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Chapter Three
The Kettle Is Set
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“Admit it.” The fish, shocked by the comparably warm glove, sprang back into action, thrashing about in a desperate attempt to escape the freezing conditions of the ice it had been packed in. “You’re only working this job because you failed college.”
“You asked me that two days ago, remember?” Ren gave an artificial smirk. “No, I chose this job because I like nosy coworkers who slip fish tails down the uniforms of other employees.”
“You’re not still mad about that, are you?” The rather long-faced fellow said, his upper lip barely moving when he spoke. “Kohaku said she was sorry about that, I don’t know why you have to hold onto it.” Without looking, he flipped a cleaver nearly over his shoulder, decapitating the fish on the bamboo cutting board.
“I guess this is a bit of a silly question, but have you ever had a fish tail dropped down the back of your shirt before?” Ren replied, beginning to lose his sociable mask.
“All the time, about five years ago.” His coworker replied, feeling about for the fish head. “I don’t have as much issues with the uniforms either - you get used to wearing fishing overalls when you’re waist-deep fighting against a net that’s about to push its way back out to sea. Never let any of them get away, though.” Finally turning, he grabbed the fish head and lobbed it underhand into the waste cart.
“But Fred, we’re not flooded here.” Ren gestured around him, the various displays faced outwards filled with seafood surrounding the pair on all sides. “We’re not at much risk of soaking out clothes in this environment.”
“It’s about the message being sent, I think.” Fred replied. “It’s like, we just went out and caught the fish, and that’s why you know they’re fresh. Or something.”
That’s Fred’s way, all right. Ren frowned. When he’s absolutely sure about something, he just doesn’t know or can’t be sure, but ask for his opinion and he’ll be as clear as crystal. One hundred percent. No possible room for doubt.
Ren smashed his eyebrows downwards. Focus. Just gotta work on the crabs. It’s not that hard; you’ve been doing this for months now. Don’t take it out on poor Fred just because he’s here.
“You okay kid?” Fred asked, having turned to face Ren during the silence in time to see the tail end of his display. “You’re kinda pale. Well more than normal anyway.”
The flat glare from Ren was almost immediately cut off by the extremely loud entrance of Kohaku. “BOOOOOOM!!” She bellowed, throwing both arms in the air as she crushed her gloves in one hand and her parking pass in the other. “What’s up, wage slaves? I’m finally back from my hard work and ready to get stompin’!” She swung her legs outwards and made big sumo wrestler-style stomps across the floor to emphasize.
“Produces her own caffeine.” Ren raised his eyebrows smugly at Fred, whose comparatively tiny smile was returned in similar fashion. “How was your four hour nap before work?”
“I did NOT have a four hour nap!!” Kohaku roared, punching Ren in the arm as hard as she could - which wasn’t very hard at all. “Why don’t you ask mister drowsy-peepers over there how much he slept before showing up today, huh?”
“Got here as the store opened, same as always.” Fred replied, his perpetually half-closed eyes looking more unamused than tired, although the rest of his unmoving face balanced it out somewhat. “You kids these days need to learn the value of waking up at four in the morning.” He effortlessly pulled the whole train of guts out of the fish he beheaded and slung it in the trash without looking.
“At least we have something we can agree on, Kohaku.” Ren smiled at her. “Some people in the world are still crazier than we are. How’s the government tracking chip going?”
Kohaku’s nostrils flared, but her reply of rage was instantly cut off by a mischievous Fred. “It’s called a mole, Ren. And the reason why it’s on her forehead is because there’s so much room up there to dig around in.”
“It’s called a beauty mark, Ren Fukushi.” Kohaku growled at the barely taller Ren, who leaned back with a smug grin to avoid her snarling teeth. “And today I’m dumping ice down BOTH your shirts. Just you wait!”
“It’s a little hot in here.” Fred calmly replied, his tiny smile as present as any other time when he was truly amused. “Who knows, I might find it refreshing.”
Ren chuckled as Kohaku snarled again, struggling to put on her fishing overalls without sitting down and without tipping over. He turned his attention back to the crab, which sat sleepily flailing its limbs, too drowsy from the cold to do anything else. It was called Heikegani, so named because of the muscular carapace resembling the angry, scowling face of an Oni.
“That reminds me, why is your name Fred?” Kohaku looked at her coworker even as she paused what she was doing to ball up her ponytail under a hairnet. “Aren’t you Japanese?”
“Ren’s name is Ren, and he’s not from around here.” Fred pointed his knife at Ren as he spoke. “Besides, I was born in the middle of a hurricane while at sea, and my mother was so out of it at the time that Fred Jones was the only name she could think of.”
“You keep changing your secret origin story every time it’s brought up!” Kohaku scowled. “How’s anyone supposed to obsessively over-analyze you if you can’t get the details straight?”
“Hey, some people don’t even know their own name.” Fred replied, the emotion in his voice once again failing to move any of his features, no matter how strong it was. “At least I’ve got that going for me.”
Ren looked down at the miserable crab, staring into the hard imaginary features on its backside. There was no life in the artificial eyes.
“…I gotta take a break,” He blurted out, fumbling as he ripped off his gloves and quickly marched out of the seafood department of the supermarket, swiping the hairnet off his scalp and stuffing it in his pocket. “Ren! The floor!” Kohaku shouted, but the warning fell on deaf ears, as Ren left a trail of grime from the tiled floor onto the much more presentable tiling of the rest of the building.
