Rebels of the 512
A 3-Day Novel
by Laura Roberts
Copyright 2012 Laura Roberts
Smashwords Edition
Cover image designed by PixelStudio
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“You may all go to hell and I will go to Texas.”
--David “Davy” Crockett, disillusioned politician
It was just another 105-degree Tuesday morning in Austin, Texas for Suzie Jimenez. Around 10 o'clock in the morning, the radio was already announcing the 27th straight day of 100+ degree weather for the capital city, hollering about margarita specials at an assortment of local bars and the importance of keeping your air-conditioning set at an absurd 80 degrees to prevent rolling blackouts. Seated at her computer, sipping a cold-pressed coffee and listening to the purr of the ceiling fan (as well as the whir of the smaller electric fan trained directly at her face), Suzie was busy prepping for another back-to-school season at Rebel Yell High School. As the fans cooled her face, she searched the internet, trying to find out whether the Texas School Board had recently changed History yet again by removing such “un-American” characters as César Chávez from the curriculum. She was poring over the latest news in her RSS feeds, wondering how she could shoehorn a few new exercises in public dissent into her yearly agenda, when there was a loud Ping! from her inbox.
“This better not be another round of school lunch menus,” she muttered. The previous school year's big PR fiasco had occurred when a group of vegetarian students went on strike, refusing to attend classes until the cafeteria's menu included anti-meat-lover's options like deep-fried Tofurky sticks and black-bean burritos slathered in queso. Never mind the fact that the school's queso was quite obviously thickened with gelatin, which was created by melting down horse's hooves and pig's feet. Suzie shook her head, marveling both at her students' ignorance and their tenacity; even if they didn't have all the facts straight, she was glad they were questioning authority.
As some of her fellow teachers occasionally pointed out, “You might could change a few things 'round here, but you can't take no queso away from a central Texan.” She took that to mean that no matter how committed to a vegetarian lifestyle certain Austinites might be, queso was just a matter of course. A former “damn Yank,” Suzie still wasn't sure what all the fuss was about when it came to queso; it seemed mostly to consist of melted Velveeta cheese, and was frequently mixed with the “New York City!” affront to Tex-Mex, Pace Picante Sauce. She was sure she'd had far more authentically Mexican dishes served to her from taco dives in New York City, but she knew enough to keep her mouth shut when she saw the gallons of queso the school bought every week. It was one of those peculiar “Texas pride” topics that people figured you shouldn't question too deeply if you wanted to get along in polite society.
Suzie eyeballed the jumping icon of her email program for a few seconds, trying to fathom what item of interest it could possibly contain, and finally clicked over to find out. Scanning over the short note, her jaw dropped.
“Dear Teachers of Rebel Yell High School,” it read. “As per Governor Nick Harry's latest round of budget cuts, our school will be closing its doors indefinitely. We deeply regret the loss of our excellent teaching staff, and will be in touch with further details as events progress. Sincerely, Principal Mylene Leroux.”
“Holy hot sauce, did I just get fired by email?!”
Suzie spun into action, grabbing her cell phone and calling the school's direct line. The phone rang and rang, but no one answered. She wouldn't take no for an answer. Somebody had to be there, sending these cryptic emails. She jumped into a pair of cowboy boots parked at the front door and marched the two blocks from her house over to Rebel Yell High, determined to get to the bottom of things.
As she approached the front doors of the high school, a security guard spoke into his walkie-talkie and motioned for Suzie to step back.
“What's going on here?” she demanded.
“Funding's been cut by Governor Harry. This school is officially closed,” the burly guard informed her, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.
“Where's the principal? I'm a teacher here. I need to speak to Mylene.”
“Ms. Leroux has informed all teaching staff via email about the situation. I am authorized to remove any troublemakers from the property,” he said. The walkie-talkie crackled, and someone on the other end barked “10-4!”
“Troublemakers? I just told you, I'm a teacher here. I need more information. Let me in!” She tried to dodge the security guard, who pushed her back with both arms.
“Ma'am, if you don't step back, I'm going to have to escort you off the premises,” he warned. “I have authorization to use all necessary force.”
Suzie noticed his hand on his hip, one fist curling around the end of a revolver. She stepped back a pace, her gaze moving from the guard's impassive mirrored glasses down to his leather holster. She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her own arms over her chest. “You wouldn't dare shoot a schoolteacher--a fellow employee of the state of Texas.”
“Watch me,” he grinned. His yellow teeth glinted maliciously in the late-morning sun, and Suzie could smell the odors of cheap coffee and breakfast tacos wafting on his breath. This guy obviously got off on screwing with people's minds, and he began to pull the gun from its holster to further illustrate his threat.
“You know you'd go to jail for the rest of your life,” she growled.
“For killing some spic teacher? Not likely.”
“You bastard.” She spit on the ground, hitting the guard's polished black boot.
She heard the click of the gun's safety being taken off, and leapt to one side, hitting the dead, yellow grass of the school's lawn as the cop fired three times in quick succession. The bullets buried themselves in the trunk of an enormous oak tree in the front of the schoolyard, and the guard swung his weapon toward Suzie, towering over her with his gun pointed directly at her head. Two more security guards rushed toward them from behind the school, yelling “Hold your fire!” and were able to subdue their co-worker as Suzie scrambled to her feet and took off running.
“I'll get you, you fucking spic!” she heard the guard screaming as she rounded the corner. She pressed herself up against a neighbor's tree, breathing hard as she tried to restrain her wildly beating heart.
“What the hell was that all about? I thought I heard shots.” Suzie's neighbor, Bill, poked his head out of the front door, which was cracked just wide enough for him to see her crouching in the yard.
“You did,” Suzie said. She peered around the tree trunk, and saw the two security guards cuffing the one who'd shot at her. One had his knees on the guy's back, while the other shouted “What the hell do you think you're doing shooting at civilians?” next to the psychotic guard's face. They all looked equally dangerous to Suzie, their faces red and their voices raised in angry confrontation. If each had a state-issued gun, that made everything twice as scary.
“Come inside,” Bill hissed.
“I'm okay,” Suzie whispered. “But those rent-a-cops are out of control.”
“What happened?”
