Fat Whack Page 7

  “Master Chap’s tattoo!” he exclaimed. “Wow, that looks way better than his did and better than mine. Why on earth would you get that tattooed on you?”

  “That awful night . . . I was on the ground hugging my dad, begging him to wake up. I looked up and noticed a piece of paper stuck to the door frame with a throwing star. I took it. I was so young I didn’t even realize I was tampering with evidence. On the paper was a drawing—a drawing of this.” Carina pointed at her new tattoo. “I held onto it and wondered what it meant. I was so confused. The police eventually found it and took it from me. Later, I was watching the news, which is something ten-year-old me never did before a ninja beheaded a pizza delivery guy on my doorstep. I watched a special report about the Fat Whack murders. It said that the drawing was a key piece of evidence in determining the mastermind behind all the killings. The drawing was of a tattoo that Master Chap had on his chest. They showed pictures of his burned-down dojo and said that he had gone crazy and set himself on fire in it. The ninjas were supposedly killing in his name, carrying out a final order given by their insane master. At first, I was furious. My dad was a client of Fat Whack, and it had helped him tremendously. He had fallen back into his old ways of overeating, but he had told me that he planned to renew his contract with Fat Whack as a New Year’s resolution. I had gone with him a few times to cheer him on as he tried to pass Master Chap’s obstacle courses. We would always hang out afterwards and cheer on all the other people who were trying. We laughed so hard, we cried. Seriously, some of my fondest memories are of hanging out with my dad, watching people bust their butts on that course. I even got to do a smaller version of the course when I attended a free kids’ class. I met Master Chap that day. He was so nice and so funny; his enthusiasm was infectious. I wanted to be just like him.”

  Anger burned in her eyes. “Crazy, huh? I wanted to be just like the man who went nuts and killed people. That will mess with a kid’s head, but my mind kept telling me it didn’t make sense. Master Chap just didn’t seem like the killer type. Over the next few years, I kept thinking about those good memories, and I came to the conclusion that there had to be more to the story. So, I have been obsessed with finding out the truth. I did some digging of my own, and I came to the conclusion that Master Chap didn’t commit suicide—he was murdered. And his murderer was an assassin that goes by the name of The Anteater.”

  “The Anteater? What makes you think this?” he asked.

  “Let’s just say I’ve done some undercover work before. Chap’s death seemed like a hit to me. So I started following paper trails since all professional hitmen use contracts. I ended up with a ton of The Anteater’s past contract agreements. One of them was for a hit he did on October 31, 1989—the year, month, and day my dad and your Master died. The job was to kill a guy located right here in Alabama, and the buyer signed the contract as ‘Fat Master’. I had no idea who the Fat Master was, but I believed the contract was an agreement to kill Master Chap.”

  “Let me see that contract right now . . . please.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “I came home one day and my apartment was ransacked. The only thing missing was the contract. I’m so sorry. I should have taken it to the police immediately. I just wasn’t sure they would do anything with it.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I believe you. And you were right—the cops would have dropped the ball, just like they did ten years ago. Or maybe the Fat Master had The Anteater threaten their families or something. Either way, you did the right thing. We need absolute proof.”

  “Well, I’m ready to get it. Let’s get going.”

  “Slow down. You are strong, but you are not ready. We must prepare. I want to take you out to train on the old Fat Whack obstacle course. It’s run-down and sort of dangerous, but that might make it even more helpful. Something tells me some time spent on the course might come in handy soon. Also, don’t forget, we need a fat suit.”

  “My abuela can sew,” she said. “I guess I could tell her that I want to be Santa Claus at a Christmas party or something, and I need stuffing. She’ll be suspicious, but she’ll also be so over the moon about making something for me that she’ll get over it quickly.”

  “Good, get her working on it as soon as possible,” he said. “I want you to be able to run the course in the suit a few times before we leave.”

  Carina nodded at him and smiled a big, beautiful smile. She looked happy.

