2005-01-26 - 9:56 p.m.

3:30 PM

Gonzo and the Girl walked through the front doors of Man of Mystery, Inc. and stared at the clean up crews and the damage.

“What the hell happened here?” he asked. One of the crewmen looked up.

“Oh hi Gonz. Ninjas. No clan I know but the forensic team is working on it. It looks worse than it was. Only the lobby and the main office was hit. The rest of the building’s fine”

The Girl pointed to a splatter of blood on the floor. “Demon blood?”

“Oni demon,” the crewman said nonchalantly. Working for Actionhero, one got used to this stuff pretty quick. “Suki and the new girl killed it.”

“Where are they?”

“Upstairs in the rec. room.”

Gonzo and the Girl took the elevator up to the 8th floor and got off, all but running to the rec. room’s door. They heard music and laughter coming from inside. As they got closer they could hear voices

“Okay Vit, your turn.”

“Okay, I think, okay, here:
“ I was going to kill that vampire but then I got high!
“I was going to exorcise that demon, but then I got high!
“Now the Pope is pissed off at me and I know why,
“Because I got high, Because I got high, Because I got high!”

More giggling erupted. Gonzo looked at The Girl who that that look on her face.

They opened the door and saw Suki and Vittoria sprawled out on two leather chairs, with a solid kilo of marijuana and half an extra large meat lover’s pizza in front of them, Wu Tang Clan’s 36 Chambers blasting over the high definition quarter million dollar sound system.

Vittoira took a hit from a bong shaped like a wizard and looked up.

“GONZO!!! Look…look, Suki, it’s Gonzo!!,” she said, falling back into a giggling fit.

Suki took a swig from the bottle she was holding and threw out her arms. “Hey, Gonz!!! Have a seat! Okay, the tequila is some of that Quetzelcoatl stuff the Boss got from Doctor Curare and the pot is Kanji Kronic from Silky’s secret stash. Really really good shit. Hey, Vit, don’t bogart Gandalf.” She reached over and picked up the wizard bong. Vittoria leaned over and flicked open a zippo, lighting the bowl and letting Suki take a monster hit.

“What the hell happened?”

Vittoria looked up and smiled brightly, if somewhat goofily. “Ninjas. Fucking ninjas.” She giggled. “Me and Suki killed them all. Yup. Because we are two bad-ass Action Angels. Hey, who’s she?”

”Another Angel, you might say. She’s here about a bequest” Gonzo said, trying to hide a smile. “But its okay. She can do it tomorrow. Are you sure you two are okay?”

“Oh Gonzo,” Suki said exasperatedly, passing bong and bottle to Vittoria, who proceeded to partake of both. “Quite acting like my older brother and relax. You know, I know a secret and you don’t…”

Vittoria almost spit out her tequila and coughed. “SHUT UP YOU EVIL BITCH!!!”

Suki giggled as Vittroria looked at Gonzo and then back at Suki in embarrassed horror/amusement.

Gonzo arched an eyebrow. “Yeah…listen, me and The Girl here are going out for a bit. We’ll just check in on the morning, okay?”

“Sure sure,” Suki said, sprawling even more in her chair. “Hey, where’s Gandalf?”

“Wait a sec. This shit’s cashed,” Vittoria said, grinning as she repacked the bowl on the bong. “Bye Gonzo. Up for another round of pistols at dawn?”

“If you’re up for it,” Gonzo said walking out. He looked at the Girl who had given up trying to suppress her laughter and was gasping next to him. “Yeah that was weird.”

“Oh…oh god…that was the funniest shit…”

“Yeah like you’ve never been shit faced and smoked autistic. Let’s swing by my room.”

“Oh. Are you going to show me your etchings?”

“No, I’ve going to get some guns. And we’re going to get to the bottom of this ninja shit.”

4:45 PM

JAL Flight 185 landed in Mitchell Airport on time, not that he was on the clock. Normally, he would have put in a call and would have gone by private Imperial Charter but he was in the mood to play this quiet. Still, you could only be so quiet and before the plane had landed he already possessed the contact info of three stewardesses and the model sitting next to him. They would have met him in the bathroom, but he always said any encounter you can’t take at least an hour to enjoy isn’t worth it.

With a calm strut and a flourish of his sword cane, Silky Sakai walked off the pane and into the mythology of The City.

5:50 PM

Vittoria Verta groaned as she woke up. She’d only felt this groggy when she’d been concussed or possessed, which wasn’t far from what happened.

She looked up and saw Suki wearing her racing leathers and holing out some clothes for her.

“What…?”

“Get up, bitch,” Suki said sweetly. “We’re going to do something I haven’t done in a long time.”

“What? Get laid?” Vitorria grumbled as she shook her head. She’d become a lot less formal around Suki. Ninja killing and smoking out with a person sort of bonded you.

“What? When did I tell you I haven’t gotten properly fucked in a while?”

“Somewhere after your eighth tequila shot. Speaking of which, damn that was some strong shit.”

“Yeah, the Boss always did say Curare was a bastard. I guess it extends to his booze as well. Anyway, get dressed. We’re going street racing.”

“What? Oh no, I have work to catch up on.”

“No you don’t. Here, get dressed. We’re going street racing. That’s an order Girl Friday.”

6:00 PM

Vittoria looked at herself in the mirror as Suki put the finishing touches on her makeup. She was wearing a short plaid skirt that barely covered her ass (which Suki had grudgingly allowed her to cover with underwear) and white un-buttoned down with a sailor’s collar that Suki insisted she tie off just under her breasts (which Suki adamantly refused to let her cover with a bra). Knee socks, low top sneakers, and makeup in strong shades of neon finished the look.