“All the teachers have been laid off. Governor Harry cut our funding.”
“What? How can he do that?”
“He's the Governor. He can do whatever the hell he wants, apparently.”
“Well, I didn't vote for him, and I certainly didn't vote for that,” Bill said. “What should we do?”
“Lay low. I'll be back,” Suzie said. She scuttled down the street, crab-like, aiming for the cover of parked cars, tree trunks and trash cans until she was safely back in her own house.
* * *
It was useless to fight armed guards, Suzie reasoned. She didn't want to get shot in the face after she'd just been laid off. What a way to add insult to injury to her hospital bills! She needed to get in touch with Mylene and the other teachers, so they could all find out what their options were. She flipped through her computer's address book, searching for the principal's cell phone number, and added it to her speed dial. When she called, the phone rang and rang, and eventually switched over to voicemail.
“Hi Mylene, it's Suzie Jimenez, History, grade 12. I got your email, and just had a little run-in with some security guards at the school. If you can give me some more info on what's going on, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks, bye.”
How could Mylene be avoiding calls at a moment like this? Surely she'd heard the gunshots? Maybe she'd turned her phone off, anticipating the flood of angry calls. But now was no time to turn her back on the teachers; they needed her leadership!
Suzie kicked the wall of her bedroom, scuffing it with the cowboy boots she was still wearing. Her cat, Steinbeck, jumped and ran for cover in the next room.
“Sorry!” she called to his departing form. “Fuck, I'm just spinning my wheels here. It's time to hit the dojo.”
With that, she grabbed her gym bag from inside the front closet, her keys from the hook near the door, and headed out to her car.
The dojo was actually a small tae kwon do facility named Kick-Ass Karate, located just a few miles from Suzie's house. While most of the classes took place in the afternoons and evening hours, Suzie was sure she'd find her boyfriend, Ira Gold, either sweeping the floors, making phone calls, or simply practicing his forms in the front room of the dojo. He lived in the apartment above the practice space, and was almost always up and at 'em by sunrise. Suzie still wasn't sure why the place was called Kick-Ass Karate, since they'd never taught karate and always had plenty of confused would-be students asking why they didn't teach the Bruce Lee fighting styles of Jeet Kune Do or even Wing Chun, but she figured it must be like the Tamale House down the street that only served breakfast tacos. Welcome to Austin, the official home of Keepin' It Weird.
Pulling into the parking lot, Suzie could see Ira in the shadows, already dressed in his spotless white gi and black belt, meditatively progressing through his forms. She knocked softly on the door, even though she knew it was open, just to let him know she was there. Sometimes she'd startled him by entering the room too quietly, and he'd spun around ready to strike an intruder with a death blow. She'd suggested purchasing an automated doorbell that would ring when the door opened, but he'd nixed the idea as “too obnoxious.”
“Hey, pretty lady,” Ira said, greeting her with a kiss. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”
“I got laid off,” Suzie said. She slumped into one of the chairs near the door, usually reserved for parents watching their children at practice.
“What? When? How? Why?”
“You forgot 'Where?' and 'Who?',” she smiled sadly.
“I already know who, you,” he joked. “But seriously... what happened?”
“Governor Harry cut our funding. The state of Texas is basically bankrupt; the budget is 8 billion dollars short. I don't know what to do.” Suzie put her head in her hands and began to cry, softly at first, then harder as Ira pulled her into a tight hug.
“We'll figure something out, Suzie,” he soothed. “Don't worry.”
“There's no crying in tae kwon do,” said a deep voice from the back of the room. Master Gray stepped forward, a small but formidable Korean man dressed in a cerulean blue gi. He wore a black belt and his uniform was embroidered with a variety of awards and patches from competitions around the world. As a lifelong devotee of the martial arts, Master Gray had the accolades to prove it, as well as the dojo he'd founded in the 1970s. Ira was his second in command, and turned to bow to Master Gray, even though he'd undoubtedly already saluted him earlier in the day.
“Suzie lost her job,” Ira told him. “Governor Harry cut the school's funding.”
“Hello, Master Gray,” Suzie said, drying her eyes. “It's good to see you again.”
“This is very bad news,” Master Gray said, looking worried.
“There must be something we can do,” Ira said. “Have you contacted any of the other teachers yet?”
“No, but I've been phoning Principal Leroux trying to get more information. She hired some psycho security guards to chuck all the teachers off school property, and one nearly blew my head off. That's when I decided to come here.”
“You made the right decision,” Master Gray said. He nodded his head slowly, momentarily lost in thought, then added, “We'll set up a command center here in the dojo.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let's get on the phone, start making calls. Email all the teachers. Now is the time for action, for community. We must find out more, get everyone together for a discussion, move forward. School starts next week, doesn't it? The children's education must not be jeopardized.”
“Agreed,” Suzie said. “I've got a list of all the teachers at our school, and unless Mylene has already shut it down, at least one of them must have access to the website and the school district's database. We'll mobilize, get all the teachers together, and figure out a plan.”
“Count me in,” Ira said. “What can I do to help?”
“I'll get you a phone list and you can start calling some of the older teachers who don't check their email as regularly.”
“Great. Master Gray, what should we do about classes this afternoon?”
“Don't worry about that, Ira. This is important.” He turned the sign on the door from “Yes, We're Open!” to “Sorry, We're Closed.”
They got to work, with Suzie emailing all of the teachers she knew how to reach, and Ira making phone calls. Master Gray brought coffee and sandwiches from the café next door, and began to meditate on the mats in front of the dojo's Buddha statue. The master's low chanting provided a calming background drone as the two worked to mobilize the affected teachers. Eventually the phones began ringing off the hook, and Suzie invited the teachers to join them at the dojo for a planning meeting, spreading the word about her run-in with the security guard at the school.
“What the eff?” Darla Fassbinder shouted, slamming into the dojo like a hurricane. “I can't believe a security guard tried to KILL you, Suzie! Why didn't you give him one of those flying scissor-kicks or break his effin' nose?”
Suzie smiled. “I may be a black belt in tae kwon do, but I still believe in a path of non-violence.”
