Ueda Sensei Solves Crimes of Depravity and Perversity

UEDA SENSEI Solves Crimes of Depravity and Perversity

Robert Crayola Copyright © 2011 by Robert Crayola

BY ROBERT CRAYOLA

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Cheat Codes for Life: How to Achieve ANYTHING With the Technologies of Success Dr. Jew William Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience: Illustrated by Robert Crayola (with poems by William Blake) Ueda Sensei Solves Crimes of Depravity and Perversity

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Prayer Magic: Conversations with Reality

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Ueda Sensei Solves Crimes of Depravity and Perversity

Contents THE BOOK OF LIFE THE FILTHY WEBCAM THE FEARFUL SEX FIEND HYPNOTISM SKULL MASSAGE GERBILS A SCANDAL IN WALGREENs CHESTER'S TREE HOUSE HARPSICHORDIST IN THE DARK HIDDEN BANANA THE CASE OF THE UNDERWATER GHOST LESBIANS SEX SHOP SHOPPER THE CASE OF THE MISSING $10 MACADAM THE EXPLODING TOILET LICENSE TO EAT THE MISSING PENIS TREE LOVER THE WORLD ROMPER TAXMAN SUPERSTAR BASEBALL

AGGRESSIVE FEMALE MISCALCULATION NEAR-RAPE FRAMED FOUR ARGUMENTS FOR THE ELIMINATION OF TIME BITTER DRINK PILLS FAMOUS PAPER LIFE SAVERS TOXIC COUSIN

THE BOOK OF LIFE In the year 2001 I took my degree in Janitorial Sciences from onlinedegreesforwealthandluxury.com, and proceeded to New York City. For others New York may be the land of opportunity and dreams, a beacon that brings honor and promotion, but for me it was a city of disaster. For you see, I gained employment at the South Tower of the World Trade Center. Following the September 11 attacks, from which I miraculously escaped with my life thanks to the grace of God – I will spare you my full story in the interest of brevity – I was left with a damaged leg and in a coma. Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to a hospital in Brooklyn. Here I rallied and regained consciousness after a time, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the veranda, when I was struck down by chickenpox, which I had avoided until that hour of my existence. For many days more I wafted through a delerium of timelessness and despaired of ever returning to a normal life of industrial-strength cleaners and overflowing trash bins. When at last I came to myself and found cognizance, I was so weak and emaciated that the other patients in the ward laughed at my physique with a mustardy New York drawl, and I vowed to escape the city's confines as soon as my health allowed. I had neither kith nor kin in San Francisco and had never even been there, so it seemed the perfect place to establish a new existence. When my health allowed, and with barely a penny to my name, I took a Greyhound across the country and almost lost my sanity again – this time to the monotony of corn fields and rest stops. But something drew me on. I naturally gravitated to San Francisco, and could never have anticipated the life I would find there. I still remember the moment I stepped off that bus in the downtown. I felt as free as the air, and the air tasted cleaner than any given day in New York. These light feelings barely lasted. Urgency pressed upon me, for I had to find lodgings, and on the advice of a local I wafted into the Mission district of the city, a beany cesspool of crackheads and taquerias. I foresaw that burritos would become my staple diet. But before I ate I had to find a roof over my head. I'd been referred to a hostel in the Mission, and there I offered my janitorial skill in exchange for a cot and a nominal wage that would barely allow for a new pair of underwear. But I was free and ready for a new life. This dislocated moment, with nothing to hold me down, must have gone to my head, for I soon found myself frequenting bars and dance halls and blowing sums I had no right to spend, forcing myself to eat the free (and tasteless) food at the hostel and make no progress toward anything resembling a real life in the metropolis. So alarming did my finances become in those early days, that I soon realized I must either leave San Francisco for the dreary suburban outskirts of the Bay Area, or that I must make a complete alteration in my lifestyle. Choosing the latter alternative, I made up my mind to find proper employment at a legal wage, and to leave the hostel as soon as possible. On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was sitting in Taqueria Cancun, when someone tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Sean McPhillips, a boyhood acquaintance. The sight of a friendly face in the strange urban jungle of San Francisco was a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In my youth McPhillips had never been a particular chum

of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he in his turn, appeared delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I offered to buy him an horchata, only to immediately flush crimson when I realized I had not the funds to fuel my generosity. McPhillips quietly patted me on the shoulder and offered to buy our liquid sustenance himself. "Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Otto?" he asked in undisguised wonder, as we began slurping our drinks and enjoying a sugar rush. "You are as thin as a lath and as scarred as an Amazonian rainforest." I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached the bottom of our cups. "Poor devil!" he said commiseratingly after he had listened to my misfortunes. "What are you up to now?" "Looking for work," I answered. "Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get by in this world." "That's a strange thing," remarked my companion; "you are the second man today that has used that expression to me." "And who was the first?" I asked. "My sensei at a martial arts studio where I regularly engage in physical exertion. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to clean his workspace at a price suitable to his purse." "And what wage does he offer?" I said. "I believe it was five dollars an hour," said McPhillips. "By Jove!" I cried. "If he really wants someone to clean, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having his pay to living at that dread hostel where I currently reside." "But – but five dollars an hour is below minimum wage!" "Nevertheless, I am a hungry man. And perhaps I might be able to wrangle living quarters out of him." McPhillips looked rather strangely at me over his horchata. "You don't know Ueda Sensei yet," he said. "Perhaps you would not care for him as a constant overseer." "Why, what is there against him?" "Oh, I don't say there is anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas – an enthusiast in some branches of cinema. As far as I know he is a decent enough fellow." "An Asian, I suppose?" I said. "Yes – I have no idea what country he stands for. I believe he is well up in American history and practices, and he is a first-class warrior; but as far as I know he has never taken out any advertising and his jiu-jitsu studio languishes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish other fighters." "Did you never ask him what his plans are to bring in new students?" I asked. "No. He is not a man that is easily drawn out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him." "I should like to meet him," I said. "If I am to work for anyone, I should prefer a man of studious and moral habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much arrogance or cruelty. I had