  Ninja Note: November 29, 1999

  Redneckery

  While searching for the Fat Master’s base of operations, I come a across a junkyard full of rusted cars. It has everything from a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air to a 1999 Ford Taurus. What makes this junkyard so very strange is the fact that there is absolutely no road through the woods that leads to this place. There is no way a tow truck could have towed a single car here. I also see a small cottage off to one side of the junkyard.

  As I sneak through the maze of automobiles, I notice something that should be shocking, if I could be shocked anymore. The skeletal remains of a family of four sits inside a vintage car. The bones of an adult male are sitting upright in the driver’s seat. His skeleton hands are tied to the steering wheel with a frayed rope, and a smoking pipe is glued to his hung-open jawbone. A woman’s remains occupy the passenger seat. She is wearing a dress and a large sun hat on her head that almost touches the roof of the car. A pearl bracelet dangles too large on her boney wrist. The back seat holds the worst of it: two small child-sized skeletons sit in each seat. One is wearing overalls and the other a faded pink dress with off-white frills. Some sicko has been playing dress up with these human remains like they are dolls.

  A centipede crawls out of the left eyehole of the boy’s skull. The family looks like they could be on their way to a Sunday morning church service, except for the fact that their skin is missing. Moving from one car to the next, I notice that most of the automobiles have deceased passengers inside making long trips to nowhere. I slowly make my way over to the cottage. The outside looks quaint, like a picture on the front of a puzzle box. Inside is a different story. No one is home. Saying the place is filthy would be an understatement. Everything is rusty and dusty, and spider webs must be the owner’s favorite decoration. There is a hole in the wood floor, and it is readily apparent what the hole is used for: a toilet. The place has no lights or power, and yet somehow the phone on the counter begins to ring. I pick up the phone and place it close to my ear. Someone is breathing heavily on the other end.

  “Ten minutes,” the voice says. A few more labored breaths and then dial tone. I move into what this cabin must call a kitchen. Fearing what I will find, I open the dilapidated refrigerator and find nothing inside. It smells though. It smells like rotting flesh. It could be the stench of animal flesh, but I doubt it. This isn’t my mission. I want to get on with my search for the Fat Master, but I’m also curious what will happen in ten minutes, so I wait.

  Fifteen minutes later, I hear the sound of a helicopter flying low, just above the treetops. The helicopter hovers above the junkyard with a small car dangling from chains underneath it. It gently descends until the car rests on an open strip of grass in the middle of some other cars. Three men, one woman, and a few dirty kids emerge from a hidden bunker door in the ground. They start quickly unhooking the chains. When they finish, the helicopter just flies away. To my horror, I can see a family of three asleep inside the car. There is a mom and two kids. They are passed out, but alive and breathing. I save that family. I would write down more details, but there isn’t much more detail to give.

  Taking down a small group of cannibalistic rednecks is a tad bit easier than taking down a prison blimp or a vampire scientist and his creations. I knock them all out, and I throw them into their underground bunker. Then I push a car over the door of the bunker so they will remain trapped inside until the authorities arrive. I leave a note for the mom and tell her not to be too frightened. The bad gu
ys are all locked up, and the cops are on the way. I also tell her that there is a working phone in the cabin if she needs it, but she should probably just stay in the car. I place the note under her windshield wiper blade, and then I use the hilt of my sword to break a window open—I want to make sure they have enough air to breath. At the noise of the glass breaking, the mom begins to stir, and I leave. I’m sure the sight of a ninja would do little to calm her fears, and I’m glad to leave this junkyard in my rear view.

  Sew Like The Wind

  Alda Lopez did not look her age and got around just fine for a woman in her sixties. Even so, she often walked with one hand on her lower back. Working at a daycare for thirty-plus years watching and constantly picking up other people’s kids all day long will do that to you. She had beautiful shoulder-length hair with just the right amount of gray in it and a smile that lit up any room. She always had a lot of energy, but this morning she moved with a bit more pep in her step than usual. She was excited because her granddaughter had called last night with a special request. She wanted some stuffing for a Santa Claus costume. Carina seldom asked her to make anything special. She would ask for rips in her clothes to be sewn up from time to time, or for a patch to be sewn on, but never anything like this. It didn’t make much sense, but that didn’t matter because nothing made Alda happier than sewing for her family.

