Giant Steps

Zulime was relaxed. Usually when she was putting on a show, there was a certain tightness within her, a tension that demanded she perform to the best of her abilities. There was some of that now. But for the most part, she was in control. She looked up from her piano and scanned the room. Her set had just started, and people were filtering in from the bar to fill up the lunge. She did not expect for every seat to be filled, not by any stretch of the imagination. It was a Sunday crowd. These were people who were not coming to be seen, but the true diehards. They were dressed nicely, but Zulime thought that many of them wore something nice every day of their lives.

Zulime, for her part, was wearing something rather becoming as well. The dress was short, a shimmering and red thing, barely extending over the parts she ought not show. She thought that the dress was not intended to show a lot of cleavage, but a woman of Zulime's bust would have a hard time maintaining any sort of decency in such a small dress. Not that Zulime really wanted to, anyways. The Riverboat Queen was showing a lot of skin all the way down to her feet, as her gold heels barely covered anything. They were quite tall and a lesser woman would have trouble walking in them, but Zulime was very proud of the fact that she wore heels around that size when she was tasked with working as a foodrunner on the rocking and rolling riverboat and delivered an entire evening's worth of drink orders and food without spilling a single drop nor a single morsel of food. So working the pedals of the piano now was nothing short of child's play.

She looked over at the drummer. Sitting at the kit was an older Japanese man, who was currently lost in the reverie of the cymbals chiming out over the average audience. He was a nice enough guy and a decent drummer, but tended to get overinvolved with a particular run and didn't know when to wrap things up. Zulime kept plucking along as tried to keep up with the gray haired old man, even as she tried to make eye contact and get his attention. When he turned back to his snares, she managed to catch his eye. Her arched eyebrows were enough to let her drummer know that she was ready to hit the grand finale.

The drummer slammed the drums a little too loudly for Zulime's refined tastes as the Cajun girl built tension wonderfully with a big crescendo, only to let it all dissipate as she resolved all the chords. Her hands rose from the piano to flip the paper in the music stand. A few people in the audience lacked the tact or experience that insisted that they not clap when Zulime was done, but Zulime found the grace to give a bashful smile. She was in a fairly good mood after all, and it would simply not suffice to be merciless for the rest of her life.

As she started up her next song, a slow rumination of a jazz tune, she thought that it was what she needed. The Riverboat Queen went out and won bigtime at a PPV. Not only did she win, but she won with a certain ease and a certain style that got her a lot of attention and probably pissed Pierre right off. That was the whole goal, as he came into where she was training and saw it fit to lay his grubby paws on her chest. Zulime had gotten her revenge. She had gotten her revenge ten times over, and she was quite confident that the match they had was something that Pierre would never forget.

Just as she was quite confident in the fact that it would be nice if they had a saxophonist right about now. While she had come across a lot of talented musicians in her time in Japan, none of them were willing to play Sunday nights for mediocre pay. The owners of the club knew that this was not their most popular night, not by far, and were not willing to shell out that much for music. For Zulime, this was not a venture where she expected to make a lot of money. If she had to she probably would have paid the owners for the right to play, such was the joy that she got from playing in front of people especially because she more or less had a guaranteed spot on Sunday nights. The crowd watched on in an appreciative silence, the only noise coming from them being someone taking a drag from a cigarette or ices clanking in glasses.

She wondered how many of these people watched her match against Pierre. When she walked by one of the newsstands on the way here, she saw that there was a story about her match in one of the wrestling magazines. The Riverboat Queen's was not on the cover, which was a shame, but it was nice to have something there. A look of concern spread over her face as she heard the drummer slam against the drums slightly too enthusiastically.

But that tension was released when he brought the run to a close with a few thundering booms of the bass, something that brought the whole thing together quite nicely. Zulime smiled again, and started going on a solo. Her deft fingers were not on the level of the composer of the song, to be sure, but a few in the lounge perked up when she threw some interesting chords into the mix alongside flourishes with quick notes. She pumped one of the pedals with her feet. Zulime wondered if anyone would get the joke that she was telling through music, one that required a bit of baseline knowledge in what Zulime was doing only a week ago. It didn't really sound that good, but Zulime could not stop grinning.

“Look, man, I’d like to reiterate how dumb of an idea this is.”

Ichijo gave an annoying sigh as he kneeled behind his bike, making some small adjustments on the engine. The bike is the only thing that is keeping a jittery Keisuke from seeing how annoyed he was at the moment. “And I’d like to reiterate how little of a fuck I give, Baka.”