enough of both in New York to last the remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?" "He is sure to be at Uedaville," returned my companion. "Uedaville?" I said. "Yes, that's the name of his dojo. He either avoids the place for weeks to the consternation of students like me, or else he works there from morning to night and seems to sleep in his office. If you like, we shall drive round together after our stomachs settle." "Certainly," I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels. Leaving the Mission for the Sunset District, we made our way to the "dojo" of this Ueda Sensei, and McPhillips gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to take as an employer. "You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him," he said. "I know nothing more of him than I have learned from my jiu-jitsu lessons. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible." "If we don't get on it will be easy to part company," I answered. "It seems to me, McPhillips," I added, looking hard at my companion, "that you have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow's temper so formidable, or what is it? Don't be mealy-mouthed about it." "It is not easy to express the inexpressible," he answered with a laugh. "Ueda Sensei is a little too laser-minded for my tastes – it approaches obsessiveness. I can imagine him giving a friend a pinch on a little pressure point, not out of malevolence, mind you, but as an object lesson in the body's ability to override the mind, or some such malarkey. To do him justice, I think that he must flagellate himself periodically or drink sawdust to test his constitution. He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge." "Very right too." "Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating students with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape." "Beating the students!" "Yes, to verify how closely they remain connected to their bodies. I saw him at it with my own eyes. I can show you my bruises!" "And yet he is not a sadist? You and others continue to take his lessons. Remarkable." "Yes. Heaven knows why. Perhaps it is his unbroken record in the world of mixed martial arts tournaments. But here we are, and you must form your own impressions about him." As he spoke, we turned down a small side street and McPhillips parked in front of a brick building with a sign in big green letters that said UEDAVILLE. The building had large windows that opened on a gymnasium. It was unfamiliar ground to me, this world of fighting. I have always been a lover of peace. We entered and it was a lofty chamber, lined with mirrors and matted floors, stained with dry blood. There was only one person in the room, an Asian man stretching his leg in a distant corner of the building, absorbed in his exercise. At the sound of our steps he glanced round and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. "I've found it! I've found it!" he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a clenched fist. "I have found a supplier of pliant wood for my younger students to splinter with their hands and demonstrate their strength!"

Had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight could not have shone upon his features. Ueda was a solid-looking man. Not over-muscled like these body builders oiling themselves on the beach, and yet he looked internally stronger than any of them. Should a tornado come along I think it would leave him untouched. In number of years, I guessed him to be from 25 to 30. His face was broad and his expression difficult to read. His hair was thick and panther black. He wore the uniform of his warrior art. "Otto, this is Ueda Sensei," said McPhillips, introducing us. "How are you?" Ueda said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. "You have been in the Mission, I perceive." "How on earth did you know that?" I asked in astonishment. "Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "The question now is about lumber. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine, this wood?" "It is interesting, no doubt," I answered, "but breaking boards can surely have no practical use – " "Why, man, it is the most practical demonstration for students! Don't you see that it gives us an infallible way to bolster confidence, especially in the young and those with low self-esteem? Come over here now!" He seized the sleeve of my jacket in his eagerness and drew me over to a piece of wood held in a clamp. "Let us have some fresh blood," he said, digging a long fingernail into his finger, and smearing the resultant blood onto the board. "Now, I ask you to chop this board in two." As he spoke, he positioned me before the board. "Go to it." "But I have not the skill," I said. "I am a man of peace." "Blah blah blah," said Ueda. "Chop the damned board. Even a weakling like you could do it." In my anger at this mockery I decided I could in fact break the board (or would at least destroy my hand in the process), and laying into it with what little strength I had, I was astonished to see the board snap in two. "Ha! Ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?" "It seems to be a very delicate wood," I remarked. "Beautiful! Beautiful!" said Ueda. "And are you not left with a feeling of might and ability?" "Indeed!" I murmured. "Confidence is continually hinging upon this one point. A man suspects he is a weakling because he has never demonstrated any degree of competence or bravery. His linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they mud stains, or rust stains, or fecal stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? Are they perhaps COWARD stains? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why? Because there was no reliable test for bravery. Now we have the Ueda Sensei test, and there will no longer be any difficulty. Anyone can pass this test." "And what about the stains?" said McPhillips. "That is what washing machines are for," said Ueda. Ueda's eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination. "You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm. "And yet it seems –"

"There was the case of little Billy Bischoff last week. A girl student in the junior class beat the tar out of him, and he went home crying and has not been seen in this dojo since. He would certainly have had his confidence restored had this test been in existence. Then there was that fat woman who could barely fit into a jiu-jitsu uniform, and the notorious Muller man who wanted to spar despite his blindness, and Lefevre who was in perfect physical shape but had a sense of ennui because of his French accent, and Samson in his wheelchair and whatnot. I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive in overcoming lack of confidence." "You seem to be a walking aggregator of queer students," said McPhillips with a laugh. "You might start a class on those lines. Call it the 'Queer Class.'" "Very interesting class it might be too," remarked Ueda, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger. "I have to be careful," he continued, turning to me with a smile, "for I dabble with poisons a good deal. Ninja supplies." He held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster, and discolored with wear. "We came here on business," said McPhillips, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. "My friend here wants employment, and as you were complaining about the filth of this place and your tightness with money, I thought that I had better bring you together." Ueda seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his dojo with me. "You don't mind the smell of sweat, I hope?" "We'll see what I can do about that smell," I answered. "Well, that's good enough for me. I generally have students about of varying levels, and occasionally do... experiments. Would that annoy you?" "By no means. So long as you confine your experiments to the students and not me." "Let me see – what are my other shortcomings? I get in the dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone with my DVDs, and I'll soon be aright. What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together." I laughed at this cross-examination. "I sometimes frequent brothels," I said, "and I object to violence because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. And sometimes I forget to brush my teeth for weeks on end. And I don't like red-haired people or Korean food. I have another set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present." "Do you include sparring in your category of violence?" he asked anxiously. "You do realize this is a martial arts studio?" "It depends on the level of aggression involved," I answered. "I imagine I could wear a blindfold when any sparring occurred, or sleep. By the way, I need living quarters. It's alright if I sleep here as well?" "Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "I think we may consider the thing as settled – that is, if the place is agreeable to you." "It sure is," said I, shaking his hand. We left him working among his wood, and we walked together towards McPhillips's car.

