Henchmen (2 page)

Eve is already walking through the loading dock.  Those long legs of hers mean she can cover a huge distance in a short period of time and I have to run to catch up to her.  The Chairman of Loading Dock Operations watches us, biting his lip and twitching his pen nervously.

Don’t worry, pal.  We won’t mention you.

* * * *

Vandelay’s office is on three, but Frank said he and Jean would meet us on four, so I push four and we keep our fingers crossed.  Some places require keycards but Anodyne apparently doesn’t believe in tiered security and the button lights up.

At least the elevator is cool.  God damn it was hot out there.

The elevator hits four and the doors open to relatively quiet hallway.  A couple people are bustling around and we get some strange looks, but no one challenges us.  I grab a random guy by the shoulder and say, “Which way to Special Projects, pal?”

He barely looks up, just points generally down the hall and says, “That way.”

It’s always the same in places like this.  Office workers treat the delivery people like they’re beneath contempt and not even worthy of acknowledgement.  That’s why you put on coveralls and a name badge if you want to disappear in this type of crowd.

We keep going in the general direction of “that way” and eventually come to door with a plaque that reads “Special Projects” on it.  The door opens easily and we find Jean and Frank already rolling up our prize.

Eve sets the box on the table and opens it.  Frank and Jean quickly fill it with rolled up pieces of brown and black canvas.  Fold the top of the box and we’re out the door in less than five minutes.  Frank and Jean go right, Eve and I go left.

We need to kill some time before we head back, so we drop down to Vandelay’s office.  Like I suspected, he’s a prick.

“Why would I need a million dollars’ worth of hard drives?” he asks when I show him the purchase order.

“I don’t know, pal, I just deliver these things,” I tell him.

“I’m not your pal and I didn’t order these.  Take them away,” he says.

Who says “Take them away?”

I give him my best hang dog expression and he brushes it off like it’s nothing.  “What about this purchase order?” I ask.

“Not my circus.  Not my monkeys,” he says.  “Now, get them and yourselves out of here or I’ll call security.”

I nod to Eve and we take off with Vandelay glaring at us.  At the elevator we look back down the hall and see the World’s Greatest Jackass stalking off to some meeting or another.  We’re already out of his sight and out of his mind.

At the loading dock the guy is still there waiting for us.  His face drops when he sees Eve still carrying the box.  “How did it go?” he asks.

“The first drive he pulled out was busted,” I tell him.  “Unreadable.  Now we’ve got to take the whole lot back and test ‘em.  Got a card, man?  I’d like our people to communicate directly with you to schedule the return.  Avoid any problems, you know.”

Everyone in a place like this has business cards, and he hands me his with a conspiratorial smile.  “I’ll take care of it.  Did Vandelay say anything?”

Eve has loaded the box and is already waiting in the van.  “He said you did good, buddy. Let’s keep the synergy going, bro.”

He’s still smiling when I put the van in gear.  There’s a dumpster around the side of the loading dock and I park next to it and make a show of throwing out some trash.  When I get back in the van, Frank and Jean are in the back.

Captain America in the guard shack waves at us as we go past.

Down the road a bit is a rest area and a lone biker is waiting for us.  I pull up next to him and roll down the window.

“Get the stuff?” Jacob asks.

“We’re loaded up,” I say.

“Dinner’s on me guys,” Eve says. “Jacob, it was your plan, where do you want to go?”

I’d expect a scruffy looking biker-type to say he wanted steak or burgers or to just go to a bar so it nearly blows my mind when he says, “I know of a sushi place I’d like to try.”

Sushi, by any measuring stick available, is the food of the Gods.  Gods of all shapes and sizes love sushi, because sushi is made of tasty fish, rice, and true love.

Sushi is an absolute unto itself, and the only thing that can improve it is the display, which is why it’s considered bad form to alter the presented sushi in any way other than eating it and enjoying it.  Technically speaking, you’re not even supposed to add extra wasabi, but that’s a convention that Americans tend to ignore.  Also, if you’re going to dip your sushi in soy sauce, it’s best to flip it over and dip the fish side, not the rice side.

Personally, I don’t give a shit about the rules of eating sushi.  I just want to eat it and I regularly add extra wasabi and dip my rice in the soy sauce because I love sushi so damned much.

This hidden gem of a sushi bar is tucked away up north of the Strip in the downtown area of Las Vegas, away from the hustle and bustle of thousands of people desperately trying to lose their money. 

This little place is comfortably quiet, and decorated in the typical understated and elegant way that only the Japanese can pull off.  It’s a single room, separated into two private areas by rice paper walls with silent sliding doors.  We’ve got tatami mats embedded into the wood floor, arranged in an approximately perfect rectangle, with cushions on them for sitting or kneeling.   We’re each holding a cup of warm sake and generally basking in the glory of a job well done. 