The two of them had been having the same variation of this argument for the past day or so. And the last thing he wanted is another remix, but it didn’t seem like he was going to get that today. Well, he hadn’t been getting a lot of things he wanted lately. The group of bikers, more known as Bosokozu, had been hanging around outside the jazz club for about fifteen or so minutes, hanging around in one of the darker, dirtier corners of the alley. The type that people tend to avoid. Unless if they were reasonably new or reasonably stupid. Which is good because that was what Ichijo needed. Someone to bust them before they would get the real party started would be a massive bummer. Especially as he brought the whole gang and his best lieutenants (more specifically his friends) in for a big break.

“You can’t tell me this whole thing looks suss, dude.” Keisuke leaned against his old Harley. He threw a quick glance to Ryuji, looking for support, but he was to busy fiddling on his phone while he straddled his chopper. No doubt chasing up after the ladies he pulled from the club last night. At the very least, he didn’t seem to care all that much about things either way. How typical of him. “So some rando just came to you, offered you to take out this dude-“

“Chick.” Ryuji was quick to throw that correction in. At least he was paying some attention.

“-chick, thanks Ryuji…and then what?”

Ichijo finally stood up enough to bring his arms over the seat of his bike and lean forward, slouching over while he stared Keisuke’s way. “What do you mean ‘and then what’?” He waved the wrench his way. “This isn’t some complicated, convoluted deal. You’re making it complicated.”

Japanese motorcycle gangs have wreaked havoc since the 1970s. Known as Bosozuku, these gangs have a violent history, raging war against rival crews and cops. Gang members roamed the highways, sometimes hundreds at a time, with an array of brutal weaponry, customized bikes, and distinct crew jumpsuits. Being part of one of these motorcycle gangs was a frantic lifestyle, one that could easily lead to grievous bodily harm, and death. In recent years, with strict laws and police cracking down, Bosozoku has become nearly extinct. Yet for those who were a part of the subculture during its heyday, Bosozoku provides a fond memory of the recklessness of youth. Something this plucky game wishes to replicate. At least Ichijo.


Keisuke just groaned and threw his head back. “I’m just trying to make sense of this. Someone has to think beyond steps one and two, dude.”

“I am, man. Shit.” Ichijo sighed, a long, drawn-out groan of a noise that almost drew attention to the bustling crowd. “We’re here to get respect, right? We’re here to make noise. But if we want that to happen, then we gotta start making examples. The head honchos won’t give us the recognition, so we’re taking things into our own hands.” Ichijo stood up and swung his leg over the seat, sitting on his bike proper. “We’re just taking the initiative. We leave this broad crying for her mommy, tag her, and people know they can’t fuck with us. And that is just a fast track to give us some sway.”
“Or it could just give us the kind of enemies we don’t want.” Keisuke crossed his arms, giving a judging look that irritated Ichijo sometimes. If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn it was an imitation the way his own mother used to look. “She could be connected. Shit, it’s like Gramps used to say- “

“Get my diapers?”

Keisuke just acknowledged Ryuji’s second interruption with a middle finger. “If you kick the beehive, you have to deal with whatever comes out. The honey and the stingers.”

“Look, man, I got this covered. I asked the guy what kind of mark we’re dealing with, and she isn’t a part of a gang at all. In fact, it’s some foreigner!” Ichigo straightened up, hands on his hips, the wrench tapping on his thigh. “I made sure we know what we are dealing with. She’s harmless and certainly can’t take on all of us. We go in, do our thing, make a splash, and we bounce. Then we get the money, and we’ll be set for life.” Ichijo hopped off the bike and walked up to Keisuke, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You can at least, trust me. Right dude?”

Truth be told, that was the extent of the information Ichijo gotten from that guy. He doesn’t really know what she looks like, other than the clue ‘she’ll stand out from the rest, and she plays the piano.’ But he wasn’t going to let his friend get cold feet and bail. It was of utmost importance to protect the reputation of the gang. And more importantly, never run from a fight, even if you’re outnumbered. Much as he hates to admit it, he needs him. He needs the numbers to make sure this goes smoothly.

“Right dude.” Keisuke sighed. “But if this goes tits up, then it’s your fault.”

