to forest to kelly. Green as the top of a new pool table.” I laughed.
“That is good”, she smiled, “Now, we have understanding. I will return with your drink, cigar and a tape measure.”
I shook my head approvingly.
Ouchi stops, turns, gives me a quick once over.
“A large one.” She smiles.
If smirks could cause injury, she’d be the one in the wheelchair.
“Cheek!” I smiled.
Ouchi spun professionally on her heel and busied herself with the projects at hand.
As I’m working on my fresh drink and cigar, after the indelicacies I was put through in order to get my measurements. Which in Japan, or so I was told, were reserved for
kaiju, Ouchi returns with the result of her shopping trip.
Plastic bags of the industrial thickness size for my left hand, even though I’ll be losing the cast tomorrow. A plastic spongy-towely thing to keep the water out, and fine-lock zip ties to seal the whole thing from the ravages of the Jacuzzi.
Ouchi found me an absolutely delightful floor-length floral kimono that was almost as garish as some of my worst Hawaiian shirts. Then she handed me my bathing attire.
“Look, Ouchi”, I said, “But the words “Dr. Rock” and “Speedo” should never appear in the same sentence, much less the same thought.”
Ouchi was laughing up a storm.
“Oh, Doctor”, she said through steaming eyes, “Please forgive Ouchi. I saw that suit and could not resist.”
“Y’know, Ouch”, I said, “You keep up this gaijin-kaiju thing and I might really develop a complex. I know that I’m large, and while it’s easy being mean, it’s harder being large.”
I let her sit and cogitate on that for a few.
“Of course, Doctor”, she bowed and scrappled, “It was only Ouchi making a small joke. No harm intended.”
“Yeah, I know”, I replied, “But in this case, I’m afraid there’s going to be repercussions.”
Ouchi looked at me in horror. Had she edged over that fine line?
Before she could speak, I held up my right hand.
“New drink. Clean ashtray and draw a tub.” I said, “Then all will be forgiven”.
Ouchi looked at me with palpable relief.
Damn, the Japanese can be such a
literal people. And such fun to mess with.
While Ouchi slipped out to do her 従者’ly duties, I slouched off to the head (loo, banya, restroom, etc.) and changed into my new ‘swimming costume’.
Obviously continental in cut and cloth, but a very verdant shade of green. It was also capacious enough to cover the bits I wanted covered and still be quite comfortable.
I complemented Ouchi on her taste when she returned with my drink and ashtray.
I went to stand to ease over to the Jacuzzi when Ouchi grabbed the drink from my hand, the cleaned ashtray, and set out new slippers for the bath. I told her that I could handle the cigar for the monumental five-meter trek.
Ouchi had a drinks cart lined up next to the tub, with the smaller of one of my humidors. There were plenty of clean glasses, ashtrays, matches (genuine lucifers), ice, a phone, a couple of geological magazines, and a copy of the latest Blaster’s Monthly.
She
had done her homework.
She cautioned me on getting into the Jacuzzi. It was buzzing and frothing along so the bottom was quite impossible to see.
“It’s is, how is it in American? Oh. Six feet deep. There are seats along the side. You pick the one with which you are most comfortable.” She told me.
“Holy wow!”, I exclaimed, “That’s not a jacuzzi, that a hydrothermal pit”.
I eased into the bath after I shed my kimono as Ouchi mentioned she has never seen a man with so much hair.
OK, yeah. I’m a bit fuzzy.
OK, Yeti-fuzzy.
“Yeah”, I replied after slipping into the warm welcoming waters, “I decided to let my beard grow a few decades ago and now, I look like Bigfoot on a night out. After a tornado.”
Ouchi stared in stock curiosity and probably some disgust. She mentioned, cautiously, that she was, at first embarrassed by the hair on my chest…and back…and legs. And just about everywhere else.
I sat back in the Jacuzzi, blissing out.
“But the ‘1/3 of ZZ Top’ beard didn’t clue you in?” I asked.
“I have no male friends with a beard. I just…I …well, didn’t know what to expect.” She admitted. “I have to admit, you’re the first American for which I 従者. I didn’t know what to expect. Except they are large and hairy.”
I set down my drink. I set down my cigar. I surreptitiously took seven or eight
very deep breaths.
Well”, I said, “If that’s the way you’re going to be…” and I bodily dunked under the warm, bubbling waters.
I could see her, blurrily, through the foaming waters.
The first minute passed and she just stood there.
Minute two noted her pacing a bit.
By minute three, she was getting alarmed.
At the four-minute mark, she was perhaps panicking a slight bit.
At 4:30 by my waterproof watch, I popped up and calmly asked her for my cigar.
“Are you trying to frighten me?” she almost yelled. “I thought you might be drowning. How could I do anything then?”
“Didn’t read my dossier closely enough,” I smiled, and put a fresh fire to my cigar.
“What?” she demanded.
“I am a devotee of static apnea. Trained to hold my breath. Since I was an ice diver years and years ago and worked on offshore platforms, I thought it to be a good habit to cultivate. My record’s almost seven minutes, but that was a few years back. Now, I can barely manage five.” I told her.
“But I didn’t know”, she objected.
“Now you do”, I smiled, “Please re-ice and refresh my drink, and hand me that glossy magazine. I feel the need to relax after all that exertion.”
Age and guile beat youth and exuberance every single fucking time.
For the next few hours, I read my magazine, carried on a polite conversation with Ouchi. I warned her about Americans, especially if they are of the Oil Patch fraternity.
