With Shogun Big Shot in tow, Viktor has way too much fun with him. Behind him, the Shogun is bound to his bed. Beneath him, the hull of his trick bed skims the surface of Japan's many lakes and bayous, and makes waves.
Naturally, he shouts to be set free. But of course, why would Viktor do that? He'd just try to kill him...as he's probably already killed countless infants, and lied to their bimbo mothers about the circumstances of their deaths. Funny; Japanese women often get a lot of bad press about carrying their babies upside-down on their backs while raising them. These days, though, it seems more likely that SHOGUNS are raised that way.
Through the bayous, Viktor speeds on his jet-ski...without so much as a thought to the screaming and shouting burden that he's got in tow. If he's trying to torture the Shogun...he's doing the right thing. Although he'd be wrong, if he thought that the Shogun finally understood the pain of the crowd that he, Viktor, fights and plays mean tricks for.
Viktor makes sharp turns...and in turn, makes the Shogun sick. As Viktor makes those turns, the trick bed lists much, to one side. And for as long as it takes to complete that turn, the Shogun gets sprayed in the face.
Seeing how much his Martial Majesty hates this, Viktor smiles, and finds a more open spot, out on the water. Here, he repeatedly speeds in a big circle. Now, the Shogun gets sprayed in the face, by his own foam, MUCH more. Viktor does several circles while circling to port...and then he does a figure-eight into a circle where he circles to starboard...and repeats that one many times.
To Viktor's own avenger's delight, the Shogun hates both. And it won't stop there.
Ahead, there's a ramp. Here, Viktor speeds up. The Shogun panics more than usual, at the sudden speed increase, as well as the extra noise that the jet-ski's steam engine makes, as its chimneys blow more steam.
Up the ramp, Viktor goes. He flies right off its top, and has a very slowed-down, utopian moment, as he comes back down. In moments like these, he couldn't feel more like an Armenian boy wonder...if he even is to what few girls who've seen him.
He splashes down, and keeps speeding. Behind him, the Shogun still screams as he, too, is dragged up the ramp. Soon, he's airborne, too.
Up here, the bed does a trick, and transfigures into a kite. From it, the Shogun hangs upside down in his boxers. Within the kite's structure, an anemometer powers a series of giant flyswatters. Also, the upside-down Shogun hangs from a swivel...which turns counterclockwise, versus the four flyswatters. As the Shogun spins, each flyswatter gets certain chances to swat him on the ass. O, and one more thing: the blades of each flyswatter is made of cast-iron.
So, while upside-down in his boxers, the Shogun spins in circles. As he does, he gets swatted on the ass repeatedly. Naturally, he's in hell. But then, Viktor wants it that way. Funny; he's not even a Backstreet Boy.
At the jet-ski's stern, there's a bitt. The line, that connects the Shogun's kite to the jet-ski, is moored to it. The bitt might not look it...but it's a tachyon-generator.
Like electricity, the generator sends tachyons up the line. In doing so, it gives the line the exact same properties as torch-fire. Hence, the line doesn't get caught in tree branches as Viktor speeds along; it just slices right through every limb and branch that dares try to take Viktor's fun from him.
Soon, Viktor's built an altar. It's got straw and autumn leaves all over it. It'll soon have wood and oil on it, too.
The jet-ski's moored. Its steam engine still smokes. But at least it gets a break. The same can't be said for the Shogun it's just helped torture.
The kite's moored between several trees with several lines. Here, several winds, of varying strengths, try to make off with it. The lines keep this from happening. And just to add a pleasing element to where the kite's been moored, Viktor's also hung some wind chimes from one of the lines. At least the winds aren't as crabby with the chimes as they are with the kite...or even the anemometer inside the kite...which has been locked, of course, to keep the kite from breaking free and flying away.
While the kite hangs loftily within its own webbing, the Shogun's been bound inside another web. He's still in boxers, and he's still upside-down. He's half-shocked that he isn't buck-naked right now.