"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon McPhillips, "how the deuce did he know that we had come from the Mission?" My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. "That's just his little peculiarity," he said. "A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out." "Oh! A mystery, is it?" I cried, rubbing my hands. "This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. The proper study of mankind is man, you know." "You must study him then," McPhillips said. "You'll find him a knotty problem though. I'll wager he learns more about you than you about him." "Indeed," I said, considerably interested in my new acquaintance. Ueda and I met next day as he had arranged, and I inspected the mattress he had allotted me to sleep on in the men's changing room. It was a filthy, undersized thing, and I swear I had seen it abandoned on the sidewalk near his dojo the day before. The room was windowless and humid, and students would often come in at odd hours, since Ueda's dojo was the first 24-hour martial arts facility in the city. However, so desirous was I to have something like a home and my daily bread, that the bargain was concluded upon the spot, and I at once entered into possession of the mattress, a key (rather useless since the doors were always unlocked), and a locker to store my few possessions. That very evening I moved my things round from the hostel, and for a day or two more I busily unpacked my property to the best advantage. That done, I gradually began to settle down and to accommodate myself to my new surroundings. Ueda was certainly not a difficult man to work for. He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he had invariably exercised and gone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day watching DVDs in his office, sometimes jogging around the park, and occasionally engaging in some social activity, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of the city. Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie in his office, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night, only emerging to teach a class. On these occasions I have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic had not the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life and discipline forbidden such a notion. As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his aims in life gradually deepened and increased. His very person and appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was a tad below average, and although not heavy or obese in any way, he carried a weight in his being, displayed with every movement of his body. His slanted eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded; and his brief, Asian nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His chin too had the bluntness and sturdiness which mark the Oriental race. His hands were invariably blotted with calluses and scars, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating an obstinate DVD from its plastic case. The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavored to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned himself. Before pronouncing judgment however, be it remembered

how objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention. My finances forbade me from venturing out unless I felt especially extravagant, and I had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence save for McPhillips, who was usually busy with his law practice. Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in endeavoring to unravel it as I scoured the building with janitorial legerdemain. He was not studying martial arts. He had himself, in reply to a question, confirmed McPhillips's opinion upon that point ("There is nothing more to learn. I only maintain."). Neither did he appear to have pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in entrepreneurship or any other recognized portal which would expand his prosperity. Yet his zeal for film studies was remarkable, and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample and minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. Surely no man would work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some definite end in view. Typical moviegoers are seldom remarkable for the exactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so. His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting George W. Bush, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the IRS and the need to pay taxes. That any civilized human being in this 21st century should not be aware that taxes are one of life's great constants appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it. "You appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it." "To forget it!" "You see," he explained, "I consider that a man's money stash is originally like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the rubbish of every sort that he comes across, so that the money which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skillful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his money-box-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of money you make, you lose money you never knew you had. It is of the highest importance therefore, not to have useless money elbowing out the useful stuff." "I don't understand a word of what you just said." "What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently. "You say that some man wants my money and that I owe it him. If the government expected me to give my internal organs it would not make an iota of difference to me or to my work." I was on the point of asking him what he would do when they came for him, whether he would put up a fight, but something in his manner showed me that the question would be an unwelcome one. I pondered over our short conversation however, and endeavored to draw my deductions from it. He said that he would acquire no money which did not bear upon his object. Therefore all the

money which he possessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated in my own mind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was financially stable. I even took a pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the document when I had completed it. It ran in this way – UEDA SENSEI – his financial limits. 1. House or condominium. – Nil, seems to reside in office. 2. Bank assets. – Nil? Arguable whether he even uses a bank. Pays my salary in rice and cash and only accepts same from students. 3. Automobile. – Nil. 4. Jewelry. – Feeble. Wears only a wooden ring on wedding finger. 5. Family. – Unknown. See above. If married, have never seen wife. 6. Goods. – Medium-sized, idiosyncratic collection of DVDs. Has harmonica on desk but never heard him play. A few wooden swords and sundry other martial arts equipment, most in dilapidated condition. When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the garbage in despair. "If I can only find where the fellow is directing his life and all his accomplishments, and discover a way that I might aid him in his quest," I said to myself. "Then I shall have upped my worth and value to him and surely receive the minimum wage I am entitled." I see that I have alluded above to his formidable DVD collection. I was not allowed to view its full extent, but guessed it remarkable and eccentric as anything in his life. That he had many rarefied films, I knew well, because at my request he played me some of Key Largo, and other favorites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom watch any movie I recognized. Leaning back in his armchair of an evening, he would relax his eyes and scrape carelessly at the screen which sat against the farther wall. Sometimes the images I saw were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the films aided those thoughts, or whether the viewing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favorite cartoons. It was a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience. During the first week or so, we had few students come in, and I had begun to think that my companion was bereft of clients. Presently however, I found that he had many pupils, and those in the most different classes of society. There was one little, sallow, rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Puttete, and who came three or four times in a single week. One morning a young girl called, fashionably dressed, and stayed for more than two hours to spar. The same afternoon brought a gray-headed seedy visitor, looking like a Jew peddler, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closely followed by a slip-shod elderly woman. On another occasion an old white-haired gentleman had an interview with Ueda Sensei; and on another a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. When any of these nondescript individuals put in an appearance, Ueda used to beg for the use of the dojo, and I would retire to my cot in the changing room. He always

apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. "I have to use this room as a place of business," he said, "and these people are my clients." It was upon the 4th of December, as I remember, that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Ueda had not yet finished his breakfast. "Ohio gozaimasu," he said, which means Eat your breakfast in Japanese. I sat on the mat and started nibbling on the kiwi he had laid out for me. "You're up awfully early," I said. "With reason," said Ueda. "I've been called to Ocean Beach on urgent business." Before I could inquire what business a martial artist might be needed for at the beach, at such an early hour, he invited me to join him and said he would explain all on the way. "Of course," I said. Minutes later we were on the bus, bumping along toward the ocean. I admit that my curiosity was piqued by this mysterious "business." "Well?" I said. "Otto," he said, "there is a corner of my life that I have kept hidden from you until now. Whether it was right or wrong to do so is irrelevant, but I now see that concealing this extracurricular activity may someday involve you, and so I think it behooves me to be forthright." I couldn't imagine what it was he spoke of. "Go on," I said. "You know me as a martial artist of the first caliber –" "And how!" I interrupted. "But there is another profession in which I sometimes engage my attention. You see, there are many criminals in the city, and therefore many crimes, and the trails left behind are sometimes muddied and confusing." I couldn't see what he was getting at. He continued. "You see, I have certain skills and senses that I've honed over the years. My physiology may be spectacular to begin with, but my teachers taught me to expand those abilities, so that some might term me... superhuman." I snorted. "Really, Ueda, I imagine you exaggerate your abilities from having seen too many martial arts films!" "I don't exaggerate. In fact, if anything, I stay humble and only paint the contours of my prowess." "And you say that you have been called away now to handle business with these abilities?" "It is so. I use them to penetrate mysterious matters. There are crimes which regular law enforcement officials and detectives are unable to solve, and it is for these cases that I am called in." "You mean you are a 'consulting detective'? Like Sherlock Holmes?" "Who?" said Ueda. I couldn't tell if Ueda's claims were his idea of a joke. "Well, I suppose I shall just have to wait and see," I said. "Not at all. You have already witnessed my skill." "How so?"

"Do you not remember several weeks ago, the day that you and I met? You and McPhillips entered the dojo and I instantly deduced that the two of you had come from the Mission." "Ah, yes!" I said, recalling my surprise at the information. "But surely this was only a clever guess." "Nothing of the sort. I was as certain of your origin that day as I'm certain I have a closet full of rice at home." And that was certain, for I had seen that closet myself. "So come, Otto," he said, "Tell me how I knew you and McPhillips had come from the Mission." "Very well. I imagine you deduced it from some scrap of filth on my trousers bearing the hallmark of the Mission." "Not in the slightest. Your trousers were clean." "Then perhaps some strain in my voice produced by the dust of that neighborhood." "Not at all." "Or perhaps my tone carried a faint Spanish accent delivered through me by inertia." "No." "Then perhaps our body temperatures were slightly elevated by being in that warmer quarter of the city, and you felt the warmth." "Ridiculous. No." "Then perhaps a receipt for a burrito fell from my pocket and you espied it... but no, there was no time for such an occurrence." "Indeed, Otto, but this is your closest guess yet." "Well, I confess I am out of guesses. It is a mystery to me! Please enlighten me." "It was your smell, Otto, your scent, that spicy burrito aroma. Taqueria Cancun was my guess." "Why, yes! We had just been there!" "Well, there you have it. And I would even go so far as to guess that you had eaten a veggie burrito." This really was too much. "Right-o!" I said. "And McPhillips?" "A chicken burrito." "Spot on! And you knew all this... how?" "Your breaths." "Then tell us our drinks!" I demanded, wishing to see the extent of his nostrilification. "You test me, Otto, you test me! And it has been so long since that day. But if I had to guess, I'd go with horchata for you." "And McPhillips?" "The same." "My God, Ueda, you are some piece of work!" "Thank you. It comes from years of practice. So you see why I am sometimes called in." "And what are the specifics of this problem at the beach?" "I know as much as you. I received a call from a police associate of mine, Lt. Mongro, who asked that I come right away."

All of this mystery work excited me, pulling me out of the doldrums of my janitorial habits. My online training course had made no mention of investigative work, and I would have felt doubly unprepared were not Ueda at my side. The bus bumped along with its electric hiss and finally came to a stop near a park where Ueda and I made our way down some stairs, arriving at a sandy shore that seemed to stretch south for miles. The ocean was cooing gently. The sky was a ghostly white and though the sun had now ascended, it could not be seen above. Ueda's keen eyes scanned the tan ground, so barren, until he found what he was looking for. "There," he said. "Lt. Mongro awaits." I followed Ueda, my atrophied legs already tiring on the sand, taking him and me closer to the water and the scene of the crime. There were a few policemen looking down on what could only be a corpse. One officer stood out, a morbidly obese Samoan somehow crammed into a uniform. Before we reached the group of officers, Ueda said: "That is Lt. Mongro. Do not let his jolly demeanor deceive you. He has a passion for crimebusting." "I see," I said. But in truth, Lt. Mongro did not appear particularly jolly. He looked up to see us coming and gave a faint nod to Ueda, ignoring me. "Thanks for coming so quick, Ueda," said Mongro. "Of course," said Ueda. "And what have you got for me this time?" "Some surfers found this guy around six this morning. The body's in horrible shape." "So I see." I took a closer look. From my untrained eye, the body looked to have been burned. There had been clothes upon the man (the shape seemed to be a man) but they'd been ravished by some sort of flame. "Do we know who he is?" said Ueda. "We just got that," said Mongro. "I sent a sample of what's left of him to the lab and they had no trouble ID'ing him." "Don't leave me in suspense," said Ueda. "He's Portugal's ambassador to the U.S.," said Mongro. "You had his DNA on file?" said Ueda. "Why? That seems unusual." "Not really," said Mongro. "He just flew into the U.S. yesterday, and the TSA has started doing rectal swab samples on all foreigners, to help track terrorists, communists, and so on. Thank God for 9/11." Ueda kneeled to examine the body. It was barely human now, a ruin, a black-gray mix of powder and slush and the smell was bad enough from where I stood. But apparently Ueda wanted a closer look. "I think he was assassinated," said Mongro. "With a flamethrower." Despite my intention to keep quiet and leave the investigation to these professionals, I couldn't help speaking up at this point. "Why on earth would someone want to kill him?" I said. "And why use a flamethrower?" Lt. Mongro seemed to notice me for the first time. "Hey, Ueda, who's this hick?" Still examining the body, Ueda said, "This is my colleague Otto. Please show him the same respect you show me." Mongro's eyes were anything but respectful to me, but he answered my question.