“Non-violence my bum! I'd have kneed that son-of-a-bee in the groin and maced that mofo until he was red as a hot chile pepper.” Darla was a feisty, rotund redhead who taught freshman English. She didn't like to swear in front of the students, but had a temper, so she was continually substituting cuss words for their less offensive counterparts. The more “sons of bee”s and “eff”s she employed, the more passionately she was enraged. She spoke loudly so she had no need to carry a big stick, but like most native Texans, she still endorsed the concealed weapon laws.
“I should've been carrying, actually, but I had no idea they were arming mere rental cops these days,” Suzie mused.
“Dang right! Bust out that .45 special and show him who's boss! Yehaw!”
Three more agitated teachers entered the dojo, their greying hair frizzing out wildly in all directions and their clothing oddly mismatched. These were the Sullivan sisters: Ella, Billie and Anita. Spinsters all, they were equally dedicated to teaching the children of Rebel Yell High how to succeed in Home Economics, Music and Art, respectively.
“Welcome, ladies,” Ira said. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, donuts?”
“Oh no, we're just fine, thanks,” Ella said, speaking for all of them. Billie and Anita nodded their heads in confirmation.
As the Sullivan sisters were settling into a few folding chairs Master Gray had set up on the mats, another crush of teachers entered the building. Jack Burnside, the Phys-Ed teacher, burst through the door, his NBA-grade whistle still dangling from his neck; Marilyn Mackie, the Math instructor every adolescent boy swooned over, thanks to her low-cut blouses and over-sprayed blonde bouffant, jiggled her way through the door, nearly tripping over the mats in her stiletto heels; Humphrey Duvall, the Physics teacher, almost had to stoop to enter the building he was so tall, and his pocket protector--normally bursting with pencils and pens--seemed oddly empty, and slightly askew. Even Frank Pennington, the Biology teacher who always wore a smart button-down shirt and outlandish tie, looked windblown as a desert tumbleweed, with his shirt half-tucked and his loosened tie dangling slack around his neck.
The question on everyone's mind was suddenly chorused by all at once: “Where's Mylene?”
“Fellow teachers,” Suzie began, “I've invited you all here, as I'm sure you know, because our principal has left us in the lurch. Governor Harry has de-funded our school, despite its proven track record of academic excellence, and our Principal is nowhere to be found. What we're here to discuss is what we should do, given this absence of leadership, and how to proceed before the school year is set to commence next Monday. Who would like to speak?”
The buzzing crowd of teachers was strangely silent.
“C'mon, y'all, I know this is a shock, but we've got to do something,” Suzie prodded. “Any ideas?”
“Let's protest!” Marilyn said, in her squeaky little voice.
“We'll march on the Capitol!” Darla shouted.
“We'll need signs,” Suzie began.
“Let's all wear our Rebel Yell High t-shirts, in solidarity,” Humphrey suggested.
They all murmured their approval.
“When should we do it?” Suzie asked.
“As soon as possible!”
“Today!”
“Now!”
“We brought poster board and plenty of permanent markers,” Anita volunteered. “They're in the car. Should I go get them?”
“Absolutely!”
The Sullivan sisters exited the dojo to rustle up supplies and returned with enormous sheets of poster board in every color of the rainbow, along with Sharpies ranging in size from ultra-thin tipped to the fat sausage-sized tubes that could cover half a sheet of notebook paper in a single swipe. The teachers each set to work, thinking up catchy slogans and lettering them neatly onto their boards. Some even constructed sandwich boards, broadcasting a different message on the front than on the back. They traded insults and nicknames for Governor Harry while applying the finishing touches (and a bit of glitter) to their signs.
“Everybody ready?” Suzie asked.
“Yes!” they shouted.
“Then let's roll!”
At 3 o'clock the disgruntled teachers descended upon the Capitol Building, signs in hand. Their sunscreen had been zealously applied on the journey downtown, in order to prevent burns during the hottest part of day in the near-blinding, skin-searing afternoon sun. The teachers began marching in a wide circle on the front steps of the building, attracting the attention of tourists and curious onlookers, some of whom quickly rang up the local media (having placed the numbers of the local FOX affiliates on speed dial, like good Republican media whores). Three different news vans roared up to the group, narrowly missing some of the protestors with their front wheels, within 20 minutes of their protest's start. The teachers kept up their rounds, chanting even more loudly for the cameras, and flaunting their individual assets as much as possible.
“Miranda Pettigrew, live on the scene as protestors swarm the Capitol Building. Excuse me, can you tell us, ma'am, what the purpose of this protest is?” A blonde, overly made-up newscaster pointed her microphone toward Suzie. The newscaster looked like a younger, scarier version of Tammy Faye Bakker, her mascara distinctly pointy and dripping beneath the afternoon humidity.
“Yes,” Suzie said, “We're protesting the insane budget cuts Governor Harry has recently passed, which have withdrawn funding from our school, Rebel Yell High, in effect closing our doors without rhyme, reason, or warning just one week before classes are scheduled to start for the new school year.”
“Rebel Yell High, isn't that one of Austin's top public schools?” the newscaster replied.
“Yes, ma'am, we are consistently ranked number one within the Austin Independent School District for both teachers and students, with 90% of our students passing their TAKS tests the first time, and graduation rates that no other school in the region can match.”
“And what do you teach, Ms...”
“Jimenez. I'm a grade 12 History teacher, and I believe in the power of the people's right to protest. We are here to show that--”
“LOOK OUT! NINJAS!” Someone off-camera gave a blood-curdling scream, and Miranda looked over in the direction of the screamer with a horrified gaze. For a moment, both Miranda and Suzie froze, staring off to the left as the cameraman continued to roll tape on their location. Before he had a chance to swing the camera toward the action they were both following, a dark figure dashed up and slashed the man's throat. The cameraman slumped to the ground, his camera falling to one side; its red light blinked off, signaling an end to the live feed.
Miranda shrieked and ran for the news van, diving into the back and locking the doors behind her. Suzie watched, transfixed, as the reporter frantically put the van into gear and floored it, backwards, down the driveway, taking out several fleeing bystanders before smashing into a streetlamp at the foot of the horseshoe drive.