“Not that it will.” Ichijo rolled his eyes, but they both gave a good handshake. He heard the booming bass end and the piano starting to do its thing. “Might as well be our cue. Ready, boys?” The two lieutenants hopped off their bikes and got their own weapons in hand. Ryuji with a heavy chain and Keisuke with a pipe. “Ready boss.” The gang made their way towards the entrance Ichijo making a nod to a big, burly man who would make his way to the door. A hard kick blasted the doors wide before everyone went wild, charging in. Some didn’t waste time causing a ruckus, a few chasing some of the audience out, some taking out the security while a few made their way to the bar. Some have their own priorities. Ichijo twirls his butterfly knife in one hand while his eyes scanned around the room. “Now why is there a massive party, and you didn’t invite us? I feel hurt. Well, now that we’re here, the real party can start!” Ryuji yelled out to the crowd, standing on a table as he picks up someone’s shot of brandy before throwing at it straight at a middle-aged, bald jazz fan. Ichijo’s eyes finally found who he’s looking for. “Hey, you. Gaijin.” He said with a sneer as he pointed the blade at Zulime’s direction. “Just the one we want to see. How about you do as we say and we don’t cause more damage to this fine establishment?”

Zulime heard the banging on the drum. Her drummer would go too hard from time to time, but she thought that this was taking the cake. The loud bang she heard wasn't even really at an appropriate time, or even an interesting time. And to make things even stranger, it didn't sound like it was coming from he drum kit, but from the door. Then came more noises, and as Zulime looked up, she saw that the situation had changed. The lovely Sunday evening that she thought that she was going to have for herself had been rudely interrupted by a bunch of baddies causing a brouhaha. Zulime stopped playing after she resolved the chord, and sat up.

One of them called her out. She had heard that the yakuza was in Tokyo, and was not naive enough to expect that she would never see their handiwork. But she didn't expect to see it so up close and personal. As she watched the men carry on with their dirty business, she saw that they were not her image of yakuza, with their nice suits and their slicked back hair. These guys were different in a way that Zulime could not entirely put her finger on why. Fascinated, she watched the carnage play out for a bit. She winced as one of the regulars was decked with a shot of nice brandy. A waste, she thought. Zulime would play his favorite song for him later, once this all blew over. The percussion petered out in a cavalcade of mistimed notes.

The man who she assumed to be the leader spoke to her. The Riverboat Queen had no tolerance for being threatened, lest of all by someone who came to her second home. This may as well have been her church, and they were not respecting it. Worse, they were making a mockery of it. The Cajun girl stood up and at the front of the stage. Inside, she was boiling with anger, but the situation and her upbringing dictated that she would not show it. After all, she was at center stage now. Even if she wanted to, every fiber of her being, every well-honed instinct she had would have carved that worried look right back into the easy smile she had on her face right now.

"So, boys, glad you came out tonight." She shook her hair from her eyes. "But ain't it just a shame you don't know how to listen for five minutes. Might calm you down. And heaven knows you need that..." Zulime's New Orleans drawl was loud and clear. Stage voice came as natural to her as the music that she was just playing. "So if you pay for the man's drink, and say you're sorry for causing a ruckus, you get to leave without this getting ugly." She knew that she was threatening more than one person. But with her arms crossed, she stood tall. "And you really don't want this to get ugly," she threatened.

They wouldn’t be surprised if people thought that this would be the Yakuza, but these gangs are much more different than that. One of the people in the audience would have picked up on that one clue, being how they are dressed and behaving. Zulime might not know about the Bosokuzu and how they operate, but the Riverboat Queen should be glad to see one in action. A resurgence of a gang was long forgotten. The music has long since petered out, and all that would be heard would be pandemonium and carnage, courtesy of the upstart group. Ichijo soon found that this was much fun, but he also has a vision in mind. To see the Bosokuzu remerge from the ashes like a phoenix. And they would spearhead the resurrection.

At that very moment, Ichijo felt very powerful as he pointed the blade towards Zulime, who stood on top of the stage. She may have the high ground, but it would be apparent on who was in charge of things here. Things were going his way. They always do. So, he was amused when Zulime clapped back with her response. He didn’t really let Zulime finish when he suddenly started to laugh at the Louisiana native. Not an uncontrollable laughter at first, that was saved for later when she would give a threat. One that was batted away like when Bill Mazeroski hit a walk-off home run in the 1960 World Series. The blade would lower down and not rudely point at Zulime, but not for the reason of standing down and paying heed to her threat.