"The ambassador was in California to discuss some terrorist cell activity in Portugal and in the States. Portugal terrorists, Muslims, et cetera. These infidels might have a bomb, planning our doom and downfall. It's only natural they'd wanna kill the ambassador. Send a message. The irony of it all." "R-i-ight," I said, not exactly following that train of thought. "And why use a flamethrower?" "Why do you think, rookie?" said Mongro. "To hide his identity once they killed him! But these terrorists didn't count on the power of the TSA and other law enforcement agencies to sting out their evil deeds. With science. But now that we know it's the Portuguese ambassador, we've got to keep it hush-hush." "And why is that?" I said. "Geez, you're thick!" said Mongro, his blubbery lips shuddering with cough-like laughter. "Just imagine what'd happen if it leaked that terrorists had killed Portugal's ambassador." "I'm trying to imagine," I said. "It'd mean war!" said Mongro. "The U.S. would have to invade Portugal and get out all the terrorists. So you better keep your mouth shut, rookie." "My name is Otto," I said. "It seems clear what happened, Ueda" said Mongro. "I just want you to find the trail of these villains." "Which villains?" said Ueda. "Why... haven't you been listening?" said Mongro. "The terrorists!" "Ah... well..." Ueda took a notepad from his jacket pocket and wrote something on it I could not see. He tore the sheet out of the pad and handed it to Mongro. "I don't suspect you will find any terrorists today, Lieutenant. Instead, take a sample of the ambassador's clothing and have your lab test for this." Lt. Mongro looked at the paper. "Fat?" he said. "My nose also detects alcohol," said Ueda. And with that Ueda seemed to be finished. He looked at neither Mongro nor myself but made his way back across the sand. I followed, and we walked to the bus stop and were on our way back to his martial arts studio shortly. On the bus, I grilled him. "You don't have faith in Lt. Mongro's deductions?" I said, not voicing my own opinions. "Oh, I don't say that," said Ueda. "He has a clumsy way of hammering out facts in the simplest of cases. However, he is known to blow things out of proportion." "And you think this is one such case? There are no terrorists involved with the Portuguese ambassador's death?" "I think not, Otto." "I suspected as much myself," I said. "And yet... who else uses flamethrowers?" "You make an assumption which you have no right to make." "You mean it wasn't a flamethrower?" "There is no need for one, no need!" "Well, perhaps a spray of bullets then. Or a grenade."

"Oh, Otto, you really are stretching. It is clearly the work of fire, but not a flamethrower. These theories leave too much unexplained. For instance, why was the ambassador at the beach to begin with? At such an early hour, I mean." "Ah, good point!" I said. "But perhaps he'd been burned the night before, the victim of a late night incineration." "The burnt flesh was fresh," said Ueda. "He was burned this morning. Had it been rotting all night, I would know." I did not question how he would know but suspected it had something to do with that nose of his. "Perhaps his yearning for the sea air drove him to the waves which ignited –" Before I could finish my speculation, Ueda burst out laughing a maniacal cackle that belied his rigorous discipline. "Please stop, Otto. I suspect we shall have an answer soon enough when we arrive at the dojo." "I admit that the solution may be too much for me," I said. "You solve crimes like this often, Ueda?" "Often enough, yes. When Mongro or the others have need of my service I put them on the right track, as I suspect I have done today." "And they compensate you?" "Yes, it helps pay the rent. I charge them about ten dollars for each crime." "Ten dollars! That's ridiculous, Ueda." "I know, for the amount of effort I put in! The fools. It's all so trivial to me. But I must charge them something or they'll realize the joy I extract from these little puzzles." The rest of our bus ride was in silence as I pondered the facts. A man was dead. His body burned. But why burned? And why at the beach? When we got to the dojo I was like a giddy child on Christmas morn, but Ueda was as calm as always. In his office the light blinked on his answering machine and he pressed the button. Lt. Mongro's lipid voice bassooned over the line. "Well, Ueda, I don't see how you knew it, but I had the lab test for fat in the clothing like you said and we found a bunch of it. Jimmy in the lab told me what he thinks happened and I'm guessing you already know, but give me a call when you can and we'll straighten it out." The message clicked off. "I'm afraid I still don't understand," I said. "There was fat on the man's clothes? What has that to do with anything?" "It is everything," said Ueda. "We are only lucky that we discovered any left at all. Most of it had burned. You see... well, are you familiar with the concept of spontaneous combustion?" "Why... I do recall it briefly from my janitorial training course, should I ever need to clean –" "Then you probably know that it is very rare," said Ueda. "But there are theories about how it works, and one is the idea that if clothing is ignited, a human's fat may act like a wick and cause a fellow to go up like a candle." "But Lt. Mongro said they found fat in the clothes," I said.

