Reprisal

By katz

Part XVII

Mousse was half a mile out of Nerima when Mori picked him up.  Mori waved him down beside a small, anonymous blue car he had parked beside a sidewalk café, and from inside the two waited for traffic to resume.  “I am glad to see you are still alive, sir,” said Mori.

            “Same here,” came Mousse’s muffled reply as he pulled off the stolen paramedic’s shirt.  He was grateful to be out of the constricting piece of clothing and away from the stares of curious bystanders unused to seeing paramedics outside of an ambulance.  “You have anything I can wear?”

            Mori gestured to the backseat, where Mousse found a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans and tennis shoes.  Not his usual style, but they would do until he got some real clothing.  He had pulled the shirt over his head and was fumbling with his pants when he heard Mori cough.  He looked at the older man quizzically, and then out his window where he noticed that a pair of young women seated at a table near them had taken an interest in what he was doing.  One covered her mouth as she laughed while the other just smiled directly at him.  He felt himself turning red, and with as much dignity as he could muster, sat up and zipped his pants.

            He could see Mori was trying hard to suppress a grin.  “Shut up, Mori,” he said, unable to keep a trace of petulance out of his voice.

            “Yes, sir,” Mori said gravely, pressing down on the accelerator as traffic began to move.

            Mousse waited until they were speeding through the twists and turns of the highway before attempting to change.  “So what’s happened since last night?” asked Mousse.

            “The scene at the hotel is under investigation, though you yourself are not.  If asked, the staff will say you left the hotel the night before the incident and had not been seen since.”

            Mousse nodded.  Leave it to Mori to make everything right.  “And our friend?”

            “I am afraid the fellow who assaulted you disappeared around the same time you did,” replied Mori.  “The police could find no trace of anyone involved with the gunfight.”

            “I see.”  Mousse made a note to put a bullet in the man’s head next time they should meet.  No talking, just a single shot just below the nose, where the bullet would sever the area where the spinal cord and the brain met.  Instant death and one less problem to worry about.  But first he needed guns.  Lots of guns.

“Who’s the weapons supplier here?” he asked.

“Date Ishiro I believe.  He lives on the opposite side of the city.  Will you need to write a list, sir?” asked Mori.

“More than likely,” replied Mousse.  It was going to be a rather large order this time, even for him.  He could still vividly remember the feeling of running out of weapons.  It was an episode he preferred not to repeat.  “And what about my cat?”

“I left it in the care of one of your hired men.  He seemed less than eager to take the responsibility.”

Mousse nodded.  “Let him know he’ll be compensated for his inconvenience.”  

“Of course.  Is there any other business you must attend to?”

Mousse mulled over the question a moment before answering.  “No.  After we finish with Date we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Sir, are you sure that is wise?” asked Mori in alarm.  “What if the fellow from the other night returns?”

Mousse shrugged.  “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack me in the same place twice.  Besides, he merely caught me off guard the first time.  He knows if he tries again, he’s a dead man.”

“You seem to be getting caught off guard rather frequently in the last week or so, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Mousse’s countenance darkened, and he was about to say that he did mind Mori’s saying so and that he was overstepping his bounds.  But he swallowed his pride and grudgingly admitted to himself that he was becoming careless now that he was so close to achieving his goal.  His reckless unconcern for his own life had often been a source of complaints from his family, but only recently had it come so close to destroying him.  And not once, but twice, in the forms of a talented but rankly amateurish fighter who thinks he’s a cat and an assassin with a perverse sense of justice, both of who were still alive.  He would have to be more careful now than ever, with so many threats freely wandering about.  “Just drive, Mori.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mori unhappily.

Silence settled over the car and Mousse idly watched the moving scenery outside his window.  Now that he was able to relax, he felt his wounds begin to ache.  The puckered scar on his leg where Cologne had thrown the dart at him; the scratch under his eye where Ranma had clawed at him; the mark across his cheek where the assassin had shot him; the myriad lashes he had all over his body from his days under Yeosol’s mentoring.  And of course the one around his neck.  His first and his best.  A gift, from the Amazon people to him.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  After so many long years of harsh privation and even harsher training, the pain was negligible.  It merely served as a reminder of his duty to kill the Amazons.  For his father, for his mother, for the time they locked him away in the dark, they had to die.  And he would do so slowly, piece by piece, allowing them to watch their entire world crumble before them into dust before he finally snuffs them out altogether.  Just another obscure, primitive people forever lost to the passing of time.  It was the least they deserved.