  She set aside the Christmas sweater she had been working on for Carina and started the new project. She skipped over to her sewing table and sat on a faded yellow cushion that padded the seat of her favorite chair. A black sewing machine rested on the table in front of her. Under the table was a green tackle box full of needles, thimbles, and thread. Alda picked up the box, opened it, and got to work.

  Later that day, Carina walked into her grandmother’s house and had to fight back tears as a wave of nostalgia overcame her. The sight of her abuela seated at the sewing machine transported her back to her childhood. Her dad had loved bringing her over to his mom’s house to eat. Alda was an excellent cook, and she always cooked a lot of food. After eating, they would just sit on the couch together and talk while the old woman sewed away, making birthday and Christmas presents for them right in front of their faces. The nostalgic noise of the machine stopped, and Alda turned to look at Carina.

  “Get over here and give me a hug!” she said with her arms raised, ready for an embrace.

  Carina ran to her grandmother and gave her the tightest hug she could. “It’s good to see you!” she said.

  “It’s good to see you, too, dear,” Alda responded with an enthusiastic smile. Then she got serious, sewing serious. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go get all the pillows in the house you can find. We need fat, and we ain’t getting it from your skinny butt, that’s for sure!”

  The woman giggled at her own joke as Carina ran off to gather pillows. For some reason, this project seemed to be more important to Carina than she was letting on. Experienced hands put fabric in place and then spun the wheel of the sewing machine with gusto. The noise returned, loud and welcome. Suddenly, remembering the cushion under her butt, Alda reached down and grabbed it. Then she threw it on the floor as the start of a pile of pillows they could use as stuffing. They were going to need all the fake fat they could get, and if this really was as important to Carina as she thought it might be, it would do her heart good to know her favorite cushion was a part of it.

  Oatmeal cream pies make me happy. Seriously, some company should package those things and sell them in bulk. I would buy them by the case load. The bakery my dad owns makes them, and I’m allowed one a day for free! But once you’ve eaten a few of them, it’s time to start experimenting. Throw a couple of them on a metal baking pan with a slice of cheese on top, and then shove them in the oven. If you think that sounds delicious, try wrapping one in bacon!

  Ninja Note: December 10, 1999

  Go Ninja Go

  Carina’s training is going well. The girl is an amazing athlete. The biggest obstacle on the obstacle course by far is her flexibility while in the fat suit. She is not exactly able to maneuver fluidly. Even more concerning is the fact that her everyday movements like walking and hand gestures don’t exactly look natural. She has had to take the suit back to her grandmother’s house for alterations and to repair rips so many times that I fear the woman is on to us. I have pushed Carina hard, and I’m proud to say that she has pushed back like a true warrior. If things were different, she would have made an excellent Fat Whack ninja.

  When the last day of her obstacle course training is completed, she surprises me by inviting me to come over and eat dinner with her and her grandmother. I reluctantly agree. When I arrive, Carina introduces me to her grandmother under the false name of Mr. Jay Chan, a karate teacher who is thinking of opening a dojo close to the gym where she works.

  Alda is kind and welcoming . . . and kind of hot, too. Like myself, she is in her sixties, and like myself, she’s in pretty good shape for being in her sixties. Also, I believe she might have been flirting with me a bit, but I’m out of practice, so I’m not totally convinced. We sit on reclining chairs in her living room with trays full of food in front of us. She has made enchiladas. She was thoughtful enough to bring me a salad as well. Carina had informed her of my strict diet.