He's less surprised, though, that that alter is right beneath him. And as he panics and hates Viktor even more, Viktor comes and goes beneath him, adding very hard logs to the altar's flammable contents. Viktor just can't seem to stop having fun. Normally, the Shogun would expect this from any boy, insolent or otherwise, but... Somehow, Armenian boys seem to be the worst at this.
He probably wouldn't think the same thing about his neighbors' kids, if he knew them better... But then, at least his neighbors' kids have never tried to drag him across the bayou, spank him, or hang him over a fire.
Whenever he can, he shouts more insults at Viktor. He's not sure what's wrong; maybe Viktor doesn't speak Japanese. But then, one would think that if he didn't he'd have better business in Artsakh than here.
But of course, these days, Artsakh is a helpless, virtually condemned province of the Ottoman Empire. And as often as Turks these days like to kill Armenians, one would be surprised if Artsakh still existed, by the time the Ottoman Empire lost its sultan.
At last, the altar is ready. Via a flaming barrel, Viktor lights a torch. He grins, approaches the alter, and listens to the Shogun whimper and shout in rage at the same time, as that flame gets closer and closer to the most oil-stained parts of the altar's tinder...
From a hole in the azalea woods, Viktor is joined by a companion. Like Viktor, he's an Armenian refugee. Also like Viktor, they're about the same age. Unlike Viktor, though, this guy could've probably done ten times worse to the Shogun than what Viktor's already done.
Meet Shirak Hovesian. He's the Sherlock Holmes of his age...as well as the Sherlock of Artsakh. He hasn't lost much because of Artsakh's defeat; as a pathological nerd, he hates governments about as much as anyone else hates bad weather. It's just...the Turks' victory, that he's still coming to terms with. And even though he can't say that the Japanese are half as bad as the Turks...he also can't say he's ever met a Japanese fellow he's liked. Or rather, he can't say he's ever met a Japanese fellow who's liked him...other than Viktor, of course.
No doubt about it, Shirak and Viktor are a "Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn" of sorts. Alas, only Shirak has ever heard of Mark Twain. Viktor, by contrast, is more of a Monkey King guy. He's certainly no Crane Mother guy. And he sure as hell is neither a Buddhist, nor a Shinto.
Viktor hears him coming. He hesitates, and turns his head. Above, the Shogun squeaks even more.
Shirak smiles, rests his spear, and waves. (His "spear" is actually a very long staff with a magnifying glass for a head.)
"Hullo, friend," Shirak tells him. "Please; don't let me interrupt. I want that cad dead just as much as you do."
"I'm not going to kill him," Viktor sneers.
"Whatever. He has a pair too many bollocks, as it is."
Viktor grins, and lights the fire. Up there, the Shogun shouts in rage and thrashes about...all while choking from the fire's smoke.
One of the ropes is tied to a peg. There are several more just above it. Viktor grins, and deviously moves the rope from its lowest peg to its next highest. This, in turn, causes the Shogun to hang lower over the fire.
"Keep up that anti-subject hatred of yours, Your Martial Majesty," Viktor shouts up to him, "and you'll be lucky if I don't mail you back to your wife as a long pork roast! Keep it up more, and I'll send your head to her in a pickle jar...preserved in vinegar!"
The Shogun, of course, only thrashes and shouts in rage more. It's just as well; again, Viktor isn't actually going to kill him. He's just doing what the Armenian Jehovah would end, if Jehovah was even real.
As the Shogun thrashes and shouts far away, and smoke rises from his approximate location, Shirak and Viktor pier. Below their bare feet, they can see their reflections. Every now and then, a koi swims past.
Funny; the Japanese Emperor probably has a whole pond of these to speak of...as well as some of the prettiest cherry and azalea trees that Japanese soil could ever offer. The shoguns are so powerful, though; it's a mystery as to why they haven't outcompeted his Imperial Majesty yet.