***

            Ranma remembered everything.  It was a strange sensation recalling all the details of being an animal, but he took it in stride.  Because it didn’t matter.  Not really.  He took the soap from the bath ledge and began to rub it slowly against the cloth.  They had him tied up pretty good in that sleeping bag.  It took him a while to slip out of it.  He wondered how long he spent wrapped up like that.  He came out reeking.

            He began scrubbing the cloth vigorously against his body.  He winced when it came across his side, and he slowed.  A metal hammer definitely made a difference, especially when the person swinging it was so much stronger than Akane.  It was too bad Dr. Tofu had to leave so soon; he still hurt like hell.  But then, it didn’t look like he was there to reopen his clinic. 

            He stood and reached for the towel.  The greatest match of my life, he mused as he dried himself.  And I lost.  He had lost matches before to stronger opponents, but these were insignificant.  They were no more than opening acts to a final, greater confrontation in the future, which he would invariably win.  But this time was different.  He didn’t just lose; he was crushed.  And Akane paid the price.

            He stared at himself in the mirror.  The last thing he remembered was Akane offering herself up to save him and Mousse accepting.  Who knows what he did to her?  What he’s doing now?  His heart clenched at the thought.

            The door opened and he turned away from the mirror to see Akane, stark naked except for a towel she held in front of her.  They stared at each other, and Ranma suddenly felt weary.  It was just like when they first met.  A dream then, he thought to himself.  I’m not awake yet.

            And then she dropped her towel and rushed forward to wrap her arms around him.  He swayed back slightly.  Oh.  It’s one of those dreams.  But when she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, he realized that he really was awake.

            “Akane,” he said.  He placed both hands on the sides of her face and tilted it up.  A million questions ran through his mind.  Are you alright?  Did he hurt you?  How did you get away?  But all those questions flew from him when he saw her happy, tear-streaked face.  “Akane.”

            She nodded, smiling through her tears.  He smiled back.  She was safe and with him, and that was all that mattered.

***

Shampoo shifted uncomfortably inside the closet.  A cramp was forming in her leg from staying crouched for so long, but she remained as she was.  There was no telling when Mousse would be back and she was still unsure of what she would do.  She would have liked to have more time to create a plan, but recent events provided her with an opportunity too good to miss.  She hoped Lin-Lin and Lan-Lan could forgive her for knocking them out and taking their parcel but it was necessary.  She was only glad that her great-grandmother wasn’t there when they arrived, exhausted and dirty from a rushed journey to China and back.  She frowned.  Not that her great-grandmother had any right to get angry with her.  She had kept enough secrets for her own kin that perhaps it was Shampoo who should be getting angry with her.  Well, maybe she shouldn’t go that far.  Maybe.

She reached off to the side to feel for the bucket of water and then to the small cage beside it.  The water was possibly her only defense against him if he decided not to listen.  But she was sure he would.  From what she had seen, he liked to toy with his victims.

            She sighed and sat down, crossing her legs beneath her.  If he ever gets here, she thought sourly.  She pushed away one of the long, dark overcoats that filled the closet to make more room.  For someone who tries to look so nice, he sure has narrow taste in clothing.  She leaned back against the wall and relaxed.  There was a chance he wasn’t going to come.  There was something of a racket the night before that left the elevator in ruins.  The same night that Dr. Tofu came in seeking treatment for his wounds.  She doubted it was just coincidence.

            Not that it would matter if he didn’t come tonight, or the next night.  She would wait as long as it took.  If things continued as they were her great-grandmother and Mousse would end up killing each other, taking with them who knows how many people caught in the middle of their feud.  Ranma certainly, if he was still alive.  He wouldn’t think twice about challenging Mousse to a rematch.  He probably wouldn’t even think.  And the others would follow his lead, Ukyo, Akane, Ryoga, and the rest of them.  It was strange the way they would all pull together whenever one of them was in danger.  They had no problem fighting each other, but as soon as there was an external threat, they always found themselves on the same side.  She couldn’t begin to count the times they had helped each other out of situations an enemy would have been glad to leave them in.  It could even be called friendship, or at least camaraderie. 

            She leaned her head back against the wall and wondered again when Mousse would arrive.  In spite of his actions, she still considered him a friend.  She didn’t want to see him die, or see him kill those closest to her.  Either way she loses.  It would be best if they simply stopped fighting.  Impossible under normal circumstances, but she believed she had a way.  She felt at the packet of essence of cursed spring she kept in her shirt.  If it worked then everyone could go home, if not happy, then at least still breathing.