All around her, ninjas were swarming thick as the bats from the South Congress Bridge. Little more than black blurs, Suzie saw the occasional slash of hardened steel whizzing through the air, just before another victim slumped into a pool of blood. The protesting teachers had dropped their signs and torn off in terror, and the bystanders and camera crews were bumping into each other in their haste to escape the scene. Suzie stood in the middle of the melee, crouching down, and wondering whether her tae kwon do skills would be able to stand up to a real-life ninja attack.
She didn't have long to wonder. One of the black-clad figures leapt into her path, brandishing an enormous katana. The ninja sliced the sword through the air, slowly approaching Suzie, who was armed with little more than her crouching tiger and her wits. As the ninja began to slice the air more quickly, she could see the menacing glare of his dark eyes, and felt her body pierced by a poison-dart stare. With a mighty attack yell, Suzie used all her strength to leap into the air, flipping over the ninja, and executed a quick follow-up sweep to the ninja's legs. The cocky ninja hadn't anticipated this move from a civilian, and fell to the ground like a sack of hammers. Suzie kicked his katana away, and held her foot down on the ninja's windpipe.
“If you can't breathe, you can't fight,” she growled, pressing down until the ninja no longer struggled for air.
Grabbing up the fallen ninja's sword, Suzie brandished the weapon as a group of black-clad attackers swept past her. They were chasing someone in a suit and tie, someone carrying a briefcase. A black limousine was perched at the curb just past the blonde newscaster's totaled van, and the man in the suit seemed to be running full-speed towards it. Why did he look so familiar?
Suddenly Suzie realized who she was watching: it was Governor Harry! The ninjas were in hot pursuit, and one even flung throwing stars at the Governor, which he somehow managed to deflect with his briefcase. As the closest ninja overtook the Governor, he punched the ninja directly in the face, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards into the gang of pursuing ninjas. The group toppled to the ground, Harry escaped into the limo, and the black car zoomed off into traffic, its horn honking loudly.
Unable to understand this strange turn of events, Suzie was caught off guard when a semi-circle of ninjas surrounded her. One struck the katana out of her hand, sending it skittering across the pavement, while another grabbed her from behind. A third stepped forward to zip-tie her wrists behind her back, and a fourth placed a blindfold over her eyes.
“Help!” she shrieked, knowing there was no one around to hear her scream. “Someone help me, please!”
Before she could attract further attention, the ninjas produced a vial of chloroform, doused a rag, and held it tight against Suzie's mouth until she went limp. They loaded her into the back seat of another black car, and left two ninjas to guard her.
Approaching the news van that the blonde had backed into the lamppost, the ninjas sheathed their swords and walked slowly, palms up, as if indicating surrender. Miranda watched them through the front windshield, unable to scream, envisioning some horrible opium den in which she'd be forced to perform grotesque sex acts on some disgusting ninja allies. She'd just finished a reel on white slavery, and was certain the chloroform was the prerequisite to these ninjas imprisoning her and taking her supple white ass down to a buyer in the meat-packing district to be sold for less than half her yearly salary.
Her heart lurched to her throat as the ninja yanked open the door of the van. In her haste, she'd forgotten to lock the front door!
The ninja silently motioned for her to step out of the van, but she shook her head in fear. He motioned again, this time putting up give fingers, then four, then three... counting down to one. Miranda sat, frozen, behind the wheel. The ninja finally grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She began screaming and thrashing her legs until the ninja set her down and slapped her across the face. She crumpled to the ground, but kept quiet.
“We want to make an announcement. Can you run the camera?” the ninja asked. His voice was muffled beneath the black handkerchief that obscured his face.
Miranda's eyes widened in relief. “Yes, yes, whatever you want. Just don't kill me!”
The ninja laughed, without malice. “We weren't planning on it, miss.”
Miranda hurriedly grabbed the camera from the dead cameraman's arms and set it up on a tripod she pulled from the back of the van. The ninjas formed a phalanx before the camera, adjusting their black handkerchiefs, those in the background brandishing their katanas for added effect.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Ready,” the ninja leader replied.
Miranda pressed play and the red light winked back on. “On air in 5, 4, 3...” she counted down, signaling “you're on!” with one hand.
“Austinites, and fellow Texans,” the ninja began, “It is time to right what is wrong with the current state of affairs. Our government no longer speaks for us, the people it claims to represent. Our government, rather than lead us from the dark into the light, allows dictators like Governor Harry to fabricate lies about the state's financial solvency, our health care and educational systems, and the quality of our air, land and water. We will not stand for this injustice, and we have come to seize back the power that belongs to us, the people of Texas.
“We are the Black Claw, a powerful organization that has long held back the tides of evil. We now have no choice but to resort to violence, in order to restore peace and prosperity. We have overthrown the government of the state of Texas, and now issue an ultimatum to our fellow patriots: bring us Governor Harry, dead or alive. This is the only way to destroy evil at its root, and to restore a fully functioning, wholly American Texas. We will only retain power until Governor Harry is captured and brought to us here, at the Capitol Building. We urge you to act swiftly, to prevent further bloodshed. Thank you.”
Miranda pressed another button, and the camera's red light blinked off.
“Do y'all really want to kill Governor Harry?” she asked.
“It's for the good of us all,” the ninja said, nodding his head.
“Oh my god,” the blonde girl whimpered. She looked as though she were about to cry. She waved her hands, with their bright red fingernails, in front of her face to try to hold back the tears.
The ninjas surrounded her, exchanging confused glances.
“Don't y'all know he's my daddy?” she blurted.
“BANZAI!” the ninja leader shouted. They descended upon the blonde with zip ties, blindfolds, a ball gag and chloroform, hustling her limp body into the back of the limo before screeching off down the street.
* * *
Suzie awakened, groggy from the chloroform, inside what seemed to be an underground bunker. The blindfold was gone, and she was able to look around at grey walls made of concrete, as well as more grey concrete on the floor. There was a strange dank smell to the room, which suggested they were underground. She tried to get up and discovered she was tied to the armchair. No wonder she couldn't feel her arms, which had been zip-tied to the back of the chair. She struggled for a few moments, jerking her arms and legs, to no avail. “Hello?” she finally called out, wondering where she was and what her captors planned to do to her.