"Aye, no doubt bacon grease or some such from his in-flight meal, ghastly things. It dripped onto his shirt, and when the ambassador lit his cigarette, he accidentally ignited his shirt, and then he burned from the inside out, a fat and alcohol bonfire." "Alcohol?" I said. "I believe he had done some drinking." "So early in the morning?" "He no doubt arrived late at night." "But you said –" "I said he was ignited in the early hours of the morn. But I suspect his arrival was earlier. Here is how I reconstruct it: The Portuguese ambassador arrived in San Francisco yesterday and decided to have a few drinks. He had his fun, then found a taxi that took him to the beach, some primordial urge to see the ocean, being a Portugal man and never more than a brief distance from the water. The taxi took him to Ocean Beach, left him there inebriated, and he was too uninitiated in the city to make his way back to his hotel or call another taxi. What to do? Why, stay at the beach and brave it out till morning. And how to pass the time? Why, smoke a cigarette. This I'm sure he did many times... did you notice all the stubs around him?" "I confess I did not," I said. "You are young at this, so let it pass. But they were there, I assure you." "So there was no attacker?" I said. "No terrorists?" "Only the demon drugs of tobacco and alcohol." "Amazing, Ueda. However, another idea has occurred to me: What if it was not spontaneous combustion but lightning that ignited the man? "That flitted across my mind as well, but the weather was clear last night. Most unlikely." "Ah," I said. "Well, seeing you at work is some feat. And to think that without your deductions we might have gone to war with Portugal! I do hope you'll bring me in on your next case as well." "If you like." "Your skills must be very rare," I said. "Nonsense, a child could do it, even without my senses. As I always say: Eliminate the improbable, and whatever remains, however impossible, must be possible." "What?" I said.

THE FILTHY WEBCAM After that first adventure with Ueda, I don't need to tell you that I was hungry for more. The surge of adrenaline, the knotty twists of logic and investigative procedure, the characters, the drama... my heart still misses a beat when I think about that first episode. What if I could transport my present self back to that time, that moment when I first tasted the thrill of mystery, and tell myself that it was but the tip of the iceberg and that the greatest exploits were yet to come? Why, surely I would be overwhelmed with glee. But in that initial zest I had to come down and take care of my daily business. I could not allow my passion to crowd out my duty to cleaning the dojo, a task both compelling and rewarding to me, however lacking in climax and twists as my other recent exploit. Little did I suspect that my two occupations would soon intersect. Perhaps that body on the beach, my first "case" with Ueda, had flared my own detective skills, for I now found myself analyzing the most minute instances and characters to ascertain what went on behind the mask of the obvious. In doing so, examining all and everything, a mystery presented itself. I did not even have to go to it; it came to me. In fact, it was the dojo itself. Allow me to explain. In sanitizing the dojo each day, I would clean the main exercise area, which consisted of a large room with mirrors on the walls (and ceilings for some obscure reason) and lightly padded floors for sparring, and the men's locker room in the back of the dojo, which I also referred to as "my bedroom." The only other rooms were Ueda's office, that he chose to clean himself – or so he said, but I never once saw him pick up the duster – and the women's locker room. As for the latter, I cheerily offered to clean it in the wee hours of the morning when the females had long since departed and I wouldn't risk upsetting their feminine virtue with my broomstick's intrusion. I would have been happy to do so to maintain cleanliness and the general health. But – "That is not necessary," Ueda had told me. "You are a man and therefore cannot enter the women's locker room by sheer force of logic." I laughed this off. "However that may be, I think that if I press on the door and move my foot forward, I shall enter. It has always been the case, and I see no reason for an exception in your dojo." "I am the reason," said Ueda, "because I say so. But have no fear, Otto. The women's locker room is taken care of." Taken care of by whom? I wondered. Could Ueda have cleaned the locker room himself? I doubted this, for he was a man, and by his own logic if I couldn't enter then he should have also been disallowed to go in. Who then? Could he have hired a cleaning lady to go in? This also seemed unlikely since his funds always seemed limited (I would often have to remind him of my $25 weekly salary), so I couldn't imagine him paying an outside service, which would surely demand more. This then is the puzzle that came to my attention. When I first brought it up, I thought that Ueda might just be in one of his contrary moods and that if I breached the matter later he would be more commodious. This was not to be, however, for each time I mentioned the subject, he was firm. "Do not clean the women's locker room, Otto." The idea rang in my head like pink elephants, like Pandora's box, like Christmas morning (I hope my Jewish readers will understand this last reference).