“Overpaid. Oversexed. And over here”. The American GI in World War II Britain had nothing on an Oil Patch denizen on 28/28 in a foreign land. Especially if they’re young. Hell, you got to watch the old farts as well.” I said.
After translating that for Ochi, she nodded and said she understood.
“Unless they’re old Doctors of Geological and Petroleum Engineering. Hell, those buggers are the worst. Watch yourself every minute.” I said.
“But, you Dr. Rock, are a doctor of…” Ouchi stopped, smiled, and drenched me with a hand slap full of water.
“Ouchi”, I said, “Let me give you the real story. I’m an old geologist, blaster, and petroleum engineer. Been in the Oil Patch for four-plus solid decades. I’ve lived and worked in 50 countries and drilled wells on every continent on the planet, including Antarctica. I’ve been shot, stabbed, taken hostage, crashed in planes, and near mangled in rolled field vehicles. I’ve met with kings, sultans, presidents, and premiers. I speak 4 languages and can order a beer in 40 more. I’ve got more miles on me than an original Volvo 1800S. I’ve got a wonderful wife for these last 41 years and two amazing children. I have recently taken over the reins of a knucklehead of a Tibetan Mastiff. And yet, here I am, sitting in a frothing, foaming, fizzing Jacuzzi, up to my neck, as it were, in a far and distant land, with a most amazingly attractive and intelligent Japanese female lady type and we’re discussing whether I need another drink or cigar”.
Ouchi looked at me with wide, nearly perplexed, eyes.
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way” I smiled.
To be continued…*⇝
submitted by Download the Pitchero Club App and get all your Pool AFC junior club fixtures and training sessions with ease. News 11 September 2020. POOL AFC Registration and Annual Subscription all available NOW via the website and SHOP . News 8 September 2020. Self Screening for Covid 19 before training and matches. News 30 August 2020. Here come the Girls! Come and join a brand new U10 Girls Team at Pool The fixtures pool and exchange service for rugby union matches in England and Wales. Based in the Midlands the service is open to all rugby clubs both in the UK and abroad. Formerly the North Midlands Fixtures Exchange and Staffordshire Pool. Predict Matches; Fixtures; Results; LiveScores; Pools Link; Pool; Contact; AbleFAST.com. AbleFAST.com . Coupon; Predict Matches; Fixtures; Results; LiveScores; Pools Links; Pool; Contact; Now you can find the football result, soccer result,live score,panel,pools fixtures and Result of Week 4 from able fast. The Football Pools Now you can find the football result, soccer result, live score Pools and Matches. Soccer 1. The simplest Soccer Pool! Soccer 4. 3 More to Treat you! Soccer 6. Africa's most popular Soccer Pool! Soccer 10. 10 of the best Soccer games going! Soccer 13 . 13 tricky Soccer outcomes to Match! Soccer 13 Xtra. Unique South African Soccer Pool! Soccer GG. 5 Soccer Matches and a Horse Race. Soccer Score. First Soccer Team to Score, or not at all. Time Bomb. Can you Here are the United Kingdom (UK) pool fixtures, EKO, LKO, and panel games scheduled to be played across all divisions on the 13th of February 2021. Week 32 2020 Coupon Pool Information. The crucial week 32 UK football coupon pool information to enable you to forecast your sure draws, results: EKO: 5, 15, 30, 41, 42, 43, 45, 47 Get the latest football pool fixtures from your trusted and number one source for Posted by By @ukfootballpools 4 months Ago Read More Week 15 Pool Fixture 2020: Pools Fixtures – UK 2020/2021 This Week coupon pools fixture with advance pool fixtures available. Direct pools key links and more from ablefast. Coupon Fixture The Football Pool Fixtures are published immediately after release. For advance coupon week click here. Football Pools Fixtures WEEK 33 - UK 2020/2021, 20-Feb-2021 # Pools Coupon Fixtures: Result: Status: 1 : Arsenal : Man City: Sunday: 2 : Aston V. Leicester Week 32 Pools Fixtures …. 2021 UK POOLS SEASON Week 32 Pools Fixtures For the week’s pool result click here For livescores update, click . Week 31 Pools Fixtures – Classified Football Pools Fixtures 2021 . January 5, 2021 SolutionTipster Admin 0. Week 31 Pools Fixtures …. 2021 UK POOLS SEASON WEEK 31 – UK 2020/2021 , 06-Feb-2021 1 Aston V. Arsenal EKO 2 Burnley Brighton 3 . Week 30 Here are the United Kingdom (UK) pool fixtures, EKO, LKO, and panel games scheduled to be played across all divisions on the 13th of February 2021. Week 33 2020 Coupon Pool Information. The crucial week 33 UK football coupon pool information to enable you to forecast your sure draws, results: EKO: LKO: Sunday matches: Monday matches: Panel: Scores, results, and fixtures from this weekend's football. Covers 750+ leagues from competitions around the world. FootyStats is world's most in-depth Football Stats / Soccer Stats site.
Efren Reyes vs Earl Strickland The Color of Money Challenge Match Part 5 of 5 is a $100,000 Winner-Take-All challenge match between legendary players Efren "... Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. About Press Copyright Contact us Creators Advertise Developers Terms Privacy Policy & Safety How YouTube works Test new features Press Copyright Contact us Creators ... My detailed time-lapse video shows the complete swimming pool building process, start to finish, in just 30 minutes (version with music: https://youtu.be/uNn... Welcome to the official Premier League YouTube channel. Keep up to date with the latest content from the Premier League.Subscribe to the official Premier Lea... https://www.computergaga.com/blog/excel-fixtures-and-league-table-generator/ Create a fixture list and league table in Excel. Enter the team names and create...