“このひよこを信じられますか？” Ichijo winked at his two lieutenants and his cronies. “Sorry, gajin. Very funny. You also comedian?” The leader spoke his English to Zulime, almost taunting her with the typical broken speech that most Japanese people do when first going into the language. “Oh, we did listen, lady. Very soothing. And it definitely did calm down this wimp.” Keisuke turned round to flip a middle finger to his buddy. Ichijo only responded with a chuckle. “Don’t mind him, he’s just nervous meeting celebrity. He actually wanted your autograph.” “Fuck off,” Keisuke growled as he walked towards the leader, metal pipe resting on his shoulder. “Remember what we came here for.” “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ichijo grumbled, rolling his neck side to side. “Well get this broad down here so that we could get this over with.” Ichijo handed Keisuke a pair of handcuffs or slightly thumped his fist on his chest that made Keisuke grunt. Narrowing his eyes at him, he takes the cuffs from Ichijo and makes his way up to the stage. “Maybe if you ask her nicely, you’ll get that autograph outta her,” Keisuke grumbled at Ichijo’s remark.

Despite the height, there is between the floor and the stage, Keisuke used his hands to prop his body up onto the stage floor, climbing up with ease. Once getting up to his feet, he brushed off his pants before coming close to the Riverboat Queen. “Don’t mind him, he’s an ass.” He muttered in a volume that would be out of Ichijo’s earshot while he takes Zulime’s hand.

Zulime didn't like laughter. Of all of the emotional output she could have gotten from any of her performances. She preferred awe when she was twirling her legs around on the stage in a dance. She preferred shock when she was in the middle of a circle in the backwoods, dancing her heart out to try and call the loa down. She preferred a sporting disappointment when she flipped her cards over on the blackjack table and revealed that she beat everyone there. Sure, she understood that there was a time and a place for that. Vaudeville wasn't her favorite part of theater, but music provided for a lot of natural timing that allowed her quick wit to flourish. She knew that clever banter as she was picking up orders at the bar would lead to tips just as much as her large chest would, and she was more than happy to put someone down if they were getting a bit too chirpy in the cocktail lounge.

But this was no laughing matter. She knew that her good looks could help bring people in, just as she knew that her big brown eyes could become a lot more narrow to give off the impression that she could kill someone. In all fairness, she probably could, and even through she was a wrestler she preferred not to solve her disputes through violence. She was a big girl, and big girls solved their problems with words. It looked like these guys were really not getting that. Zulime's own words, her words of intimidation, did not quite have the effect that she wanted them to have. The Riverboat Queen tilted her head to the side as she watched the interaction between the men. There were better uses for a pair of handcuffs then what the men surely had in mind, she thought. It was curious that they came here just for her. She really didn't know what she had done that had offended them so grievously.

But she figured she would figure it out soon enough. The Cajun girl turned to her drummer, who was transfixed on the action. "Gimme something snappy, something that's fast and with a lot of those bass kicks," Zulime insisted. She turned to face the man who was now on stage. He was close, awfully close, and he was reaching for her hand. Zulime's intuition screamed at her that if she allowed him to grab her, so when she had only just brushed against her she withdrew her hand. The Riverboat Queen took a step back and bent her knees slightly, as if to get ready for a fight.

Then an idea occurred to her. She wasn't sure if it was the cymbals clashing to start off the booming drums, but Zulime was feeling very frisky all of a sudden. Instead of exploding forward to shoot for a takedown, she took a probing step forward, to see if the man would tense up. That wouldn't really effect what she was about to do next, as she felt it in her heart, but that would give her some inward satisfaction to know that he was afraid of her. Her appearance must have been very unusual for him, and part of her sincerely wondered if he had ever seen a black woman before. That came with a certain amount of intimidation in and of itself.

"Tell you what, suga, I reckon we got off on the wrong foot. Why don't I just go quietly?" Zulime shrugged. "As a sign of my good faith, why don't you enjoy this lovely look at my leg?" Zulime extended her leg out to the side, and then up. Her flexibility meant that she could safely rest her leg on his shoulder. "Now why don't we all play nice, and you just take that shoe off, and we'll head on?" Zulime asked.

Needless to say, Ichijo could care less of what Zulime wanted out of her performances. Unless if that tough talk was a performance that is. Either way, she didn’t take it seriously, no reason for him not to take the Riverboat Gaijin lightly. This was a different kind of audience, and the Louisianan native didn’t particularly have anything that would rouse the boys in awe, shock or cheers. Then again, the crowd weren’t there to see her play. They just came to break her. And the piano too, because why not go all out with the mayhem. Zulime was most likely not interested in a bit of shared banter because of the party being crashed. But that was far from the list of fucks Ichijo had. And he had none of them to give. They came to wreck shit and get out. Thing is, he had to have his fun. What’s a job if you aren’t getting paid doing what you enjoy?