You realize, of course, that even a 24-hour dojo has quiet hours. Students need sleep, the sensei needs sleep, and even I need sleep. But one morning I decided that I would forego the luxury of a night's rest and disobey Ueda's instructions... and clean the women's locker room. Or at the very least, I would learn that it was already clean and the matter was well taken care of. I did not take pride in disobeying my employer, but I had to consider the higher authority of health for every student, even the women. To do the deed, I chose the 3 AM hour, when the late-nighters had long since pulled out, and the early-crackers had not yet risen. At such a time the dojo was so quiet you could hear a mouse sneeze. But there weren't any mice in the dojo. Right? Well, certainly not if I was given free rein to clean all quadrants. But who could say what cleanliness standards existed in Ueda's office and the female locker room? And perhaps I would find out about Ueda's office another day. But for now, I would content myself with penetrating the locker room. I pushed open that door like a monster might be waiting on the other side. There was not, but it came as no surprise that the room was filthy. Perhaps a casual onlooker might not describe it thus, and he/she might even fail to notice anything awry, but I am not casual in my onlooking. I suppose in its favor we might say that it could have been worse. But what is that to me? I only noted that it could be better, and that I was in a position to make it so. I could not fathom why Ueda had denied me access to this room. I began with a light dusting, followed by a thorough spray and wipe of all lockers, benches, and other surfaces, then went on to a sweeping of the floors, and followed all this with a thorough mopping of those same floors. By the time I had done all this (nearly three hours later in my thoroughness) it was an entirely new place, resembling the men's locker room, which I had kept fastidious from day one. I imagined any woman or girl entering this newly sparkled locker room would perhaps think they had entered a completely different dojo or exercise facility by mistake and step out to check the details of their environs, and when she finally realized the correctness of this locker room she would be so filled with orgiastic delight that she would immediately begin attending more classes to experience the luxury of this fresh room. She would in fact write missives in the newspaper, on the internet, on the stalls of other bathrooms, all indicating what a tidy locker room was to be found at Uedaville and thus recommend it to friend, foe, and stranger alike. The resulting influx of femininity to the dojo would breathe it new life, and all thanks to the institution of a regular cleansing regime, all thanks to me. I stood on a bench between rows of lockers and looked down on my work, the scent of solvents and degreasers giving me a slight buzz. It all looked good. Then I looked up. And sighed. In each darkened corner of the ceiling I saw webs, the crusty lair of spiders lounging on the walls, nasty critters. And I know you arachnologists may defend these beasties since they devour other mongrels smaller than my hand, but to me this reasoning is like allowing a fungus to chew off your arm so it will kill the leech that is sucking your blood. Better to have all aliens destroyed by a handy defender, e.g. me. To get to these webs I would need a ladder. I searched every nook of the dojo in silence, but one could not be procured. I would need a substitute. "Aha," I said, snapping my fingers to indicate inspiration, for I had remembered the pile of wood Ueda had set apart in reserve for his students, his so-called Confidence Test. Because of their

pliant nature, this wood pile could easily be maneuvered into the locker room and positioned as a makeshift stepping stool. I looked at my digital wrist watch: 6:03 AM. I would need to hurry – Ueda would awake soon and the early-bird martial artists start their morning creep. The cobwebs were easily enough removed from the first two corners of the ceiling, and I was overjoyed to find no eight-legged fiends lurking in the darkness, but when I got to the third corner I found something, and although not a spider, it was equally repulsive in its own way: A webcam! Yes, there nestled in the dark was a webcam, aimed down at the locker room to spy and record the private dressings and undressings of the voluptuous females frequenting Ueda's dojo. I don't think you can imagine my shock and horror. It almost felt like nausea, like I had been kicked in the testicles and had no idea how to counteract the noxious unsettling in my body. What was I to do? The webcam had to be removed, obviously, but was I to inform Ueda about this vile device that literally stripped the women of their privacy? If I told him, I would have to confess that I'd entered the women's locker room against his orders and bear his wrath. But the webcam could not be allowed to remain, of this I was certain. I also had to act fast, lest a female student entered and thought that I was the installer of the webcam (I wasn't). I left the wood pile where it was and went to Ueda's office, but found him already in the gym area doing his morning stretches. "Ueda!" I said. "I've got to show you something!" "Oh, so?" he said. We went down the hall and I began to enter the women's locker room. "What do you think you are doing, Otto?" he said. "I'm sorry, Ueda, but I went into the women's locker room earlier to clean. The women need a clean locker room." "So, you violated my instructions? I confess I'm disappointed in you. You have lost a shade of my trust." "But don't you see I had to?" I said. "And wait till I show you what I found! I've been doing some detective work of my own." "Hmm," said Ueda. I took him into the locker room and to the corner where the camera lived. I pointed. "There," I said. "Up there." "I see... nothing," said Ueda. "Now let us go before someone comes in –" "It's there!" I said. "This is important! It's a filthy webcam!" "A what? Don't be ridiculous, Otto." "Stand on the wood pile and see for yourself." "Very well." He did and when his eyes penetrated the dark he stepped down and looked at me. "It seems you are correct," he said. "I'll say! Now we just need to figure out who put it up there and what they're doing with the footage. I'm still an amateur at this detective business, but I'd say it was probably one of those oversexed teenage boy students. They have technological acumen. Either that or that big dyke woman, you know the one. Or it could even be one of these neighboring business owners, drilling through like smalltime crooks and getting their jollies off these women like parasites!" "Ah, of... of course," said Ueda. "Yes, yes. That must be it. It could be any of... them."

"You mean you don't have any hunches? I thought with your skill you might be able to deduce who was behind this." "Well, of course I have an idea, Otto. Of course. But sometimes there just aren't enough clues. Sometimes a case requires further research." "Right! Of course. What do you suggest? Perhaps we could wait in hiding until the deviant returns to check on his (or her) perverse enterprise. I don't know much about these things, but I assume the perp will have to return at some point and reload the camera with film." "Reload the...? Ah. Ah yes, Otto. Of course, of course. The fellow will have to come back and reload the camera." "And if we are in waiting we can catch him (or her)!" "Well, that is one idea, certainly. But who can say how long we would have to wait? I think I have a better solution." "Explain," I said. "I happen to have a webcam of my own in a drawer in my office. What I can do is install it here in the locker room right next to the first webcam. Then, when the man (or woman) returns to... reload the film, as you say... we will discover his (or her) identity and thus have all the evidence we require to make an arrest and execute justice." "A second webcam?" I said. "This seems a rather roundabout way of doing things, like robbing Peter to pay Paul, like castrating the priest, like locking the freezer so the children won't eat the ice cream, like skinning the cat so it won't shed its hair on the couch, like –" "Like what we will do. So it is settled. I'll go get it." He came back with a pink webcam. "Lest you think me overly feminine for selecting this webcam, I tell you that it was three whole dollars less than the others." "Of course," I said. "And it is appropriate for the women's locker room." "If you say so. But I wonder if it might be overly visible in that color." "Let's find out. I'll install it in the corner next to the other one with this tape, and you tell me if it is visible. There. Well?" "I guess the color doesn't matter. It's so dark up there. I see nothing." Ueda jumped down. "Good." "But don't you have to connect it to your computer in your office?" I said. "There is a tiny crack in the wall up there," said Ueda. "I plugged it in." "And that goes to your office? That seems unusual." "You obviously don't know much about electronics, do you, Otto?" "I guess not," I admitted. "Case closed!" he said, and started moving the wood pile back to its storage closet. "Well, not quite yet," I said. "We still have to catch the rogue." "Of course, of course. I just meant that the case was closed... for now. I will continue to monitor... this second webcam, and you can continue to do your cleaning." "Including the women's locker room?" I hazarded.

