by John Oakes
"Where is Kazuko?" He placed his hands on his hips. "Kazuko!" he called out in a deep growl.
The crowd parted, revealing Kazuko, seated at a wooden table, looking around somewhat confused. Joe Whitlock strode over to Kazuko who was being patted on the back excitedly by the translator with the bad haircut.
"Kazuko! Stand up. I ain't never shot a man while he's sitting down, but I'm willing to make an exception."
Kazuko stood with the table between them.
"Kazuko. You and I got beef. This town just ain't big enough for the both of us. Now are you man enough to meet me outside?"
Bad Haircut whispered in Kazuko's ear.
"I accept," Kazuko said heavily, trying to suppress a smile.
Texas Joe Whitlock spat on the floor again. That was a grave insult in any culture, but it was part of the drama. He turned on his heel and strode out of the saloon to the boos of the audience.
Two attendants stopped serving tables and pulled Kazuko into a side room behind the bar.
"This is my favorite part," Cody said to Gabriela, who stood behind the bar on the raised platform. She was the first hire they'd made at their recruitment fair in Houston. She'd worked in hotels all her adult life and now was the unofficial manager of housekeeping. She wiped down the bar and cracked him a new beer. Cody accepted it. "You don't have to get me drunk to ask for a raise."
"I was going to wait 'til I'd worked here six months before I got you drunk and asked for a raise."
"Seems reasonable. But, I might like you less by then. Best come up to the admin suite tomorrow and accept your promotion to manager."
"What?" She jumped off the platform behind the bar and ran around and gave him a hug. "Wait. You can decide that without Winton?"
"Hey, missy, I make decisions here too. Did stupid Winton build this place with his bare hands? Did Winton pick out the bitchin' new sound system for the staff dorm?"
"Am I getting a raise with my promotion, then?"
"I think so, but you probably need to talk to Winton about that."
They shared a laugh at Cody's expense. Then, Gabriela walked back around the bar, and up onto the raised platform.
"You being the birthday boy and all, why don't they let you be the shooter?"
"It's more fun to watch." Cody tipped his beer back. "These guys love this gunslinger shit. It's like if someone let me fight an orc with a Dwarfish blade."
Kazuko reappeared three minutes later, decked out head-to-toe, looking like an Asian John Wayne.
And Kazuko knew it.
What amazed Cody most was how well everyone played his or her part, even those who'd been surprised by the farce. You put people in the right threads, in the right scene and something in them was desperate to get outside of themselves and embrace the fantasy.
Kazuko owned his character like no one had before. He pointed to his chest and yelled something to the crowd in the saloon. They yelled back in unison. Kazuko stepped forward through the crowd, which parted for him reverently. Small bows snuck their way into the quasi-historical reenactment.
When Tex had originally suggested the western theme for the resort, Cody had balked, not wanting to do something so unoriginally Texan.
"It makes sense. It's the bushido culture," Winton had explained, back in December, in full agreement with Tex. "The gunslinger of the Old West brought order, justice and good into an often lawless landscape. They operated on something akin to bushido, the ethical code of the samurai. Kind of like Jedi's minus the force." Way back on that day, months ago, Cody had listened to Winton give a detailed description of what he envisioned. Cody had finally understood it, and then was pitching in details right and left. Today, the best birthday present he could think of was watching Kazuko's duel, a duel he'd dreamed up months ago.
Cody couldn't take his eyes from Kazuko's face. The slight playfulness was gone from the wrinkles around his eyes. The lower lip jutted upward. It was like a beautifully wrought piece of art, a mask. Maybe being a leader didn't mean being the best or smartest. Maybe leaders were just the best at wearing the masks that made everyone around them act like the finest versions of themselves.
Someone slapped Cody's ass. He turned his head.
"Happy birthday, Chief," Winton said. "Now, I owe you 28 more of those. I see I made it just in time for the fireworks."
Cody shook Winton's hand.