“Oh god…I look like whore… from the ‘80s….”

“No you don’t. Trust me. You look hot. We’ll see if we can’t make you a more appropriate Catholic School Girl.”

“I can’t go out like this….”

“Ok fine. Wear your guns. Actually, they look kind of hot on you….”

7:18 PM

Ninja was a loaded term in the City, a generic term used for almost any kind of black bag operator or shadowy wet boy. There were corporate ninjas using SOTA stealth tech and laser rifles. There were magic ninjas who skulked around with invisibility spells and killed with bottled demons and death cantrips painted on rice paper. There were traditional “stealer-ins” who killed in the old style with wakizashi and shuirken and post modern cyberpunks who’s difference from out and out street monster samurai was a sound suppressor on the SMG and a matter of debate. But the Oni in the lobby was a giveaway that someone from Little Chiba was probably involved. And even if there wasn’t, well it was still the best place to send a message.

The Kimono Dragon.
Zero Hour.
The Neon Chrysanthemum.
Daisho.
Shinobi Slim’s.
Fatman and Little Boy.

They ran the gauntlet from classy high dollar watering holes to low dives full of scum and villainy. They had only two things in common: they were all in Little Chiba and they were all known places to hire ninjas.

Gonzo and The Girl had been hitting them for almost 4 hours. Which meant that bodies had been hitting the floor for almost 4 hours. It also meant that Gonzo had been able to watch The Girl work for almost 4 hours. He never got tired of it, how she moved so easily from fighting style to fighting style. Hitting a slick suited Yak soldierboy with a short jab to the throat and a leg sweep, her hands then grabbing the twin nickel-plated Nambu pistols from under his suit and spinning to dead aim the bulked up Street Ronin, emptying both clips into his vat muscled, chromed bulk. Spin out again and pistol whip the first of the three speed tribals rushing her, drop the pistols and smooth draw out a pair of butterfly monoblades, hard as diamond, light as titanium, the cutting edges slashing through t kevlar, leather and biker boy meat like they weren’t even there. It was pretty much the same way at every bar they’d hit. Sure, there was some variation:

At Daisho it was almost all Street Sammie, so she hit them harder and used a wicked pair of Action-EscremaTM Sticks, the “Black Lightning” kind that generated an electrical field strong enough to hit like a taser designed to take down a T-Rex. At The Kimono Dragon she decided to have some fun and smacked around the retro yaks while doing her Flashdance impersonation. At Zero Hour, they hadn’t even gotten into the bar before The Girl had started beating the crap out of 16 different speed tribes, capping it off by blowing up their Wasp cycles and, in a move that made all of the Tribes cry even more than losing their bikes (and that Gonzo even thought was damn cold) lit a cigar from a burning, Ottomo autographed, fist edition of Akira. But the final turnout was always the same.

Gonzo waited until the message had gotten across to the entire place and people stopped trying to kill he and The Girl, which in this case was when The Girl had finished off the last Speed Tribal by giving him a near appendectomy and had pinned another yak to the wall with her foot at his throat, her legs at near right angles and her balance never wavering for a second. That was his cue, so Gonzo stepped to the middle of the room.

“Now that we have your attention, you’re probably wondering why we’re here.”

A massive Maori Speed Tribal, tattoos rippling over sepia muscles that were either top of the line Tokyo synthetic or (more frighteningly) all his own stepped forward. “We know, man. We heard. And we ain’t telling you shit, no matter how many times you sic your kick bitch on us. So why don’t you just get the fuck out of our club and stop messing up the décor?”

Gonzo walked up to the Maori, who easily outweighed him by a good buck fifty and was a foot taller. His smile never faltered as a shot rang out and the Maori fell to the ground, screaming. Gonzo held up a massive revolver. “It’s a vintage Webley, Kiwi. I hope you appreciate the history of that.” He turned to face the bar. “First off, this bar so adequately called ‘Fat Man and Little Boy’ is designed in that Hiroshima fall-out chic. So any décor me and The Girl fuck up can only be an improvement. Second, call her anything other than ‘ma’am’ and then I start busting caps in your punk asses. The only bitches in here are you all. And you all belong to me.”

He gave them that Eastwood deadeye stare that had as much stopping power as any of his shooters.

“Now. Someone hired a bunch of ninjas to attack a certain office building today. I won’t insult your bushido by even asking if anyone wants to confess or let me in on the secret so here’s the deal. Try it again, and I come riding back here Tombstone style for a Reckoning that’ll make this décor live up to its inspiration.”

The Girl released her foot from the yak, actually kicking off and doing a flip in mid air Matrix style, and landed standing next to Gonzo. With a flourish she spun her monoblades and sheathed them, flashing the bar a dazzling smile as she walked out behind Gonzo. Outside, getting into the black Ferrari Pimpmobile they had taken for the night, Gonzo turned to The Girl.

“You had to show off with the Street Fighter II move there at the end?”

“You know you loved it.”

“I liked the pose better. It showed off your butt.”

“Well it’s a cute butt. I like showing it off. Why do you think I wear jeans this tight?” She pulled out her blades and began to clean them. “So are we still sending messages tonight?”

“You bet.”

She sighed, but with a smile. “It beats watching staying at home eating popcorn and watching reruns of ‘Friends.’ So, tell me where we’re going this time so I can choose my weapons.”

“It’s called ‘After School Special.’ J-Pop theme, schoolgirl fetish.”

“Goody. I can show off my butt some more.”

“Well Actionhero always said it was your best weapon.”

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