Momentarily, the door to her cell swung open, and a group of three ninjas entered the room.
Suzie suddenly remembered the protest, the carnage, Governor Harry's escape. Who were these ninjas, and what on earth did they want with her?
“Suzie Jimenez,” the head ninja said, “Join our quest to destroy Governor Nick Harry.”
“Pardon me?”
“We know you're a black belt in tae kwon do, and you've recently been laid off as a public schoolteacher. You clearly hate Harry as much as we do. We have issued an ultimatum, requesting that citizens bring Harry to justice. We want him dead or alive. Join us.”
“Y'all must be nuts. If I were any type of super warrior, do you think I'd be sitting here tied to a chair? I'm just a history teacher who wants to get back to her job.”
“We've seen you in action,” the ninja said.
“Where?” Suzie narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
“Never mind where. We need your help. Join us.”
“Who do you people think you are? You're running around in black masks, carrying swords and killing innocent bystanders like that cameraman whose throat you slit at the Capitol. Even if you're looking to kill Harry, someone I hate, I can't join you. I'd be no better than he is.”
“Join our cause. We must oust these unfit leaders, replace them with those who are eager to represent the will of the people.”
“Like who, you? This is dictatorship, not revolution. You're not helping. Just because you got rid of Harry doesn't mean you solved any of our problems. How will I go back to work with an 8 billion dollar deficit in the budget? How will Texans be able to pay for their children's education? And how come you know so much about me, anyway?”
The ninja paced back and forth before Suzie's chair, remaining silent.
“I recognize that walk... Ira?”
The ninja stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face Suzie. He lowered his black handkerchief to expose his face.
“Ira, what the fuck are you doing?” Suzie shouted.
“We're bringing a revolution, Suzie. This is what we both wanted!”
“I never wanted this, Ira! How can you say that? We wanted justice. We wanted change. We wanted progress. Not violence and bloodshed on the steps of the Capitol! How long have you been planning this attack? Who are all these people? How did you get involved with these evil ninjas?”
“First of all, they're not 'evil,' Suzie. The Black Claw is a counter-terrorist operation that punishes evil-doers and prevents people like Governor Harry from even gaining power.”
“Well, you've obviously dropped the ball on that one,” Suzie sassed.
“Harry is just a pawn. There are bigger issues at stake,” Ira began.
“Oh really? Then why do you want to kill him?”
“We want to remove him from power. We said 'dead or alive' so the people would understand we're serious.”
“Sure. Use the language of comic books and Westerns to get the dumb cowboys to do your bidding, is that it?”
“You've read your history books, Suzie. You know propaganda has to speak to the people it seeks to control.”
“So this is about power, not right and wrong?”
“It's about removing an evil dictator from power before it's too late.”
“And replacing him with another, undoubtedly more evil dictatorship run by a bloody bunch of ninjas?! Haven't you ever paid attention to coups in other countries? Haven't you ever noticed that the supposedly evil dictator the U.S. manages to depose just gets replaced by a U.S.-appointed dictator that's even worse? Look at Iran. Look at Afghanistan. Look at Cuba. Brute force begets more brute force.”
“We killed Saddam Hussain and Osama bin Laden. We've made the world a safer place.”
“I don't care if you did! Do you really think that terrorism is dead because you killed their leading henchmen? It's like the Mafia: cut one down and three more spring up in their place. God, Ira, haven't you ever listened to anything I've said about non-violence?”
“Suzie, how can you be a black belt in the martial arts and seriously talk to me about non-violence?” Ira laughed.
“Tae kwon do isn't about violence! Why do you think we don't try to hit each other when we spar? Why do you think we meditate with Master Gray? It's about being physically fit and mentally prepared to fight, if need be, but it takes a stronger man to lay down his weapons than it does to fight with them. Think of all the movies we've watched where the hero shuns violence. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”
“So tell me, Suzie, how exactly are we supposed to fight against the world's evils? By staging cute little protests and writing letters to the very evil-doers that are currently in power, asking them nicely to stop?” Ira gave her a smug look.
“Look to Gandhi. Look to Martin Luther King, Jr. There are non-violent advocates that have accomplished great things. I don't claim to have all the answers, but I do know that there are ways to defeat the monster without becoming one yourself.”
“Revolutions can only be achieved through bloody struggle. Only the spilling of blood by the righteous can reverse the course of the wicked. It's in the Bible.”
“It isn't, actually, but it's disconcerting to hear you talk like that. You sound just like him.”
“Who?”
“Governor Harry.”
Ira made a move as if to slap Suzie across the face, but held back.
“Go ahead. You're so full of righteous rage, so why not?” she taunted him.
“I don't hit women.”
“Lucky for me.” She spat on the floor in disgust. “And to think I used to believe you cared about me.”
“I do care about you, Suzie. That's why you have to join us!”
“You're disgusting. What kind of psychopath chains up his own girlfriend in some dungeon like this, anyway?”
“Suzie, please. You wouldn't have understood if I told you.”
“I don't understand you now! You've been lying to me all this time. I thought you were dedicated to teaching kids tae kwon do, developing their bodies as well as their minds, and here you are with a band of whack-job revolutionaries trying to kill an elected official. I just don't get it, Ira.”
Ira paced the room, unable to convince Suzie to join them, but unwilling to let her go. He was sure he could convince her, after he'd spoken to Master Gray this afternoon, but how could he? She was intractable. He should've known. She was a schoolteacher, not a revolutionary. He'd had her pegged wrong all along. She was employed by the same state that elected Harry to office, after all. How revolutionary could she be?
The question was, what would he do with her now?
Just as his mind turned to darker thoughts, one of the ninjas rushed into the room with a message.
“Sir! Pirates are attacking our band at the Capitol! They've got long-rage missiles that they're launching from ships down at Town Lake!”
“Sweet merciful Buddha,” Ira exclaimed. “We've got to get down there and fight!”
“Our operatives at the Capitol say they've abandoned the post and have dispersed into the streets for reconnaissance. What should I tell them?”
“Tell them to hold until further notice, and to work on an attack strategy. C'mon, boys, we've got work to do!”
“Don't mind me, tied to a damn chair,” Suzie shouted amidst the fracas.