Winton had made Cody watch 7 Samurai, calling it one of the greatest achievements in cinematic history. Cody had found it stark and hauntingly beautiful, but the movie was four goddam hours long. He saw Winton's point though. There were numerous similarities to the themes and characters of the old spaghetti westerns. Cody could almost see Clint Eastwood wearing a gown, pulling his hair into a tight bun, and slashing motherfuckers up right and left with a samurai sword.
Kazuko stepped forward in a ceremonial gait, like he was walking a daughter down the aisle. He left through the double doors and stepped down into the dusty street that Cody and Raul had carefully stripped of all vegetation. There were horses tied to posts and water troughs. Tumbleweeds blew across a row of fake storefronts on the other side of the street. Kazuko strode out to the middle of the street and took his mark twenty yards from Texas Joe Whitlock, known in some circles as Jonathan, formerly of Medieval Adventure. He threw his coat back behind his pistol and splayed a hand in front of his hip holster.
Kazuko mimicked him.
The spectators who had not found a spot by the windows inside, finished pouring out of the saloon onto its porch. Whitlock and Kazuko held each other's stares for a long time, almost too long, and then, all of a sudden, Whitlock reached back for his pistol. Kazuko sprang his own hand back to his holster and whipped his gun from it.
Two loud bangs rang out simultaneously and clouds of gun smoke moved off in the same direction, hovering low over the dry earth. When they cleared the scene, Texas Joe Whitlock lay dead on the ground, a red stain spreading underneath a smoking hole in his breast pocket. Kazuko holstered his pistol and walked somberly back to the steps of the saloon.
A small woman in a bonnet ran up to Kazuko hands clasped and said with desperate joy, "Oh, thank you Kazuko! You saved our town!"
Kazuko just reached up and silently tipped the brim of his hat in her direction.
The whole crowd erupted in cheers in a mix of English and Japanese. As the throng moved back inside the saloon, two actors wearing black suits and hats ran up to Texas Joe and placed him on a stretcher. His arm dangled limply over the side as they ran out of sight with his remains. Texas Joe Whitlock was dead and gone, at least for today.
But for the reasonable sum of $200, Blackie Johnson, Gordon Bear Claw Holmes or Ace McCullough could happen to take a disliking to any of the guests and call them out into the street. When it was over, you got sepia-toned still photos of the moment where you two drew down on each other, taken by a camera hidden in a fake storefront. Photo packages started at $39.95 and worked their way up to a framed 18x48" panorama shot.
The general store next to the saloon threw its doors open and many of the guests funneled their way inside. The store had variety of western gear for sale, including spurs, chaps, lassoes, the whole hog. The store and the high noon show were set to do a booming trade today.
Cody and Winton kicked back in the saloon with a man named Takanori who spoke excellent English. He was giving travel tips about Japan to Winton, when Mr. Kazuko came up followed by his young translator with the wild hair, who Cody thought of as "Bad Haircut." Mr. Kazuko put two shot glasses on the table in front of Cody, paying the other two seated men no mind. He picked one up and handed it to Cody with both hands. Cody accepted it with both hands, respectfully.
At moments like this when he did the proper thing cross-culturally, he felt a disproportionate sense of pride, like at any moment someone was about to burst in and offer him the Nobel Peace Prize for his contribution to mankind.
Bad Haircut, the translator, handed Mr. Kazuko a bottle of amber liquid. Kazuko
poured for Cody, then for himself and set the bottle on the table. Cody saw that it was 18 years old with an unpronounceable Scottish name. So, it must be good.
He thanked Mr. Kazuko with a seated bow and an, "Arigato, Kazuko-san." The word arigato represented 1/3 of Cody's grasp of the Japanese language, but it was a start. They saluted each other, whooped a Kanpai! and tossed back the oaky, fiery, gorgeous scotch. Shooting it was an insult to the craftsmanship that went into it, and yet conversely, the wastefulness was a compliment to the birthday boy.
Yin and yang.
Mr. Kazuko did not walk off right away. Instead, he placed an iron hand on Cody's shoulder. Despite Kazuko's advanced years, Cody was certain the well built man could tear a limb from Cody's body and beat him senseless with it. In his serious baritone, Kazuko spoke to Cody firmly, bobbing his head with each stressed phrase. Bad Haircut translated, or tried to at least.