Keisuke hopped onto the stage, handcuffs in one hand, at the behest of Ichijo. Ryuji looked on as he lazily sat on the table, drinking someone else’s bourbon that they left when the guy ran away. He was a man who could not let some good bourbon go to waste. There was no such thing as putting the liquid back into the bottle or chucking it down the drain. Alcohol was meant to be taken. But it seems the more he drinks, the more his jealousy was showing. “Ugh, why does this idiot get to do this?” He grumbled, making no effort of keeping his opinion to himself. “Because the second you’d get an inch near that gaijin, we’ll be here until dawn.” Ichijo gave an annoyed response, his mutterings were still in earshot of the leader. “I’m not that bad. Plus, I’d be way more effective in bringing this lady down gently than this oaf.”

Evidenced by the fact that as soon as Keisuke reached out towards her, Zulime stepped back and brushed his hand away. Keisuke could only give an exasperated sigh; he wasn’t entirely into this idea and had hoped this could all go down easy. “Look, please don’t make this difficult.” And he had hoped not to really harm her but when push comes to shove…

“See!? Come on, dude!” Ryuji groaned in increased annoyance, throwing the shot glass down where he thought was the table but would eventually be the floor where it broke into a thousand pieces. He winced a bit but gave a shrug later. The drums would give its baseline, something that did take Ichijo’s attention for a few moments. Mainly that he wondered why this woman wanted just the drums. Was she going back to performing? At this situation? It didn’t make sense for the leader, but for Keisuke, things are about to get even weirder.

All of a sudden, Keisuke was on guard. He didn’t have his metal pipe, but he was still bigger than her. She shouldn’t really pose much of a threat to him. But that idiot Ichijo never did give any more details on this woman. He had to make sure she wasn’t going to do anything funny. Yeah. That’s right. He wasn’t scared at all, as he keeps saying to himself. Even as she walks up slowly, step by step. He had to make sure he didn’t drop the ball. Ichijo would kill him if he let Zulime getaway. In all honestly, he didn’t know how to react, especially as she’s so frisky all of a sudden. Even more so as she extended her leg. Too slow for a kick and he didn’t think she was able to rea-oh damn, she did reach. His shoulder to be exact. His eyes blinked rapidly, taken by surprise of her flexibility. “Uhhh…ummm…ehh?” Keisuke didn’t know how to answer when he was asked to take a look at her leg. “Well, would you look at that, looks like miss gaijin came here for one thing after all.” Ichijo laughed. “Hey! Maybe she will give you her autograph if you play with her more.” The leader chuckled as Ryuji looks on and is absolutely steaming by the sight of it all. “Now you’re just torturing me, asshole!” “Oh, shut up, you’ll get your turn!”

All the while that is going on, Keisuke was drawn entirely by this woman and that leg of hers. He definitely hasn’t seen a black woman before, especially not one up close like this. Keisuke wasn’t one to be a womanizer like Ryuji, so situations like this already gotten him flustered. But his gaze went down to her calf, then the thigh, and then the body. “I mean…it’s a…nice…leg? Wait, why do you want to take your shoe off?” He was puzzled, no other way around it. He couldn’t really grasp the reason why she would ask such a request. Were her feet hurting? Heels kind of have that effect, don’t they? How would he know, he isn’t a woman! Should he do it, weird as that request is?

“Well…ermmm…okay then.” His hands reached out to grasp the ankle before his fingers fiddled with the heel. “I hate to ask…but do you know how to take them off…I…uhh…never did this before…” He had to wispier that part to Zulime, loud enough to be of earshot towards her.

Zulime wasn't showing it, but her heart was thump thump thumping in her chest. The reverberation of the bass drum kicks bounced around the room. Acoustics demanded as such. Just as human nature demanded that when the glass broke, she tense up. It was all that she could do to pretend that neither of those things were happening to her. One of the benefits of singing and acting on stage was knowing how to regulate your breathing, and knowing how to not look like you were doing just that. The haughty and condescending look on her face, even as she was announcing that she was ready to surrender, certainly helped with the matter.