  Later in the evening, I have to sneak back into the kitchen and throw away the remaining enchilada on my plate. You would think it would be easy for a ninja to sneak something into a trash can without a sixty-year-old woman seeing, but this lady is as sharp as a tack. Carina causes a distraction, and I finally accomplish my mission. I even put some paper plates and extra napkins on top of the thrown-away enchiladas so she won’t see them if she looks into her trash can. Alda thought I was quite the gentleman when I offered to take her trash out for her.

  After dinner, we talk some more, and Carina puts on a movie. She picked Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2: The Secret of the Ooze. It seems Carina and I might have similar taste in cinema. I love movies, and it’s good to support the arts, not just the martial ones. I am enjoying an evening unlike any I have experienced in a long time, when my eyes become glued to the television. It is at the part of the movie when Raphael is helping Keno infiltrate the Foot Clan’s lair. That’s when I realize—I’m using Carina as my Keno, and in the movie, Keno works as a pizza delivery guy.

  I feel sick to my stomach, and it isn’t just from eating a few bites of enchilada. I just stare blankly at the television screen until Vanilla Ice starts performing his ninja rap. Carina gets up and starts dancing and singing along. We all laugh. Master Chap had always been able to make me laugh, until he died. I excuse myself and go to the restroom. I should never have involved the girl. When I return, I tell them both that I am thankful for their hospitality, but I must leave. They both seem a little taken aback, but they thank me for coming and walk me to the door. Alda hands me a bag of leftovers that I take with gratitude but definitely won’t eat. She also gives me her phone number. She was definitely flirting with me. I turn around to wave goodbye, and I can see the television in the living room behind them. Super Shredder stands massive over their shoulders.

  A Long Time Ago In A Dojo Far Away

  Part 2

  The sound of mats being slapped and kids yelling “Hi-yah!” poured out of Master Takanashi’s dojo. This made him grin from ear to ear. It had taken a few years to turn things around, but things did indeed turn around. Now his business was booming! The Takanashi dojo had become an important part of the community. Specter City was no longer considered a ghost town. Businesses were popping up all over the place, and people had started to visit again. There were still plenty of hauntings to go around, but that only added to the city’s newfound appeal. The dojo was also important to the community because it had become a safe haven for outcasts, those who just didn’t fit in. Nerds, fat kids, skinny kids, people of all ages and ethnicities—any and all felt welcome at Takanashi’s dojo. The last class of the d
ay had just ended, and Chapton was talking with a student named Steven.

  “I’ll see you on Tuesday night for training,” Chap said. “Man, I’m so proud of your progress. Keep it up! Also, Billy and me are thinking about going camping again this weekend. I know you probably don’t wanna go again after what happened last time. Just know that you’re always invited.”

  Chap and Steven hugged necks. Steven left, and then Chap locked up for the night.

  “It’s good to see you two are still friends,” Master Takanashi said.

  “What happened wasn’t his fault.”

  “Very true. Still, it’s good to see all the same,” Takanashi replied. “You’ve always had a soft spot for that one.”

  “He sort of reminds me of myself, and I’m just paying it forward, like you did for me. Thank you, by the way.”

  “Stop thanking me so often. It’s getting weird. Where is Billy?”

  “Probably at home. Ever since . . . you know, Mom and Dad . . . he hasn’t really felt like doing much of anything.”

  “I see, and I understand. Well then, I guess tonight’s lesson is just for you and me.”

  Master Takanashi put on a baseball glove and threw a baseball into it a few times like a professional ball player might do.

  “Um, I know you have sort of been like a father to me lately, but I’ve never been one who cried about not being able to play catch with dear old dad. Let’s stick to Kung Fu and stuff, okay?”

  The old man threw the baseball to Chap. Chap caught it in his bare hands. “Ow! Okay, okay, I’ll play catch with you. Where’s my glove?” he asked as he threw the ball back to his Master.

  “You need no glove,” Takanashi said as he threw the ball back to his student, this time harder than the last. Chap winced in pain as he caught the ball. He dropped it on the floor and then shook both of his hands in the air.