"Mr. Kazuko wishes you to continue with good business practice, with a good fortune and for you must have a good...problem, have a good problem and be gift by father, to...be the beautiful man. To be the beautiful boy to be the beautiful man, into the, the, the future of his country and to you. Mr. Kazuko say blessings and you are...very handsome."
Very handsome?
Cody wasn't sure if Bad Haircut was just an exceptionally bad translator or if he had just been hit on by a very powerful Japanese businessman. If he made the wrong move here, he might end up obligated by Japanese custom to travel back to Japan with Kazuko and make man-love to him. Cody relied on their similarity in manners, hoping it would bridge the language and culture gap. He gave Kuzuko a number of arigatos, even a domo arigato, completely exhausting his Japanese, and having to actively prevent himself from adding, Mr. Robot-o. It seemed to work well enough, and Kazuko left smiling.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Midget Island 3000
Winton walked Cody out of the saloon, back to the main hall.
"I see you're making friends," Winton said, referring to Mr. Kazuko's odd benediction.
"Shut up."
"I'm sure it was just lost in translation," Winton assured him, "you handsome hunk of man bait."
"Fuck off," Cody said with a smile.
"You know, we sort of had a thing planned for you at like 4pm."
"I came in from the pond on the fairway of hole 5 around 1:30, and they ambushed me."
"Cody Latour. 'Man of the People.' Ah well, like I said, you're a popular guy. Word musta gotten around." Winton reached into a pocket and handed him a small, hard package, wrapped with a bow.
"Here you go pal. Happy birthday."
Cody stopped. "Ah, you didn't have to...Can I?" Cody waggled the gift.
"Yeah, open it right now. That's part of the gift."
Cody unwrapped a packet of blue Bicycle playing cards. He looked them over puzzled and then broke the seal and opened them. They were everyday playing cards.
"Take a seat," Winton said. He motioned to the picnic tables behind the main house. "Take them out."
Winton showed Cody three card tricks, all of which amazed him. The real gift, Winton explained, was that he was going to teach them all to Cody. Cody lit up at the suggestion and gave Winton his full attention. By the end of their short session, Cody knew three tricks that were devilishly simple, but had a stunning effect on the viewer.
It was one of the coolest gifts he had ever been given.
Ricky and Jason showed up together, soon after.
"Hey, Hoss, I thought it started at 4! Are we late?" Jason looked worried. Ricky just smoked.
"No man, someone must have let it slip to one of the guests. They started in on me early."
Big Tex strode up from behind them. He carried a long package under his girthy arm.
Tex shook Cody's hand like a Rottweiler playing with a squeaky toy. He clapped him on the back and then extended the long package to Cody.
"Careful now. Don't drop it."
Cody carried the gift to a nearby table and began tearing apart the wrapping paper. Cody saw an unmarked cardboard box. He found its edges and began prying them up, tearing away large brass staples. Cody finally opened it to reveal a long, black, hard plastic case. Cody popped open the clasps and opened it.
"Oh my," Jason said.
Ricky whistled.
Cody laid two fingers on the most beautiful shotgun he had ever seen. Its stock was made of burnished mahogany that met the matte black barrel with a ventilated rib running along the sight line.
"Ain't she a beaut'!" Tex cried.
Cody lifted the shotgun from its case and felt its perfect balance. He shouldered the weapon and marveled at how it felt in his hands as he swept it from treetop to treetop. It was just a bit on the heavy side, which Cody liked, as it would diminish some of the recoil. Cody was no great hunter or marksman, but he grew up shooting with his grampa. He didn't remember telling Tex that, but Tex's job was to charm, and charmed Cody was.
"It's an automatic?"
"That's right, but never you worry. This model, American-made, mind you, shoots like a charm. My brother had one and was raving about it."
"Wow," Cody said, looking down at the beautiful instrument. "Tex, this is too much, man. It's gorgeous."
"Aw hell. No such thing as too much. Not for a fine man such as yourself. Now what are you 29? Or 109? Let's live a little. Somebody find Big Tex a big tipper with ice in it."