            She started when she heard the shower turn on.  He had somehow gotten inside without her knowing.  She opened the closet door and tentatively stuck her head out.  Discarded clothing littered the floor in a trail leading from the balcony to the bathroom.  She remembered the Elders once saying Hidden Weapons masters were the untidiest people in the world, and that if they weren’t able to carry so much stuff on them they would be lost in their own refuse.  She was fairly certain they were exaggerating, but now she wasn’t so sure. 

            She made her way beside the bed and waited, kicking aside a strip of linen used in binding wounds.  There were still bloodstains on them.  He’d been busy.  She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him that could possibly leave him open enough to use the cursed powder and water, and she didn’t have time to think of anything.  Soon the sound of water ceased and he walked out, still dripping water with a towel wrapped around his waist and drying his long hair with smaller one.  He looked better than when she last saw him.  He no longer looked so gaunt or deathly pale, but she could see the fresh scars he received recently.  He came to a stop when he saw her, dropping the towel he held in his hands.  She couldn’t read his expression as he stared at her.  He didn’t show any emotion, nor did he look tense as though about to fight.

            Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, she decided to make the first move.  She stepped toward him.  “Mousse…” she started, and that was all she managed to get out when Mousse suddenly closed the distance between them.  She didn’t believe anyone could have ever moved so explosively.  She wasn’t even able step back before he was in front of her, driving his fist into her belly so hard she felt her feet lift from the ground.

            She fell back on her seat, the wind knocked out of her.  She was dimly aware of Mousse prowling about the room, searching for anyone else that might be hiding.  He hit me, she thought incredulously, her eyes filling with tears as she struggled to draw breath.  He hit me.

She tried to stand up, her legs still shaky, and would have fallen back down if not for a pair of strong hands under her arms holding her up.  “I told the old woman I’d take what she did to me out on you later,” said Mousse, now standing in front of her.  She could make out his face through her teary eyes.  He was smiling slightly, as though amused at her pain.  “Can you talk now?”

            She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.  “Take your time,” he said, stepping away.  “There’s no hurry.  We have all night.”

            A chill went up her spine at those ominous words.  “Mousse,” she croaked out after some effort.  “You listen to me, pl-”

            “If you’re going to speak, do it in the language you know,” he said, bringing his hand up.  “I can’t tell you how grating it is to listen to you talk.”

            She stopped, hurt by what he said.  The Mousse she knew would never have said something so cruel.  But this wasn’t the Mousse she knew; she had to bring that one back.  “Alright,” she said in the Amazon dialect of Chinese.  It was becoming easier to speak.  “Mousse, you must listen to me.”

            “Go ahead,” he said, switching to Amazon as well.  He picked up the towel he dropped and hung it around his neck.  He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand. 

            Shampoo blinked, surprised at her suddenly cooperative audience.  “O-okay.”  She stammered for a moment, unsure of where to begin.  Then she stood up straight, visibly steeling herself.  “Do you remember when you were a child, Mousse?” she asked.  “In our village?”

            He grinned broadly.  “What don’t I remember,” he said enthusiastically.  “The beatings, the ostracization, the murder of my family and the slow death to which I was condemned …” His grin had become malevolent as he spoke, now as humorless as a shark’s.  “I remember everything.”

            Shampoo fought with all her might the urge to pull out the small package of cursed essence right then and there and throw the contents all over him.  Do it now! A small voice inside urged her.  While he’s still wet and he’s not expecting it!  If she was afraid before, she was terrified now.  She could faintly remember the beatings he spoke of.  He was never a strong boy, an easy target for the bullies.  Not to mention the fact that his mother had been a weakling outsider; he had been given hell for that not just by the other children but by adults as well.  But murder…  What had happened between her great-grandmother and Mousse went deeper than she knew.  And Mousse didn’t blame just Cologne; he blamed the entire Amazon people for what had happened.  But she couldn’t stop now.  She had come this far already, and to simply give up was not her way or the way of her people.

            “But you don’t remember me,” she replied.

            “You’re right, I don’t remember anyone like you,” he said.  The grin had dropped from his face and now he looks genuinely curious.  “And I remember almost everyone from the village, and I would certainly remember the spawn of that old bitch.  Why is that?”

            She took a deep breath.  This was the crucial point.  If he didn’t believe her, then she was dead.  If she made him at least a little curious, just enough to hear her out, then she may have a chance to save not only herself but also those dearest to her.  “Because you were in love with me.”

            He blinked.  Whatever answer he was expecting, this was obviously not it.  His face became as inscrutable as it had when he first saw her.  “Oh?”