Ira knelt down next to her chair with a Bowie knife. She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he was going to do, silently daring him.
“If I cut you loose, will you at least come with us?”
“What for?”
“These pirates are undoubtedly part of Harry's evil empire. We've got to fight them, before all of Austin is destroyed.”
“And what the hell am I supposed to do? I told you, I'm not a fighter.”
“You're a black belt. You're trained. You just need to trust your instincts.”
“My instincts say stay the hell away from downtown, whether it's during UT game-day traffic or in the middle of a pirate assault on the Capitol.”
“I'm telling you, these pirates aren't acting alone. At least come and see for yourself.”
Suzie pondered it for a moment, then nodded. Ira cut the zip-ties that bound her to the chair, and she jumped up, rubbing her wrists.
“Let's go.”
* * *
Approaching Town Lake in stealthy black Smart cars, the ninjas discovered the pirates onboard an enormous tall ship, the likes of which Blackbeard himself had never seen. With an enormous mast, it seemed barely possible that the ship had sailed beneath the Congress Avenue Bridge, and certainly not without dislodging hundreds or even thousands of the Mexican free-tailed bats that lived beneath it. The ninjas driving Ira and Suzie's car gaped at the size of it, and sped more quickly past its dock at Auditorium Shores.
Mounted at the forefront of the behemoth was a rocket launcher that looked quite capable of blasting missiles into space. The smoke from the burning Capitol Building was too thick to see the total damage, but it was clear that the pirates meant business.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Suzie muttered, “These pirates mean business.”
“And who else but Governor Harry would have the money for such outlandish equipment?” Ira asked.
“Arnold Schwarzenegger, for one,” Suzie replied.
“I meant in the state of Texas, my dear.”
“George W. and George H.W. Bush?”
Ira gave her a pointed look.
“There are a lot of rich fucking assholes in Texas, wouldn't you agree?”
He said nothing, but harrumphed under his breath.
As the ninjas began to assemble, darkness slowly fell across the horizon. The sinking sun, however, gave little respite from the blasting heat of the day, and Suzie found herself wondering how the ninjas remained so fresh-smelling in such unpleasant weather. She, herself, felt coated in a sticky film of sweat, blood and dirt from her earlier skirmish with the ninjas. She was about to lean over to one of the nameless, facially-obscured warriors and inquire about his secret when Ira spoke up “It's freaking magic, okay? We've got special powers, Suzie. Can you please focus?”
“What the...?”
“Yes, I read your mind. Let's move on to more important matters.”
“But how did you do that?!”
“Let's just say it was years of practice and training with Master Gray, and leave it at that.”
“No wonder you were so good in bed,” she grumbled.
“I didn't see you complaining about it before,” he said, flashing her a dirty grin.
“Pardon me, sir, but there seems to be some commotion on deck,” one of the ninjas interrupted, offering his spyglass for visual confirmation.
“Looks like someone's just boarded the ship... I can't identify him... tall, dark, undoubtedly handsome to some... do you recognize him?” Ira slipped the spyglass over to Suzie, who peeped through it at the distant ship.
“He's definitely handsome. I'd do him, if we weren't in the middle of a lightning-strike operation,” she joked.
“Shut up and just tell me if you recognize the bastard.”
“He looks vaguely familiar, but I can't place him.” She handed the spyglass back to Ira, who handed it back to the ninja.
“All right. How many pirates are on deck altogether?” Ira asked the ninja scout.
“Twenty on deck, ten below, plus three members of a catering staff. Civilians, sir.”
“Never mind about that. They've all got to go.”
“You're going to blow up a bunch of civilians?” Suzie chided. “PR nightmare, man. Think about it.”
“Those fucks knew what they were doing, accepting a job on the pirate ship that just blew up the Capitol Building,” he huffed. “It's just like the Death Star. Independent contractors know what they're doing and take calculated risks.”
“If you say so,” Suzie shrugged.
“Okay, let's think about this. We've got a team of four right here. Johnson and Wales are in the weeds there, and our Capitol crew numbers six. That's 12 of us, versus 33 of them.”
“Thirty, not counting
the caterers,” Suzie corrected.
“Whatever. Thirty, give or take. How much firepower have we got?”
“Grenades, throwing stars, smoke bombs, and at least one lighter per man, sir. Plus each of us has his katana and wakizashi, of course.”
“Right. And what have they got, aside from a giant fucking rocket-launcher ready to take out the moon?”
“Quite a bit of rum, sir, down in the hold. A few grenades could really spark a nice explosion if we aimed them right. They're each armed with a cutlass and musket, and most have a dagger or stiletto hidden in their boots.”
“Check. All right. Anything else we should know about?”
“Well, sir, I believe they've been drinking. One just fell into the lake.” The ninja offered his spyglass again for a visual confirmation of this conjecture. Ira peeped through it, chuckled silently, and returned the spyglass to the scout.
“Excellent reconnaissance, soldier. Now, how do we gain access to this vessel?”
“Well, we can't just climb aboard, as they've got a squadron of police vehicles guarding access to the boat. The pirates themselves are patrolling on deck, and I believe there's a parrot equipped to sound the alarm if anyone's timbers be shivered, if you know what I mean.”
“Indeed. Recommendations for entry points?”
“We've scouted a paddle board rental, just below our location. We could use them to float across the lake, and then use the grappling hooks to gain footing.”
“Grappling hooks, why didn't you list those before in our assets?”
“Sorry, sir. I thought they were assumed.”
“But not the throwing stars? Honestly, private,” Ira scolded him.
“I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again.”
“All right, so paddle out to the boat, grappling hooks to the starboard side, and away she blows?”
“It seems to work, sir.”
“Johnson, Jackson, Andrews: you'll head below deck and run the rum. Everyone else, do your worst with whatever you've got.”
“Ira, I'm un-fucking-armed!” Suzie hissed, realizing she was being counted as one of the combatants in this fool-hearty raid.
“Take these,” he said, handing her three throwing stars and a grenade. “Just don't pull the pin until you're ready to blow.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she muttered.
“All right, that's the plan. Go team,” Ira said, sounding more like a high school basketball coach than a commanding ninja.