"We gotta go into town and get some 12-gauge shells!" Jason said excitedly. "I want a crack at that thing."
Big Tex heard him and turned, halting his search for a drink.
"Hell, boy. You think I'd bring the ribs without the sauce?" He threw the keys to his Cadillac to Jason. "Shells are in the Cadillac."
If Cody felt enamored with the thrill of blasting away at cans with a 12-gauge shotgun, then the Japanese guests were absolutely bewitched. Some showed no interest, but most at least wanted to watch. Most had never even seen a firearm in real life, so holding a shotgun must have felt for them like it would feel for Cody to hold a boa constrictor. You know it probably won't kill you, but still, you've only seen them on TV and movies, and you can feel its foreign power.
The few who were brave enough to shoot it came away reeling with pain and shock at the wallop the shotgun's recoil packed. This only made the other spectators laugh harder. Kazuko and a couple of others took turns and actually hit their targets periodically. These few refused to flinch out of pride when the shotgun slammed into their shoulder. In either case, the scene was sure to live on in posterity due to the sheer number of pictures taken.
************
Breakfast the next morning was served buffet style as usual. This was largely perfected by this point in their venture, but in the process of deciphering how to combine American food with a Japanese palate, Cody had been surprised at what got their engines fired up. Some things were unsurprising, like booze or pork products. And everyone knew the Japanese loved rice, but they even wanted it served with breakfast. One morning, a man had poured a Coke into a bowl of rice and ate it like cereal.
The Japanese also loved corn, especially from a can. They had tried corn on the cob a couple different ways. But nope. Sweet corn from the can was what they wanted. They loved it. They would sprinkle it on hotdogs, on chili, even on eggs. That was the key in the end, Cody and the kitchen staff had found, to give them distinctly American foods, but let them do whatever they willed with it. This was the appeal of the buffet system.
"Hey boss! We are out of mayo!"
Cody turned to look down at the man speaking from the doorway of the dining hall. Cody took a couple of steps closer to him.
"Again George? I brought back 10 gallons from Houston last week!"
"Well they went through it already." George held his hands out, palms up.
George, along with a gal Cody's age named Cora, ran the kitchen when Jean Baptiste wasn't there. He was an older gentleman with a large nose and fat lips, grey hair and kind eyes. His long ponytail and visible tat
toos betrayed the fact that George had learned to cook in prison. Despite George's checkered past, Cody trusted him, and certainly believed him about the mayo shortage. It was uncanny, though.
"How the hell do these guys stay so thin, George?" Cody whispered. "Do they just eat mayo like there's no tomorrow?"
"You got me boss. They must, unless Diego and the grounds crew are using it to paint the exteriors. I woulda told you earlier, but there was a mix up. Cora thought the five gallon bucket we were using was the first one of the two."
"Alright." Cody thought for a moment. "Good thing we're within spitting distance of Houston: The one town where finding mayonnaise in large quantities shouldn't be a problem, even on Sunday. Is there any more stuff we need?"
"I'm sure I could assemble a list of useful supplies with Winton or Diego."
"Thanks George. Do that, and I'll have the supplies tonight sometime, even if I have to go myself."
"Hey, just a thought, but maybe while you're out you should buy a couple shotguns at CheapValue or something. Those guys loved that stuff. Part of our Texan mystique." George laughed in his raspy chain-smoking manner.
"That ain't a bad idea George, as long as we can think up a way to avoid someone getting an arm blown off in the process."
"Well, I'll leave higher-order problems like that to management. I'll have that list to you right quick. And Happy Birthday Cody. How old are you?"
"29."
"Ahh pssh." George waved a hand. "You're a young buck yet. Have fun before your prostate gets to the size of a softball and you accidentally sit on your saggy balls."
"George, I can't believe we let you work with food."
George laughed in parting. He shuffled off and yelled back, "Wait 'til' I tell you what happens to your pecker!"
Apart from Cody's administrative duties, he tried to emulate Big Tex and focus on showing the guests a good time. This was usually easy, because the Japanese guests seemed to like him for some inexplicable reason.