She snorted as the man fumbled with her heels a bit. "Don't be nervous, suga, not one lick. Ain't anyone else in the world except you and me." Except the drummer, who was skillfully getting more and more intense on the snare. Inside, she felt the pressure rising. Except the other goons who came with him, who were jawing back and forth. Despite the gentleman's protest, Zulime fully intended to make this as difficult as possible, thinking that no honest woman would go down without a hell of a fight. Except the bartender, who she could see out of the corner of her eye. He was looking on with a bemused sort of interest, as he had seen quite a few of Zulime's gimmicks, but this was an entirely new one to him. She thought it was impressive that he looked bemused, instead of scared or angry at the destruction that had just been visited upon the lounge.

That thought came with another realization. Somewhere, she knew that she was going to have to commit acts of egregious violence on all of these people lest they lay a hand on her in anger. The Cajun girl of course did not want to commit acts of aggression against anyone, but she supposed if someone sent a few grown-ass men to take down just one woman, they had everything that was coming to them. It wasn't the first time that she had been called a gaijin, and it would certainly not be the last. But that, piled on with the fact that they were talking about her in an insulting way was just the cherry on top, one that sealed their fate.

"There's no way a stud like you has never taken a shoe off before," Zulime said. The sweet tone in which she was speaking might have been confused for the genuine patience that one of her old nun schoolteachers showed the young and wild Zulime, but that old bartender sitting at the bar had heard her enough to know that every word she spoke in her sugary Southern drawl was laced with enough saccharine sarcasm to send a diabetic to their grave.

"But ain't I just a doll that I am gonna help you. First, you turn a bit to the side..." Zulime had little intention of showing someone how to take off any woman's shoe, let alone her shoe. But now she was playing for time, getting herself in the absolute perfect position.

And then she struck. With a jump, she got her other foot to around the man's waist. She sent one leg forward and one leg back to execute a scissor takedown. She knew the floor of the stage would be incredibly unpleasant to land on with such a strong move, which is precisely why she distentangled her legs and landed on her feet with the skill and grace of a ballerina. It looked like that time she spent in school with all those dainty little girls paid off, even if she didn't have the body to dance ballet for a long time. The sound of him crashing to the ground was accompanied by a loud kick of the bass drum, one that thundered throughout the jazz club.

Moving quickly, she walked to the front of the stage. "Which one of you boys is next?" She taunted.

Keisuke wasn’t the ladies’ man like Ryuji, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he would have been perfect. Keisuke only intended to get the task done and get out of her so that his gang could have a better future after this. However, Keisuke would get more than what he had bargained, a sight that had Ryuji staring daggers at him and wishing he was in this position. As far as Keisuke thought, Ryuji will get a score later. It just wouldn’t be with the ebony lady in red—a once in a lifetime opportunity to have underneath his belt. The womanizer would have never felt the same after he had gotten a taste. Such is life when it comes to guys like him.

While Zulime clearly has had practice in hiding her emotions as if she was playing poker, Keisuke clearly didn’t share the same studying acumen like what the Louisianan has gotten. And as he would fumble with the strap of her heel, Keisuke wasn’t an open book. He was the whole library that Zulime could explore. Everything was laid bare. Honest. The deception wasn’t his thing. Might as well be true to yourself and not play as someone you’re not. At least people would know he was consistent with what he is. Keisuke couldn’t help but fumble a bit, which wasn’t helping when he’s holding the handcuffs in his hand, to be honest. If only he would have dropped the damn thing. The Riverboat Queen’s snort would only make his cheeks go red than ever before. This was way too embarrassing for him to deal with.

“Yeah, that’s definitely not the case.” His head nodded to the side in Ryuji’s and Ichijo’s direction. While they were busy arguing, they were indeed far from a private room. As well as the drummer…and the bartender…he could only let a defeated sigh as he couldn’t really do something which would have taken three seconds tops. This was more than that. “Don’t say it too loud. Look, obviously I’ve taken a shoe before. Not, you know…this. Besides, I…don't wear heels?” Way to state the obvious there.

But that is fine, at least the Riverboat Queen would help him out. That is what she says of course, though anyone else could see that this definitely wasn’t her intention. She wasn’t going to be giving out lessons that anyone with a brain could do. It was embarrassing that Keisuke had to take such instruction, especially from this Gaijin. But he has no choice to move this forward. So he began to take her guidance, letting go of the handcuffs to make it easier—his fingers gripping on the buckle and the strap, trying to carefully release it. Like a belt buckle, you shouldn’t pull it tightly. “Okay, so what’s ne-“

His speech would be suddenly cut short as she suddenly felt himself falling backwards at such a rapid speed. It was as if someone tackled him at chest-level from the front and someone coming in from the back at the same time. He felt the brief moment of fear where he unexpectedly fell down, Zulime taking him down, her strong legs manoeuvring around his body. Nothing could have prepared him for the landing that was to come. If Ryuji and Ichijo weren’t bickering like schoolchildren, they could have seen the impeccable execution of that takedown.