From time to time, a young lady comes in and refills our cups and leaves again without saying a word.  I guess in a place like this, it’s expected that you will ask for whatever you want, and if something is not up to snuff, you will tell someone.  Now and then we hear the guys in the other room - a group of boisterous, tatted-up Japanese guys - laugh or grumble something in their native tongue.  That’s the thing about rice paper walls: they look fantastic when done correctly, but don’t do much to block sounds.

“Man, I have never had so much fun doing donuts in someone’s parking lot as I did there,” Jacob says, retelling his part in the heist.  “I started out by hauling ass, and I mean hauling ass, around the whole complex.  Kicked up dust, revved Becky to max, shot a bunny.  It was a blast.”

This place has rules about dress and Jacob’s normal taste in clothing runs perpendicular to their dress code.  Motorhead T-shirts and ripped jeans may be haute couture in the real world, but sushi is not the real world.  It took some work, but I finally got him into a leather dress jacket and some black pants that weren’t too “faggoty.”

Becky is his bike, by the way.  I think he just likes to be able to say he’s going to ride Becky all day long.

“While they were watching this nutter,” Jean says, “we had to run through the dust, cut a hole in the fence, and crawl through.  I burned my hand on the road.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Eve says, “the air conditioner in the van wasn’t very good.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to say I was somewhat less than comfortable,” I add.  “And that water?  Hardly cold enough for my tastes.”

“You two suck,” Frank says.  “I don’t think I’ll ever get all the dust out of my underwear.”

“I’ll wash you later,” Jean says with a lascivious smirk.

“You guys did nice work on the security systems,” Eve tells them.  “You deserve some shower time together.”

Frank blushes and Jean raises his cup to Eve.  “Your wish is my command, boss,” he says.

“Right,” Jacob says, “like you needed her order to wash him off.”

“Care to join us?” Frank asks.

“No offense, bro,” Jacob says, “but, and I’m saying this as a friend, your tits aren’t big enough for my tastes.”

Eve rolls her eyes at that.  “Jacob, as big as you are, I doubt there’s a pair of breasts out there large enough for your tastes.”

“There’s a chick with double Fs,” Jacob replies.  “A man could have a great time with those.”

“Is she a porn star?” I ask.

“She’s an actress,” he says.

“Does she work in porn?” Frank asks.

“She’s an actress in adult-oriented entertainment,” Jacob says.

“What’s her name?” Eve asks.

“Delilah Jugsaplenty,” Jacob replies sheepishly.

“She’s a porn star,” Franks says.

“She’s not bad,” Jean quips.

“What?” Frank asks him.

“See!” Jacob says with a laugh.

“I saw one of her movies once,” Jean says, “she knew her way around a man.”

“I cannot believe you watched a movie with a woman name Delilah Jugsaplenty,” Frank says.

“It was one of her earlier works.  I learned a thing or two from her,” Jean tells him.

“Like what?” Frank asks.

“Oh, dear God,” Eve adds.

“Like last night,” Jean says.

In my best Takei voice I say, “Oh, my.”

Frank’s anger immediately dissipates and a deep ruby color rises slowly from the collar of his gray shirt.  “Oh,” he says.

Jean pats Frank’s arm.  “It was just research.”

“It worked,” Frank says quietly.

Jacob laughs out loud, a full belly laugh from a man with a sizable belly.  Think of Jacob as a hairy version of Santa Claus and you’ll get a good idea of the laugh.

Frank is gently leaning against wall and Jean is resting on him.  They’re both wearing suits, probably picked out by Frank.  Of the two of them, Frank’s the only one with any fashion sense.  Frank
wears
a suit, Jean just puts one on.

Frank is medium height, medium build, medium brown hair, brown eyes.  The man blends into every situation like wallpaper.  Jean is shorter, with dark hair and a slightly chunkier build.  He blends in like hotel wallpaper.

“What was the name of the movie?” Eve asks and immediately takes a sip of her sake.

I stare at her in wide-eyed wonder and then wonder why I should be wondering anyway.  Sure, she’s a full seven feet tall, can bend rebar with her bare hands, and can probably drink minor gods under the table, but there’s someone for everyone, right?

Eve is sitting cross-legged on a cushion, dress draped over her lap, holding her sake and trying to look more like some kind of contemplative blonde Buddha than some warrior who’s looking for a little nookie.

“
Balls Out 14
,” Jean says.

“Because 13 left so many unanswered questions, right?” I ask.

“I never saw 13,” Jean says.

“How did you follow the plot of 14 then?” I ask him.

“I’m sure it was a lot more of ‘insert tab A into slot B’,” Frank says.

“There were some nice tabs,” Jean tells him.