"You should probably attend to that fire," Shirak warns Viktor. "This is a lovely forest. I'd hate to codepend its destruction by wildfire."
Viktor shakes his head. "His idiot army's looking for him. When they find him, they can make themselves useful...by letting their boss die, and putting out that wildfire."
"And what exactly would they put out that wildfire with? A steam-powered fire extinguisher?"
"I don't know...this is a bayou. Maybe they could use THAT to their advantage. Anyway, I didn't summon you here to talk about a worthless shogun's welfare...if any humane human would dare call it that."
"Thought not. Anyway, what seems to be the big question?"
Viktor gives him a confused look.
"I thought you told me you had a mystery for me to solve."
He nods. "Sorry. The Japanese language can have a regressive effect on me, when it comes to the Armenian one."
"I can say the same thing about sleep. So," Shirak impulsively skips a rock across the bayou. "What big question is so much of a bugger, that it keeps Armenia's most mischievous son up at night, booby-trapping shoguns' bed chambers? Not that I'm biased, understand; I'd do it more often myself, except someone still has to pay the rent to the Sinister Absentee Landlady every month."
Viktor grins. "O sure; Mrs. Honda's a real devil's wife, of sorts. I wonder how she'd feel about her husband's head being mailed to her in a pickle jar, soaked in vinegar?"
Shirak skips another rock.
"A lot of my friends have gone missing," Viktor begins. "And I DON'T mean the Japanese ones. I mean my homefolk. At church, we get letters...from our unlucky kin, over in Artsakh, who either can't get to refuge, or choose to stay and be heroes. In my own days there, I knew a lot of people. They were about my age. But the letters from Artsakh, of late, now have missing persons' lists to report. A lot of my Armenian homeboys, alas, have made those lists."
Shirak heaves a sigh. "It pains me to hear about such things, too. But I'm very sure that as converted Japanese citizens, we must not waste our time hating the Ottoman Turks, when there are..."
"It's not the Turks. Artsakh's already verified that. Some of them have nearly died, doing so. The Turks are genocidal maniacs when it comes to us; even so, whoever's causing us to vanish out there isn't them. The Sultan's hands might be red, but they're not red with my mates' blood."
"But you don't know that they're dead, either."
Viktor shakes his head. "No word. Whoever's up to this is more secretive than the fucking Ottoman Sultan himself." He looks at Shirak. "But then, there are benefits to being on a piering level with the world's greatest detective."
Shirak scoffs. "Greatest detective of my age, you mean. I just...don't know how I feel about taking a trip back home. There were so many rules, back in Artsakh...and the Turks haven't made it any better, from what I've heard. Even worse, they want us all to be Muslims over there. Most Artsakhis would rather die. I would too...just not for the same reasons as them."
Viktor nods. "Right; you're a nihilist. I keep forgetting."
Shirak studies him. "Pardon me, but I do believe that you make a life habit out of breaking the Bible. For instance, I seem to recall... Well...I seem to recall all five of the first half of the Ten Commandments!"
"You know?" Viktor sets his pipe down, and studies Shirak. "For someone who claims to be an atheist, you sure know a lot about the Bible."
Shirak scoffs. "Do I have to spell it out? I'm an Armenian, too. I was raised by Armenian adults who tried to keep my lips glued to Jehovah's arse, just as yours did."
Viktor scoffs. "It wasn't quite that intense, really. But every now and then, my experiences led me to collide with some Basic Armenian Bitch who'd dare act like she wrote the whole damn Bible...along with the Book of Marriage." He scoffs. "She sure as hell didn't write the Book of Love; THAT'S for sure."
"I am like you, though. I do feel for my kinsmen, when something bad happens to them. I might be just as much an Apostolic Christian as the average Turk...but I still get hurt when my brother dies. And as you say it, several of them have. Very well, Viktor; I will take your case. No need to pay me; this one's for brotherhood."