The ninjas slipped into the shadows, one by one grabbing paddle boards from the deserted stand. They eased them into the lake and began paddling like angry ducks, headed for the pirate ship. Suzie watched the plan unfolding before her, and was torn between wanting to help and wanting to run and hide from the ensuing carnage that was sure to follow.
“These idiots are going to get themselves killed,” she said to herself. Despite her best instincts, she grabbed a board and slowly began to paddle along behind the ninja operatives, wondering what on earth she'd gotten herself into.
As the first wave of ninjas reached the pirate ship, one held their paddle boards steady as another shot the grappling hook up onto the ship. A passing pirate was snared by the hook and yanked overboard with a “Whup!” and a splash, and the ninjas quickly shot darts from their blowguns at the downed pirate, causing him to sink silently beneath the surface of the water. On their second try, the grappling hook connected with old wood, digging its claws into the side of the ship. The ninjas yanked on the rope to make sure it was steady, and began to climb aboard one at a time.
Once the first wave had boarded the boat, they slunk stealthily through the shadows like black cats on a moonless night, headed for below-deck and the rum stash. The pirate patrol was groggy and making slow half-circles on deck, paying far more attention to the side of the boat nearest land, and inadvertently giving the ninjas a tactical advantage. The second wave of ninjas slowly hauled themselves aboard, then fanned out, each tossing a few throwing stars at their lazily circling targets. Four hit the floor, and a fifth began to send up the alarm.
“We're under attaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!” he bellowed. The remaining crew members dashed above-deck to engage in swordplay. The ninjas each drew their katanas, while the pirates brandished their cutlasses, and the epic battle commenced. With two pirates for every ninja (less the pirates that the first wave of ninjas had managed to string up below-deck, thanks to a few strategically placed booby traps), the battle raged on, with pirates blasting muskets at every turn. The ninjas dodged, weaved, hacked and slashed at their crusty opponents, silently attacking each in turn, while the pirates kept up a steady stream of filthy invective, such as “I'll make ye walk the plank, ye scurvy scallywag!” and “Yarrr, ye'll be worm food for the fishes tomorree, me hearties!” The only constant was the clank of steel on steel, and the occasional slashing of throats or other vitals, follow by the spurting of blood and a sudden THUMP! as the combatants hit the deck.
Throughout the fracas, Suzie remained floating on her paddle board, listening for signs of ninja defeat. She certainly wasn't about to jump into battle with hardened veterans of the south seas, but managed to convince herself that she was, in fact, a key player in the battle, keeping a look-out for trouble.
Unfortunately, trouble found her, as the handsome “stranger” suddenly floated up behind her in a rubber raft, grabbing her by the throat.
“What have we here, a mouse in the house?” he whispered.
Unable to breathe with the stranger's hands crushing her windpipe, Suzie kicked her legs and gasped for air, trying desperately to place his ruggedly handsome face as it swam in her field of vision. Who was this nasty bugger, and why was he so determined to kill her?
“Frank... Pennington?” she finally choked.
“Oh, good, you do recognize an old co-worker when you see him,” he scowled, peeling off the toupee and false mustache that had mislead her originally. Wearing a smart tuxedo instead of his usual button-down shirt and tie, Frank appeared devilishly handsome in an almost 007 way. The Biology instructor released his hold on Suzie's neck, and she collapsed into the bottom of his life raft, coughing and gasping for air.
“What... the... hell?” she rasped.
“Don't worry, Suzie, I won't tell if you won't. I knew your boyfriend was a rat, but I never knew he'd take it this far.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I've always had a soft spot for Harry, but this is a bit of a buzz kill. I simply can't be seen with a bunch of grogged-up seamen. People will talk.”
“Harry?” Suzie asked, her blood running cold.
“Of course, my dear. You didn't think these pirates were here for their health did you?” He chuckled menacingly. “Let me share a little secret with you that I've known for quite some time: Governor Harry is their king.”
“And what does that make you, their turn-coat?”
“Oh, naturally. I've always been a double-agent. Even at school, whenever Principal Leroux needed a snoop or a snitch, I was happy to oblige. I'm just sorry the security guards weren't able to eliminate you a little earlier in this particular game. Pity, I guess I'll have to do it myself.” He leveled a Colt 45 at Suzie's temple and cocked the trigger.
“Pity you've never actually trained as a ninja,” Suzie replied, blasting a hole through his abdomen with her own concealed weapon, a slick Glock 35. Frank reeled backward a step or two, then flipped over the rubber side of the lifeboat. Suzie watched his mouth open and close like a fish as he sank to the bottom of the lake in his fancy dress. She spat on his watery grave, muttering “scum” to herself, then collapsed in the bottom of the raft.
“Cannonball!” she heard coming from all directions, followed by twelve splashes all around her raft.
“What the hell?”
“Move out, ninja. This boat's about to blow!” one of the ninja recruits shouted at her.
“Holy hand grenades!” she shouted, and dove into the lake. Paddling like her life depended on it, Suzie was halfway across Town Lake when the pirate ship exploded, blasting bits and pieces of fiery wooden shrapnel in every direction. Sirens immediately began to blare from all points across the city, heading down to survey the carnage and rescue any survivors as the ninjas made landfall on the opposite bank, slipping off into the dark night.
“What happened up there?” Suzie asked, back at the ninjas' HQ.
“We gave them the what-for, and they gave us hell,” Ira said, dressing some minor wounds on his arms and legs. “But guess what? We found out what the caterers were for.”
“Governor Harry?” she guessed.
“How'd you know?”
“Let's just say a little stooge told me.”
“Hey, where's Pennington?” one of the ninjas asked.
“Swimming with the fishes at the bottom of Town Lake,” Suzie said, hands on hips.
Six katanas were instantly pointed at her throat.
“Settle down, boys,” she said. “The man was a rat from the beginning. He told me so himself.”
“That bastard. No wonder the pirates knew where to aim their rocket launcher!” Ira mused.
“I've decided to join your gang,” Suzie said quietly.
“What? Are you serious?”
“We've got to defeat Harry and his pirates before anyone else is killed. We've already got a budget deficit, and now we're putting more holes in the city than a summer hailstorm. We have to end the violence, by any means necessary.”