“What about the slots?” I ask.

“Meh,” Jean says.

I can’t be certain, but I think Eve may be mentally taking notes.

* * * *

This is a different kind of dining than most people are used to.  In a normal restaurant, you walk in, get escorted to a table, are handed a menu (or menus), order what you want, eat, dispute the bill over some triviality, pay the bill, and leave feeling you just had a great meal.

Here, we paid ahead of time and are ready to accept whatever the chef decides to send our way.  A place like this, you either love sushi or you’re boned.

This place specializes in
nyotaimori
, or body sushi, whereby one eats their sushi off the body of a naked woman.  It’s delightfully decadent. 

Because typical
nyotaimori
is just
so last year
, and someone needed to up the ante, this place serves sushi on the body of a naked woman tied to your very own table.   It seems gimmicky, and I imagine the restaurant is probably trying to capitalize on the BDSM trend that hit America recently, but the sushi is apparently excellent. And how often do you get a chance to eat sushi off the naked body of a woman strapped to your table?  Just be sure to read the fine print that says if you touch or harm her in any way the restaurant gets to mount your head on the wall of shame and toss the rest of you in the dumpster out back.

So far, no one’s head is mounted on the wall of shame.

Just so you know, the idea of
nyotaimori
, or body sushi, isn’t a terribly traditional Japanese thing.  It apparently has happened, but not all that often.  Truthfully, even the Yakuza reportedly view
nyotaimori
as being too over-the-top, and vaguely excessive.  When the Yakuza, those kind fellows who tattoo their entire bodies with images of Japanese demons, consider a pastime to be over-the-top, you know you’ve got something that will fit in nicely in America.  How a country that introduced tentacle porn to the world can gaze down its collective nose at nyotaimori is beyond me.

It’s because this restaurant specializes in body sushi that the room currently has no table.

The door quietly slides open and our waitress enters, pushing a low table on wheels.  She places it precisely in the middle of us, and we all lean back and enjoy the spectacle.

Most people have never the opportunity to eat sushi off a naked woman, let alone one tied to a table. If you ever have the opportunity, take it.  I assure you it’s worth the effort.

The young woman’s raven hair is shining and draped elegantly across the table. Her wrists and ankles are held with black leather cuffs hooked to the table.  Her lips are bright red and her eyes are covered with a black blindfold.  She’s absolutely still, save the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes.  I imagine she’s trained to not squirm, lest she disturb the sushi feast adorning her body.  It’s obvious by the relaxed way she lies on the table that this is not the first time she’s done this.

I like to think she’s excited by this treatment, but the truth is she’s probably thinking about her history test tomorrow, or how she’s going to spend the sizable chunk of change she’s being paid for being a BDSM centerpiece for the evening.

In Las Vegas you can get anything with enough money.

“She’s buff.” Frank says.

“Yeah,” quips Jean.  “Can we keep her?”

The barest of smiles crosses the girl’s lips.

Jacob snorts.  “Like either of you would know what to do with her.”

“Oh,” Frank says with a grin, “I think either one of us could bounce up and down on her for thirty seconds and then go catch the rest of the game.”

The girl on the table giggles quietly, trying hard to not move.

We all dig in, taking care to not poke her with our chopsticks as we snatch up delicious fishy treats.  The sushi is, of course, excellent.  The salmon nigiri melts in my mouth like butter made of fish.  It’s like the foie gras of the undersea world.

A gentle knock at the door ruins the moment.

After a beat, the door quietly slides open and an older, well-dressed Japanese gentleman stands there.  Actually, he doesn’t just stand there - he consumes the space.  Have you ever met a person, not necessarily a large person, but a person who simply owns every moment, and every space?  That’s what this guy did: he owned the moment.  I really wish I could do that sometimes, but I usually just rent the moment and eventually get kicked out for having too many parties.

“Please accept my apologies for this intrusion,” he says, “but there has been an unfortunate mistake.”

“What mistake?” Jacob asks, still chewing.

“This girl,” the man says, “is supposed to be in our room.”

I glance down at the girl on the table.  Suddenly, she’s tense and looking panicky.  I lean in close to examine a piece of sushi on her chest, just a normal guy ogling the scenery.

“Do you know this guy,” I whisper to her.

“Help me,” she whispers back.  Good enough for me.  I sit back up, a delightful piece
tako nigiri
in my chopsticks.

“Well,” I say, “that’s a problem, because our dinner is on her, and she’s kind of stuck to the table. So I think we’ll be keeping her for the duration.”

“Besides,” quips Frank, ever the diplomat, “we don’t like to share, so piss off.”

“This is most unfortunate,” our mystery man says, “but we will replace your dinner at our cost.  We specifically requested this girl be in our room tonight.”