"There's something else, too." Viktor surveys Shirak...and blows smoke from his pipe. "You know that girl, who keeps bothering the medical assistant at the precinct?" He half-grins. "She's looking for you."
Shirak hesitates...and then scoffs. "I don't have time for her, Viktor. I've got about two dozen missing persons' cases to solve. And I'm not going to do that by waiting around on a pier on my bum, for as long as it takes for that cute Japanese micromanager to find me, and start telling me what's wrong with my pancreas, lungs, liver, lizard, and giver!"
With that, Shirak shoots to his feet, and leaves Viktor on the pier, still smoking his pipe. Viktor only grins, and refills the pipe chamber.
"Guy's forgotten basic human anatomy," he mutters. "Something's REALLY wrong with him...and it sure as hell isn't a lizard or a giver." He grins. "And if it IS a giver...it's the giver of an emphasized little finger!"
The day wears on. Across the bayou waters, swans swim.
The azaleas never fail to shed their blossoms. The wisterias are often in the same state. Some of these trees just don't know when to stop blooming...except in the winter, of course. Too bad the same can't be said for the cherry tree.
Onto the bank, a softshell turtle surfaces. He looks like a pancake with a snorkel. Shirak can't help but wonder why there aren't more softshell turtle villains in kaiju stories. He can think of at least nine girls he's met who might actually think that a real softshell turtle is scarier-looking than Godzilla.
In the trees, pairs of doves sit together, and coo. They add a peaceful tone to the forest. Shirak, of course, merely interprets it as cover, for a quiet getaway.
In a secluded spot in these pink azalea woods, Shirak keeps a junk cached. He calls it the Hai Hau. This will be his transport out of Japan. He's been told that Manchuria can be quite nice, at this time of year...even if Japan and a few Slavic countries are plotting to go to war over both it, and Korea...and maybe parts of Mongolia, too...
Through the woods, a pair of gorgeous Japanese legs approach. They're bare. And that spells disaster for any man, or boy, who can see the aesthetics in them...
She's got a Red Dharmachakra tattoo on one leg. On her other, she's got a Red Shimenawa tattoo.
With a quick motion, Shirak pulls the cover off the cached Hai Hau. Once that's done, and once he's squared away the cover, he reaches under the hull, and finds a harness. It's attached to a line. The line's attached to a bitt, aboard the boat. With this line, Shirak intends to act as a buffalo, and tow this thing out into the bayous. From there, he'll cross the bayous, into the mangroves. From there, he'll cross the mangroves, into the seas. From there, he'll cross the seas, into Manchuria, and so forth.
Behind him, as he bends over to figure out the harness, the girl stands right behind him...and spreads her legs apart. Again, they're very nice legs. With that said, Shirak had better not turn around...
"Hi Shirak," she finally says.
Shirak pauses. Shit; she knows where his boat is. Now, she'll probably tell everyone she knows.
He turns...and lays eyes on her. He can't help it. She's a genuine Japanese beauty, if Shirak never saw one. Her hair is long, straight, raven, and with a sheen. If not for her Japanese heritage, she'd bear the likeness of Lucy Liu 1981...
"I cannot talk right now, Jun," he tells her. "I've just taken a case. Actually...I've just taken at least three dozen cases. They're very sensitive; this time, I'm working for a VIP. So if you'll excuse me, I could do with fewer," he surveys her cleavage..."distractions."
"You're doing this for Viktor, aren't you?"
Shirak gapes. "How DARE you! Viktor's a juvenile delinquent! How DARE you allege that I'm in league with him. I mean I know it's easy for you to be racist against me because I'm Armenian, but..." He studies her. "Don't you have a medical examiner at the precinct to give a blowjob, or something?!"
"She's away," she says. "So, I'm footloose." She flaps her hair. "Where are we going?"
