“Pretty sharp moves you’ve got there, sucker.”
Rikki pivoted to his right, his katana in front of him at waist level.
A handsome man and a strikingly beautiful woman were calmly standing seven feet away. They resembled each other in every respect.
Both were about six feet in height and both were lean and muscular. Their facial features were angular with prominent chins, thin lips, and thin eyebrows. Both had green eyes. And both had white hair, completely white without a strand of color anywhere. Unlike their crude associates, they were clean and wearing unsoiled black leather pants and shirts. Black boots covered their feet. And both were holding pump-action shotguns trained on the Warrior.
Rikki glanced from the man to the woman, wondering if they were twins.
The man grinned. “Don’t even think it, little man,” he warned. “We’ll take your head off at the shoulders if you so much as blink.”
Rikki said nothing. Other men and women were surrounding him.
“What do you think, Fab?” the man said to the woman. “Do you think he’s worth saving for Tiger?” He snickered.
“I think so, Gar,” the woman responded huskily. “In fact, I think this little man is kind of cute.”
Gar gave the woman a reproachful stare. “Now don’t start! We’re taking him directly to Tiger.”
The woman ignored the man. She winked at the man in black and smiled. “What’s your name, little man?”
Rikki didn’t respond. He counted 21 people ringing him.
“Stuck-up little shit, isn’t he?” Gar stated.
The woman named Fab chuckled. “I bet I could melt him down a peg or two.”
Gar sighed. “So do I. But I repeat: We are taking him directly to Tiger.”
Fab looked at Gar, pretending to pout. “You’re no fun sometimes, do you know that, dear brother?”
“I’m only doing what’s best for us,” Gar said.
Fab giggled. “Best for you, maybe.”
“I’m not going to antagonize Tiger just because you’ve got the hots for some moron in black pajamas,” Gar declared stiffly. He gazed at the man in black. “Okay, fella. Drop that fancy sword of yours.”
Rikki did not move.
“Are you deaf?” Gar demanded. He wagged the shotgun. “There is no way you could reach us before we blow you in half. So be a good little boy and drop the sword. I won’t tell you again.”
Rikki hesitated, reluctant to relinquish his prized katana. He was an astute judge of character, and he knew this Gar would kill him without waivering if he didn’t comply. Obeying, temporarily, was his only option if he hoped to survive and return to Yama. He slowly lowered the katana to the sidewalk.
“Now that’s a smart boy,” Gar said mockingly.
“Put your hands on your head, handsome,” Fab instructed the Warrior.
Rikki did as he was told, hoping for an opening. If they would just move in a bit closer…
“Strip,” Gar commanded.
Rikki looked at Gar.
“I said strip,” Gar repeated. “Take off your clothes.”
“Don’t be shy,” Fab said. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”
Gar glanced at his sister. “Don’t you have any modesty?”
Fab shook her head, her long white hair swaying. “Nope. Modesty is for losers. I’m not a loser.”
Gar studied the guy in the pajamas, who hadn’t budged. “Strip, asshole.”
“Make up your minds,” Rikki finally spoke up.
Gar did a double take. “Whoa! He can talk! What the hell do you mean, make up our minds?”
“You tell me to remove my clothing, and she tells me to put my hands on my head. I can’t do both,” Rikki noted.
Gar frowned. “A smart ass, sis. We’ve got a smart ass on our hands.”
His tone hardened. “When I tell you to take off your clothes, mister, you damn well better take them off. Now!”
Rikki began removing his backpack and his black shirt.
“Oh, goody!” Fab said, smirking. “A strip show!”
Gar gazed at his sister in disapproval. “Geez! What a nympho.”
“Tiger doesn’t mind the way I am,” Fab retorted.
“Tiger will hump any…” Gar began, then quickly caught himself.
“What was that?” Fab snapped.
“Nothing,” Gar said. “Forget it.”
“I don’t know as I like your attitude sometimes,” Fab commented.
“The feeling is mutual,” Gar rejoined.
Rikki dropped his shirt to the pavement, then raised one leg at a time and took off his shoes.
“Now the baggy pants,” Gar directed.
Rikki slowly peeled off his pants. He was naked underneath.
“Not bad, handsome,” Fab said appreciatively. “You’re well-hung for a little guy.”
Gar scrutinized the pile of clothing and other items on the sidewalk.
“What’s in the backpack?” he asked.
“Rations,” Rikki answered.
“What kind of rations?” Gar wanted to know.
“Venison jerky,” Rikki replied. “A canteen filled with water. The herbs for my tea. A tiny cup. And hardtack.”
“What’s hardtack?” Gar queried. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Hard biscuits,” Rikki explained.
“Well, we’ll confirm that in a bit,” Gar said. He nodded at the pile.
“What’s in that pouch on your belt? More rations?”
“No,” Rikki admitted.
“Then what?” Gar asked.
“Clips for my automatic rifle, a shuriken, and a kyoketsu-shogei,” Rikki revealed.
“Shuri-what?” Gar questioned. “And what was that last thing?”
“They are weapons,” Rikki said, simplifying his response.
“Oh, really?” Gar pointed his shotgun barrel at the clothes. “You can get dressed, but leave the backpack, pouch, and scabbard on the ground. And no funny stuff.”
Rikki donned his shirt, pants, and shoes. He removed the pouch and scabbard from his belt, then looped the belt around his waist.
The woman was scanning the street. “We’d best haul butt, Gar. The crabs are out again, you know.”
“That fucking Manta!” Gar stated angrily. “I can’t wait for the day when his own damn crabs turn on him and rip him to shreds.”
“Never happen,” Fab said.
“You wait and see,” Gar declared.
“What’s your name, cutey?” Fab asked the Warrior.
“Rikki.”
“Well, Ritchie,” Fab began.
“Not Ritchie,” Rikki corrected her. “Rikki. As in Rikki-Tikki-Tavi.”
“For real?” Fab inquired.
“For real,” Rikki confirmed.
“Never knew anyone with that name,” Fab mentioned, smiling. “It’s original. My name is Fabiana, but everyone calls me Fab.”
“What is this?” Gar interjected stiffly. “The social hour? This clown is our prisoner, sis. Quit being so nice to him.”
“Don’t push me,” Fabiana said.
Gar sighed and looked at the ring of men and women. “We’re taking him to Tiger,” he announced. “Tom and Earl, you take the point. And keep your eyes peeled. Mania’s pets are out again.”
A pair of men with rifles headed to the southeast.
Gar motioned with his shotgun. “Let’s go, little man.”
“What about my katana?” Rikki inquired.
“Your what?”
“My katana,” Rikki said, indicating the weapon bestowed on him by the Family Elders in honor of his martial arts prowess.
“That fancy sword?” Gar stated. “Don’t worry. We won’t leave it behind.” He raised his voice. “Buck! Stick this guy’s sword in the scabbard and bring it! The pouch and the backpack too. Simms! You find that rifle he dropped.” He looked at the Warrior. “Satisfied?”
“Yes,” Rikki said. “I would not leave without my katana.”
“Who cares about a lousy sword?” Gar queried, then laughed. “Where you’re going, that sword will be the least of your worries!”