First off, Keisuke wasn’t on traditional tatami mats, he was on the hard wood-enforced floor. And Keisuke was taken by surprise, unable to break his fall, even if he did know how to. The result was landing so harshly onto the ground that it was breath-taking. Literally took the air out of him, the back of his head bounced off the floor. Air didn’t come in, and a sound didn’t come out at the moment, all that was heard was a mighty boom that reverberated around the hall that took the two’s attention in a significant way. Not even the kick drum could compare to this. It felt like he was standing on the edge of a pool, and someone walks by and pushes you in. Except the pool is empty. The rest of the gang looked on flabbergasted and utterly amazed at the sight. Keisuke felt like his ribs were broken. Even though the air wasn’t coming in, he could make some words with whatever breath he still had. “Fucking…southern…whore…”

“いまいましい外国人をゲット!!!” Ichijo screamed from the top of his lungs as he stared at this damn Gaijin. Even if he was just playing about, this was his lieutenant. His friend. And he wasn’t going to let this woman make a mockery out of him. He pointed his blade at the woman, two goons would rush from the door past Ichijo and charge towards Zulime to get their hands around that woman. The chance to leave peacefully was gone. Now they had to do it the hard way.

Zulime heard something that sounded like a crunching sound. It wouldn't have been that audible, especially not to the angry arguing Japanese men who came here with bad intentions, but it was there. There was a reason that they had canvas in the ring, so that there was some give. The slams and strikes would hurt of course, but wrestlers could bounce back and keep going. Such mercies were not afforded to the gangster who could not get a woman's shoe off. The crunching sound very well could have been the sound of Keisuke's ribs breaking, but there was no mistaking the fact that she had been called a whore. She understood that the Southern part of that was also meant to denigrate her, but she was immensely proud of her heritage. In order to pay him back, she thought that after she was done with all of these biker guys, she would give him an extra kick.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. One of the men used a knife to gesture that Zulime ought to be taken out. It seemed a bit unfair to her that in her question, she was specifically requesting one boy, and they had sent two, but she supposed that none of these men had any sense of chivalry. Even now, when her wellbeing was under threat, she thought back to the gentle and polite manners of Crescent City. It seemed terrible to send a goon squad to attack a single woman. But at least the back alley thugs of her native city had the decency to come one at a time. With a wry smile, she thought about the times her family had sent a cuchillero after someone who owed too much money to the riverboat.

As the two men approached, she thought about that. The Riverboat Queen had no outstanding debts. At least not monetary debts. Her style in the ring indicated that she owed some people some debts of honor, which was probably the pretext for the two men coming at her now. Right before she took him down, the Japanese man who accosted her up on the stage was beginning to ask what was next. And now she was mulling over the same question.

The two men's footsteps were accompanied by a drum roll from the percussionist. It was wonderful at building up the tension. She thought that most people inher situation would be resentful of the fact that the drummer was doing everything here, and not letting her focus on what she needed, but Zulime felt buoyed by the fact that there was music in the background. It helped her operate.

Moving quickly, she took off her other heel. The removal was a lot more graceful than what the gangster was doing, and she was now standing on stage with bare feet. Such a thing was anathema not only to good manners, but to her very existence as a natural daughter of the riverboat, but she supposed that she would be forgiven for such a transgression given the exigent circumstances. She took a half step forward, and crouched down.

The drum roll helped her timing. When the two men got in range, she leaped from the stage. They were the perfect distance apart for her purposes, as she sent one powerful leg out to her left, and another powerful leg out to her right. The split kick was not something that she had practiced, but was instead something that came as naturally to her as an alligator swimming under the water, lurking in the mangroves for their next victim. She felt the impact of one bare foot on one of the guy's faces, and then immediately after that on the other's. The crashing cymbals were a nice touch from the drummer, she thought.

She landed on the ground. The Riverboat Queen had just been soaring through the air, but she landed on her feet with as much grace as one might expect to see from a ballerina. She looked up, and appraised the situation. It was probably not wise to taunt the group, but she had just taken out three of them with ease. So she was going to go for it.