            Shampoo suddenly turned red.  “Well, I don’t know if it was love, but you did have a crush on me,” she rushed out, flustered.  “It was embarrassing actually, we were only children at the time…”  She stopped, alarmed.  His face was red and twisted into an expression that at first looked like barely contained rage.  She brought her hands up to defend herself when she realized that it wasn’t rage he was trying so hard to suppress, but laughter.

            “In…love…,” he managed to gasp out, laughing so hard that he fell back onto the bed.  He propped himself back up on an elbow to look at her, tears in his eyes.  “What’s that you have there?” 

            Shampoo knew when to take a clue.  He wasn’t going to believe her and when he was finished with his hysterics, he would kill her.  So she fell back onto Plan B.  She took the packet out of her shirt and threw the contents in a wide arc at him.  The crystallized essence of cursed spring glittered in the air for a moment before settling on Mousse’s wet skin.  She saw the alarm register in his eyes in the last split second before the transformation took place.  It was quick, taking no more than a second, but it was not instantaneous as she would have expected.  And in that second, she saw much.  He fell to his knees, screaming hoarsely, and she saw that an image of himself and a duck flickering, like a reel of film that has not quite reached top speed so it was still possible to discern between individual frames.  He’s resisting it, she realized in wonder.  But in the end, the curse won out and in his place was a white, poleaxed duck.

            Shampoo picked him up and walked over to the closet, running a hand soothingly over his head.  Not that it mattered, he seemed catatonic, but it made her feel less guilty about what she had done.  It was too bad it had to end like this, though perhaps there was no way to avoid it.  Mousse had always been stubborn, even as a child, and this hasn’t changed.  But now he will have no choice but to listen.  She picked up the cage and the leash she had brought with her.  It was the only thing she could think of that would hold him, and now she had to find a place to keep him.

            “Shh,” she whispered, as she slipped the leash around his neck.  That was when all hell broke loose.

***

            Before being turned into a duck, the last thing going through his mind was that of extreme hilarity.  Weeping, creeping Jesus, he thought.  Who knew an Amazon could be so goddamn funny?  As he sat up, he thought something along the lines of letting this one live just for the entertainment value, when he saw her throw her hand out in an arc, trailing some kind of sparkling dust.

            He couldn’t react before some of the dust settled on his skin and the transformation took place.  He could feel it happening across every inch of his body.  He heard screaming as he fell to his knees, and he realized it was himself.  He fought it as best he could, and for a moment he felt he could beat it, but it washed over him like a flood, overwhelming him.  Suddenly, he was not only a duck again, but a little boy tricked by people he knew he shouldn’t trust into meeting them in a place he knew he shouldn’t go.  And with that came all the fear

our boy

            of small children, so much more serious than that of adults,

our little boy

who worry about such inane things like time and money

ours, yes

when there are things in the dark, things they can’t see anymore

ours

because they convinced themselves they don’t exist,

our boy

            but the children know they are there, with big sharp teeth, always waiting…

            And then gentle hands pick him up and a hand strokes his head and the monsters disappear.  Who is it?  It is his mother and he relaxes, because he knows they can’t get him if his mother is there.  She carries him, but to where?  To bed of course.  He is so tired. 

            “Shh,” she whispers to him, and then she slips the leash around his neck.  He knows suddenly then that the monsters never went away.  They waited in the dark away from his sight, grinning with their big sharp teeth, for this time.  The time when they can have him back.

“No!” he screams, but it comes out as a strangled quack instead.  His neck burns, as much from the presence of a real leash as from memory, but he doesn’t even feel it.  The leash is around his neck again and he sobs in abject fear as he struggles.  His mother’s gentle hands change, becoming claws, forcing him toward something.  He doesn’t see it at first because it is suddenly so very dark, but he sees it soon enough.  The claws were pulling him toward its gaping maw, wide open to swallow him whole.  As terrifying as it is, he keeps his eyes on it, because he knows to see all of it would be to die from unspeakable fear.  And then he sees the mouth move, forming words.

OUR BOY!!!  OUR LITTLE BOY!!!!

            The little boy sees all of it.  His world shatters.

***

            Shampoo watched helplessly as Mousse disappeared into the night sky.  When she put the leash around his neck, which was now clutched, snapped, in her hand he had suddenly gone wild.  It was natural, she thought, because of course he would have realized he was about to be made a prisoner.  But when she was about to put him in the cage…  She still remembered the almost human-like cry of what she could only call terror and could not suppress a shudder.  What happened to you, Mousse?

To be continued…