He studies her feet. "Yes... Your feet are VERY loose, it seems. A bit seductive, even, but..." He blinks. "You cannot come with me! It's a very dangerous journey. Hell, I'm not even half-sure where I'm going yet. I just know..." He heaves a sigh. "I'm just very sure that it's somewhere between here an Artsakh. And those are VERY treacherous waters. And with good reason; the Caspian is part of the vast distance that separates these bayous from...Sweet Home Artsakh. Now, I need you to run along home. This boat takes a LOT of effort to launch, and the last thing I need is..."
She takes off her shirt, and expresses the very revealing garment she hides underneath. They make her hooters look big. Too bad they're not. She's actually quite flat-chested. Hell, if Shirak knows her, she's got those cups stuffed with some kind of tissue, or something...
This vexes his gaze, of course. But of course, this boy is the great Shirak Hovesian. And as long as he sniffs and peers, NO woman can hinder him...and no woman should...even if she is a cute, beautiful...
"I will NOT have you hogging up the cargo hold," Shirak insists. "At some point, I might need to smuggle gunpowder, or something. And I just can't risk your welfare, by keeping you somewhere where you can get blown to bits, like a Chinese piñata that has gunpowder inside, rather than candy! You're... You're too precious for Japan to waste on some degenerate Armenian boy who the mental hospitals don't trust. Hell, my own landlady doesn't trust me! She might evict me any day, and if I don't discover some SERIOUS financial fortune on this case...and I don't expect to, because China, at least, still uses the silver standard in this day and age...I don't know what I'll..."
And now, she lets her skirt fall. Now, Shirak can see ALL of her legs; tattoos and all. And those are some VERY nice legs...
Shirak can't hold out much longer. Shirak might be a fool, but at least he's smart. Plus, he remembers a valuable lesson, from those stupid Apostolic Bible classes he went to, while younger. Sometimes, the only way to control something is to surrender to it, and use its power as your own...for better or for worse.
"Okay fine," Shirak fatigues, "you can come. Just don't expect me to become proud, when you become the rubber chicken that causes me to lose the trail of this case's villain!"
With that, Shirak gets back to trying to figure out the harness for the towing line. Funny; he doesn't remember the harness being this complicated...
Jun approaches, and tries to do it for him. He swats her hands away, and keeps trying. He still can't get it. Finally, she takes it from him...and loosens it on a whim.
Great; she's only been on this quest for five minutes, and she's already made a monkey out of Shirak...
And, SHE gets to tow the junk out into the bayou waters. Shit; Shirak hoped for better. And now, he's in the boat, being towed along with it. For the first time in years, Shirak's starting to miss more conservative societies, where the men did all of the heavy lifting, and the women knitted clothes for the kids...
Speaking of what, Shirak soon finds himself knitting false-flag sails for the junk, while all around him, Jun establishes the rigging. It should be a crime, for girls to go that fast. It should also be a crime for them to get to be daredevils, like that. But then, it's just a good thing that Shirak doesn't have to live in New York under Spider-Man's protection. In that world, Spider-Man has to take similar crap from Black Cat every night...
Now, they cross the mangroves. Soon, they'll be crossing the seas. Before them, the sun sets. Funny; this almost feels like the end of a Western, when the cowboy rides off into the sunset... Too bad this is a junk, and not the Old West...
Nathan Algren, at least, would have fun on this voyage. He'd have even more fun, if he didn't have to train the entire Japanese army to put down the last of Japan's samurai, on the behalf of a greedy Japanese corporatist who keeps acting like he wants to put Japanese heritage out of business...including, perhaps, its Emperor...
For now, though, Shirak can rest at ease. This isn't the Satsuma Rebellion...and Shirak is no Tom Cruise. A Kardashian with glasses, maybe...but no Cruise. Up ahead, the trail to a genocidal villain awaits. And a cute Japanese chick will be following him every step of the way...as much as Shirak really thinks she's better off in a Japanese police precinct, giving a certain medical examiner BJs. He sure doesn't know how he feels about getting a BJ from her himself... Although...he supposes that ONE B.J. couldn't hurt...