"Talk about a bunch of lightweights," she said. "I would say y'all wouldn't last a minute in New Orleans, but y'all ain't exactly lastin' that long here."

Over the years, there have been growing restrictions when it comes to Judo, in particular, the sport variation of the art, think of tournaments and competitions where folks would put their randori and newaza skills to the test to get the better of someone. As the years have gone by, more and more of those techniques are banned from competition, bringing the debate on if the art of Judo was considered “soft”. Ironic, given that the style is also known as “the gentle way.” Defined as a way to optimally utilize the powers of both body and mind.

However, that didn’t stop some people clamouring on about how the old-school was considered the best. In a way, they do have a good defence with their line of thought. Many have shifted to Jiu-Jitsu from Judo after they banned the likes of tai-otoshi, kata-guruma, sukui nage, morote gari, daki age, kawazu gake and the scissor takedown. The former two considered to be the go-to throwing techniques. While most would think that only 6 of the 67 throwing techniques, leaving it to 58 after 3 were banned, the names listed stand for an endless number of variants. The dreaded ‘leg grab ban’ stands for an entire forbidden category of approached and tactics the martial art is bereft from. This brought the idea that you want to know how to avoid the dirty tricks in competition; wanting to know what works well in severe confrontations outside the tatami mats.

The Kani Basami is pretty much up there in terms of how exciting, albeit dangerous this technique is. The safety issues revolving around it was the leading cause for its ban as it bears a heightened risk of injury. Needless to say, a lot of things can go wrong when Kani Basami is applied. While this is true for all throwing techniques, including the Uchi Mata, the probability is more significant with the former than the latter. It doesn’t seem to matter if the one performing it is a complete beginner, an experienced hobbyist or a world-level athlete. By its mechanics, it looks basically unavoidable, that things will go wrong sooner or later. If applied too low, the entire mass pushes sideways into the victim’s leg/knee. If the victim resists, they may fall or collapse in such a way that the leg gets caught behind the victim’s folding knees and thus pulls the joint apart, or that other parts of the leg below the knee are injured.

With that being said, both Zulime and Keisuke are lucky that neither legs are destroyed after that. It is perhaps for the best that Keisuke was taken by surprise, which is where the takedown works best. Plus, neither were in a competition setting where they are trying to win a medal. This was a situation that threatened Zulime’s life. At the very least, Keisuke can walk in the future. Just not now while he’s winded beyond belief. He wasn’t going to get up anytime soon, which prompted Ichijo to bring two of his goons to sic at her. A massive worrisome doofus, true, but this was his friend. Another brother in arms. And he wasn’t going to let this stand. Neither was he going to make the same mistake in going easy on her just because she was a woman.

The two goons stormed towards the Zulime’s direction. While one would probably have done the job, considering how big they were compared to the Louisianan, he wanted to make sure Zulime doesn’t do anything funny. No lap dances, just the order of bringing her down from the stage. And then he’ll have to drag Keisuke out as well. He wasn’t focusing on the fact that Zulime doesn’t have her heels on, his anger that things went south was clouding his mind.

The sight that would follow next would incense him further. The gang leader watched as two of his men get kicked square in the face by Zulime, a view that would have been seen from a kung fu flick. He looked on in disbelief as Zulime jumped into the air, sturdy legs shooting out, even in these circumstances, he was amazed Zulume had the power to send those two flying from either side of the room. A brief moment where their facial features were smashed underneath her soles before they found themselves crashing into the tables in a stunned heap, accompanied by the clashing of cymbals. Just like Keisuke, the two were utterly taken by surprise. Even they could not believe it. Ichijo put that to pure luck and the fact that those idiots weren’t taking her seriously just because it was the two of them. As Zulime landed on her feet like a cat, Ichijo still had that dumbfounded look. Had Zulime not taunted after and went for the leader, she could have taken him out with ease too. And yet, the Riverboat Queen just had to put salt in the wounds, bringing an enraged Ichijo to his senses. Seething and shaking in anger.

"彼女をゲット！ その愚かな雌犬を入手!!" Ichijo yelled at two of his other men, brandishing with their own weapons as they smashed a few shot glasses. They haven’t yet come to the realization that Zulime was perhaps more dangerous than they initially thought for a gaijin. Even if they were to fear her, they feared Ichijo even more. The last thing they need is to fail him as the other three did. Only God knows what would happen to them after this. One goon would lead the charge, while a larger goon trailed behind him. Whatever it takes to grab her. Even if it means beating her to a pulp.