“Do you mean it?” Ira asked, taking her hand.
“I do.”
He kissed her hand and jumped to his feet with dramatic enthusiasm.
“Then let's get you suited up!”
* * *
The care and maintenance of the ninja is relatively straightforward, though one dare not refer to it as “simple.” The ninja, like most mammals, survives on a steady diet of meat and vegetables, with the occasional salty or chocolatey snacks, and has been known to down several Diet Dr Peppers in rapid succession, just for the thrill of it (and, of course, accompanying caffeine buzz). The ninja, like many of its fellow mammals, also requires a certain amount of nightly sleep, though the average human often requires 7 to 10 hours, and the skilled ninja is most often able to skate by on far less. Some suggest 4 hours per night, and others claim the number is much closer to zero than one, but leaving these types of rhetorical quibbles aside, we shall soon find that the ninja is, though physically not very dissimilar from you or I, quite a beast of a different color. One might even say that he (or in this case, she) is zebra striped, though the implication as to what these stripes represent, metaphorically speaking, remains unclear.
The ninja quite frequently wakes at the ass-crack of dawn (which is, actually, the pre-dawn period, indicating the very beginning of the crack, so think perhaps 3:30 or 4 o'clock in the morning, depending on the exact geographical location of said ninja; hemispheres on Earth being what they are, and seasons changing, etc etc etc.), and leaps from her bed or hammock (harder to do with a hammock, of course, twisty buggers), to immediately scout the area for danger. Once a preliminary perimeter has been established, the ninja sets to work using all available tools to seek out signs of danger.
Ninjas have been known to utilize any or all of the following equipment in this quest: radios, walkie-talkies, newspapers, television sets, cell phones, wired and wireless Internet connections, extra-sensory perceptions (ESP), cable news networks (CNN), cable sports networks (ESPN), headphones with jerry-rigged antennae (for long-distance tracking of animals, both human and not), scuba gear, echolocation devices, high-frequency radio waves, microwaves, radar, sonar, infrared detectors, x-ray machines, and the average five senses of sight, smell, taste, touch and hearing that the so-called “normal” human often overlooks in favor of more invigorating sensory distractions for an all-too-boring day-to-day “life.”
Additionally, the ninja has several specialized weapons, which she employs on a day-to-day basis, including: the pocket knife (aka the Swiss army knife, though the Swiss Army most certainly did not invent this knife, and if anything merely perfected it--or as some might argue, stole it--from the ninja), throwing stars of various sizes and metallic varieties (some will debate the strength of steel versus the non-stain-ability of stainless steel vs the decaying beauty of copper as it ages from its original color to the muted green of its desiccation), the ever-important katana or slashing sword, as well as the back-up wakizashi for moments where double-fisted fighting maneuvers are required, the nunchaku (for throttling and the extended beating of opponents, as well as simply showing off in front of lady ninjas or whipping the verboten alcoholic beverage from a fellow enlisted recruit's palms across the room and smashing it quite entertainingly against a hard surface, such as a wall or tree), along with a vast and varied arsenal of smoke bombs, hand grenades, firecrackers, and assorted smoking and/or exploding devices that shall take up far too much time to go on listing here.
Lest we forget, the ninja is also trained in classic hand-to-hand combat, with a knack for kicking, throwing, punching, leaping, thrusting, parrying, diving, gliding, sliding, hopping, jumping, skipping, crouching, bending and breaking in a fantastic variety of manners. Armed with only his or her bare hands and feet (though feet often tend to be covered in the typical cloven-hoof style of peculiarly ninja-favored footwear), the ninja him or herself, in fact, qualifies as a deadly weapon, and ought to be (though rarely is) classified as such and registered with the appropriate local police precinct. Concealed weapons notwithstanding, the ninja him or herself is considered to be deadly, and a force to be reckoned with, no matter whom is doing the reckoning.
Thus the ninja begins his or her training from the ground up. Every tool is a weapon, if you hold it right, and this is indeed the ninja's credo. One must always use completely what is available at hand. If nothing is available, the ninja shall use his or her hand in rapid motion to complete the task that requires doing. Like Bruce Lee's infamous one-inch punch, a ninja flicking his or her fingers out from a solid fist can do more damage than the average bulldozer. One must never underestimate the deadly force of the ninja at rest. One false move and all goes dark.
Was Suzie up to this type of training? Perhaps. She had certainly learned the basics of tae kwon do, which provides a preliminary groundwork for ninjas in training. She had always been good at observing her surroundings, staying safe in a dangerous world, and had a talent for avoiding conflict (showdowns with thug-like security guards notwithstanding). She was catlike in her reflexes, with stealth and dexterity on her side, and could operate most tools with either her right or left hand as an ambidextrous specimen most prized in all walks of life. Favoring the literature of non-violent activists, however, she had absorbed over time quite the opposite of the ninja's mind-frame. Though similar to the Zen “no-mind” methodology of acquiring a purely empty mind, free from the monkey chatter we all face, the ninja's mind is actually acutely aware of this chatter, filtering out unnecessary items and yet keeping in tune with certain streams of the collective unconscious. Suzie, in her selective readings, had been seeking to filter out all mentions of violence and replace them with peace and love. The ninja, however, preferred to attune him or herself to the streams of violence and dip in and out at will, wherever such dips might provide the best means of distraction, mayhem or outright chaos in the ninja's favor.
It was this that the ninjas now had to deal with, in beginning Suzie's training as a ninja weapon of vengeance.
“But I don't want to be a weapon of vengeance!” she shouted.
“Master Gray can only teach you if you have an open mind,” Ira begged. “You've got to give it a chance.”
“Why does everything have to be about death and doom and gloom with you ninjas?” she wailed. “I just want to lead a nice, quiet life, teaching kids to avoid conflict and expand their minds. Isn't that worthwhile?”
“Absolutely, but there's a time for peace and there's a time for rapid violence to quash the threat of further, more insidious violence.”
Suzie pondered this for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Governor Harry is a jerk, but I don't think we need to kill him.”
“You don't? And what do you think he'd do if either of us fell into his hands?” Ira challenged.
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