Fun and Thieving in Las Vegas

"Shit. Hang on, we're in for some rough-riding here." Nessa floors
it and we take the washboard road at a teeth-jarring 90 mph. But the copter is
gaining on us easily, and there's no useful cover out here. I do a quick mental
inventory of the remaining toys I've got with me and realize I don't have
anything studly enough to immediately do in an assault copter. I see from the
set of Jigen's jaw that he's done a similar assessment. Okay, time to start
thinking creative ...

And then I look way far down the road, see a familiar figure in white and
gray, and realize my luck -- and the exquisite Zen timing of Ishikawa Goemon
XIII -- have saved my ass once again.

"Who the fuck is that?" says Nessa.

"He's one of ours, kid." Jigen grins. "Just floor it right by
him."

"And then keep an eye on your rear-view mirror," I add,
"'cause you don't want to miss this show."

He stands there by the side of the road, still as a statue, eyes closed, the
legendary blade at rest in its unadorned scabbard, his long hair and the full
skirts of his hakama waving gently in the breeze, seemingly oblivious to us or
our car or the helicopter or the bullets it's spewing or anything else around
him. But Jigen and I both know this is nothing more than the meditative calm
before the lightning storm.

Just as we roar past him, his eyes snap open, fixated on the 'copter as if
it's some ancestral nemesis.

And then, with a kiai more torn from his throat than shouted, he's
airborne -- leaping effortlessly from a standing start to a point just under
the belly of the 'copter, where he hangs, defying gravity, for a miraculously
long time. All that can be seen of the actual draw and strike are flashes of
light ... and then he's descending, the helicopter seemingly unscathed. It's
not until he's earthbound again, and Zantetsuken has slid back home into its
scabbard with a click of hilt against sheath, that the helicopter groans and
slides apart into two halves like a ripe melon. Rotors whine, gas lines
explode, and several tons of twisted metal fall out of the sky, strewing the
ground with burning gore-spattered scrap.

Goemon crouches where he landed for a few more moments, eyes once again
closed, returning to that state of meditative presence that allows him to wield
the all-slicing blade with such insane skill. Then he rises and runs to where
Nessa has pulled the car over ...

And stops a good several feet away, blushing like a stoplight. Good ol'
Goemon. Doesn't even bat an eye at a fully loaded Blackhawk, but a carful of
women terrifies the living shit out of him.

"Aw c'mon, Goemon-chan," I say, leaping out of the car to
cajole him on neutral territory. "The girls totally promise not to bite.
Don't you, girls?"

"Hell, I only bite when asked," laughs Nessa. Lola shushes her as
Goemon blushes even more deeply.

"Ishikawa Goemon-sama." Lola leans out the window, speaking
with the regal graciousness only a belle of the American Southeast can pull
off. "I thank you for your gallant rescue, and would be honored if you
would ride with us and accept hospitality at our humble safehouse. And Nessa
here promises to be a good girl and keep her smart-ass comments to herself on
the ride over. Don't you, Nessa?" She gives Nessa a significant look.

"Yes ma'am," says Nessa with mock schoolgirl contriteness. Now
it's me who can't restrain myself from a fit of giggles. Goemon ignores it;
he's used to such goofiness out of me by now.

He turns to face Lola and gives her a stiffly formal bow. "I
accept," he grunts. I'm impressed -- that's the most verbiage I've heard a
female stranger get out of Goemon in some time.

Nonetheless, I make sure to put myself between Lola and Goemon in the back
seat. "Awwww, mom," I crow as Nessa puts Da Bitch in gear, "how
come I always have to ride in the middle?"

Jigen snorts. "Now children, don't make us have to pull this car
over."

"Yes, dad." I put my right arm around Lola and cuddle her up
against me; she settles her head into the hollow of my shoulder with an amused
smile. To my left I feel rather than hear Goemon let out a little sigh. He has
closed his eyes and dropped back into meditation mode again, Zantetsuken
cradled against his left shoulder, but there's still a little tinge of blush
attempting to fight its way across his face. Okay, okay, Goemon-chan,
I'll try to keep it in my pants until we reach our destination. But after that,
all bets (and hopefully clothes) are off, man.

************************

We drive up into the mountains forming the western boundary of the Las Vegas
Valley. As we climb away from the desert floor up the two-lane switchbacked
road, we transition into a wetter, greener ecosystem -- the fragrance of pinon
pine envelopes the car, night birds and bats flit through the star-packed sky,
and in the still wilderness night you can hear the faint chatter of a running
stream.

Nessa finally turns off the main road into a gravel drive, that rolls
through pinon groves until it brings us to a small fenced compound. Inside is a
classic American double-wide mobile home, a big old Quonsett hut, a rather
ramshackle barn, and a horse paddock. Damn, I haven't ridden in forever, I
think with a sudden pang of yearning.

"Here you are, man, trailer park chic at its finest." Nessa pulls
up in front of the double-wide.

"Hey, at least you don't have any wheelless cars up on cinder blocks in
the front yard." I mug at her.  Yes, I know, I'm so incorrigible --
I'm already on a hot trajectory with one woman and I still can't resist
flirting with my buddy's date.

"Dawlin', if you'd have come by our yard six months ago you'd have seen
one of those for sure." It's now my turn to get The Look from Lola. Whoa.
Um. Definitely feel my leash being yanked here ... and wow, it definitely feels
gooooood. Yes ma'am, anything you say. I be a good boy now. Can I have my treat
soon?

We troop on into the mobile, and have ourselves a few drinks to unwind --
even Goemon consents to partake when Lola, with a wry smile, produces a bottle
of sake from her refrigerator. (Hmmm ... not the kind of booze you'd normally
expect in an American household. Another coincidence? File that thought for now
...)

But as the hour grows later our chaste samurai bids us a typically stiff good
night and goes off to sleep in the barn. Ah, Goemon. Much prefering the restful
sounds of sleeping horses to the steamy sounds of love I for one intend to
start making in very short order.