“Dropped out of college. I’m sure of it.” Fred shook his head, looking after Ren as he left. " At least he’s tracking through the building before operating hours. You stay in college, Kohaku, if you want to make a better job than this one."
–
“Pick up, pick up…”
“Hello? What’s wrong? Is Corey okay?”
“No, he- I mean yes, he’s good. Fine. Good and fine.” Tone replied. “Far as I know, anyhow… Uh, my reason for calling was because a call came in, there’s a building on fire two blocks from the school, and the household had to be warned. Really awkward for me to be the one answering the phone with this thing stuck to my face, y’know?”
“Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a lot of options.” Ren replied with irritation. “I can’t just whip my phone out in the middle of the day, not while I’m handling fish guts AND working.”
“Yeah, I know…” Tone mourned.
“…Okay fine, head over there. But keep a good distance; if you’re spotted we are in BIG trouble. You got that?”
“Don’t worry boss, I’m much better at subtlety than you are.” Tone grinned, hanging up the call just after. “Finally, a chance to get out of here for once.”
“You taking me along?” Rook inquired, seated on his cushion as always. “I could be useful if we have to fight anybody.”
“Rook, I’m sorry, but I can’t just go driving looking like this.” Tone pointed to his face, even as he grabbed a large leather jacket off the wall. “If you came along and we had to split, we might lose the frame, and I know how much money went into acquiring it. That’s how Ren lost all that weight, remember?”
“Fifteen pounds is relative,” Rook needlessly objected, growing desperate as the opportunity to escape being cooped up all day seemed to slip through his hypothetical fingers.
“When you’re built like a string bean like he is, fifteen pounds is a big difference.” Tone replied, sliding on a beanie and tightening his leather gloves. “Now stay put; I’ll be back in a little while.” With these words, he turned off the interior light, went out the heavy door, and the room fell into silence.
“I’d like to go out.” Rook sighed.
–
“Do you think anyone died?”
“Nah.” Corey replied, trying to act assured and confident around his peers; to be the inspiration of bravery they all desperately needed. “That’s the printing offices of the High Sun Herald; they’ll be alright. Very well financed, good staff. Better fire insurance.”
“How do you know all that?” A little girl inquired, clearly from the adjacent middle school rather than his own peers of junior high students.
“Uhm… My dad used to work there.” He gulped.
“But I thought you were an orphan.” An older boy replied.
“That doesn’t mean I NEVER had parents.” Corey scoffed, internally sweating bullets. “Regardless, I don’t see why we have to watch it slowly burn down in the middle of the street.”
“AAAH!!” Corey flailed, smashing both his hands over his right ear. “SOFTER!!!”
“What?” The boy asked, thoroughly concerned as well as all the other kids. “Are you all right?”
“Huh? Uhh, just practicing for my drama class, hehe, I’ll just go do that over here.” Corey grinned sheepishly, waddling away from the group as they looked sidelong after him with varying levels of concern. Reaching the other side of the street, he glared uabout, looking for the source of the intrusion.
You can’t spot me. I’m good at this.
“Not that good.” He grumbled.
Sorry, I’m used to the old man having hearing issues. Don’t look at me like that; I didn’t cause them.
“We can discuss your definite guilt later.” Corey tightened his jacket, not processing that if he perhaps zipped it up he wouldn’t be so cold. “What was so important that it got you dragged out of bed before five?”
Har har. Ren asked me to check on you to make sure you were okay, after the call came in about the fire. He wanted to make sure you were okay.
“Tell him I could use about triple the fire I’ve got.” Corey shuddered. “It’s freezing out here.”
If you weren’t so small, you’d have more body heat methinks. Hehe.
“YEAH WELL I’M WORKING ON IT OKAY???” Corey bellowed.
“Corey!!” The lead teacher rebuked. “You’re supposed to be with the group! And stop all that shouting! The rescue team has to be listening for people in the building. And zip up your jacket!”
“Take away my right to bear arms as well, why don’tcha.” Corey grumbled under his breath, zipping his jacket up in frustration. “At least I have the fight to look forward to after this.”
–
“And the Count takes the eight count!! This is gonna be close, folks!”
“I thought he couldn’t do this what with the whole ‘touching’ thing.” Race murmured in Ren’s ear. “Doesn’t it hurt him too much to handle that?”
“It’s in his contract that there’s no grabbing or prolonged contact, but he says he can handle rough impacts just fine.” Ren replied, even as the Count of Knock-outs landed a devastating double-minus steel toe - a rather simple kick to the chest. “He’s got a tell for if something gets too rough for him.”
“How was your day?”
Race adjusted to sink even further into her seat. “Fine. Nobody bothered me today. Had to cover that burning building though. Hope Corey’s okay from that.”
“Tone apparently rattled one of his ear drums,” Ren replied, looking down at a particular seat three rows down from him, where Corey sat wearing a copious amount of merch for The Mummy, cheering loudly in between gulps of soft drink. “But I think he’s gotten over it at this point.”
“He’s a good kid.” Race mumbled, barely sounding like she meant it. “I hope he does well.”
“He will.” Ren sighed, watching as The Mummy, his body completely wrapped outside of the luchador mask and leotard he wore, kept the Count of Knock-outs pinned ineffectively for the ten count and rose into his signature staggering walk of victory, causing half the crowd to roar violently in amazement at the prearranged feat. “I know he will.”
–
I should have mailed you extra skrillex and electrical tape