He sighed. "Oh, very well. Yes, you may. But make sure you do it at the appropriate hours when the locker room is desolate, and leave the webcam to me." "Agreed," I said. "I understand your zeal for a case, Otto, but trust me, just you wait and I will show you some real detective work soon. Have patience." "Alright. This just seemed important –" Ueda's laughter resounded through the dojo as he returned to the exercise area to continue his morning regimen.

THE FEARFUL SEX FIEND One day, as Ueda and I chewed on some seaweed and rice and awaited the first wave of afternoon students, a nondescript fellow came in and, upon confirming the identity of Ueda, slipped my employer an envelope and departed. Ueda smirked at this intrusion on his meal and left it there until he had finished eating, at which point he calmly tore it open and began to read. Ueda sighed. "Is something the matter?" I asked. "Only this man, this Arnold Lackerbee." "Arnold Lackerbee? A bill collector, perhaps?" "No, nothing of the sort. The opposite, in fact. A pampered rich man with money to throw around. And it seems he wants to throw some my way to learn the martial arts." "And what's wrong with that? Are you not always on the lookout for students?" "Yes, students who will come to my dojo and learn. This Lackerbee fellow wants private instruction in his home. He's written me twice now, offering to pay two hundred dollars per hour of instruction." I nearly spat my seaweed onto the floor. "Good lord, Ueda! That's more than I make in a month. For God's sake, take the money, man!" "There is a greater principle at work here, Otto. I have an allegiance to my own students and keeping Uedaville open 24 hours a day." "But for two hundred dollars! Just think of all the DVDs you could buy with that." Although I had only known Ueda a short while, I knew I had struck his Achilles' heel. I went on: "And you know you have no class to teach on Wednesday morning. Why not use that time to close the studio and train this man?" With his eyes closed, Ueda said, "I... I will consider it. The man has written me twice now and says he feels persecuted and is afraid to leave his house, that he needs the fighting skills that I offer." "Persecuted, eh? That sounds like a mystery!" Ueda closed his eyes. "Oh, very well, Otto. I see you will not let me be until I visit Lackerbee and see what this rich man is all about. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Would you like to come along and see how the rich live?" He did not have to ask me twice. It was eight o'clock the next morning when we got off our bicycles at Arnold Lackerbee's Seacliff mansion. A woman was standing by the front door. "I've already rung the bell." she announced. She gave Ueda a nervous look. "Is there trouble here? I came in answer to an ad for a maid. I won't work in a house where there is trouble!" "Please don't assume because I am Asian that I mean trouble," said Ueda. Before the woman could apologize or escape, the door hissed. It opened no more than an inch. Arnold Lackerbee peered out. "Ueda Sensei!" he said. "Thank God you've come!" He swung the door open. He was wearing a kimono and Hello Kitty slippers. He looked like he was staging a sleep protest, like someone had smeared charcoal under his eyes.

Ueda introduced me and I shook Lackerbee's sweaty hand, plastered with obesity. Then Lackerbee noticed the woman. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded. "I'm Holly Maggoty," she said. "I've come about that job for a maid –" "Oh, right, right, right, right, right," said Lackerbee. "I forgot for a moment. Must have doublebooked you and the sensei here. Well, don't just stand there like an unpopular prostitute, come in – come in." Inside, Mr. Lackerbee said, "I'm sorry, Miss Maggoty – it is Miss, I assume? – that I can't talk with you about positions now. I must speak with Ueda Sensei here. Men first, you know? But I'm hungry as an anorexic unicorn. Could I trouble you to fix something for me to eat? Consider it a test. You'll find everything you need in the kitchen." Holly Maggoty asked the way to the kitchen and sauntered off. Lackerbee watched her go, licking his lips. "Goddamn," he said. "Good luck keeping me off that one!" Lackerbee led Ueda and me into the living room. It was art deco, coated with dust and something that looked like cocaine on the coffee table. "Yesterday I put an ad on Craigslist for a maid," said Lackerbee. "I had to discharge my old one – threatened to sue me for harassment! I can't trust anybody!" "Do you live here alone?" said Ueda. "Yes, except for these servant girls – when I have one – and my dog Negrolo," said Lackerbee, kicking the dog. "I hope this Holly Maggoty works out. She seems bright and eager to please. Sporty chick, nice ass." I had to wonder about Lackerbee. Was he so scared just because he had lost a maid? Were sexual harassment lawsuits what had him feeling persecuted? "So you want fighting instruction," said Ueda. "Hell yes," said Lackerbee. "I'm being hunted and need all the protection I can get." "Surely you exaggerate," I said. "People may hate you for being rich, but that doesn't mean they're going to kill you." "What do you know, Jasper?" said Lackerbee (rather rudely, since my name is not Jasper). "I've got eight angry ex-maids who'd like to sue me but can't." "Why not?" I said. "Because I made them sign a cleverly worded document prepared by my lawyers before they could work for me. I didn't lay a hand on them until they signed that paper." "And then?" I said. "Then I sodomized them." "All of them?" said Ueda. "Well, obviously not all at once," said Lackerbee. "One at a time." "Good lord," said Ueda. "You are despicable. I don't think I can work with you." Ueda stood up to leave. "Wait!" said Lackerbee. "You don't understand. I have issues. My therapist gave me a note. That's what it says in that paper I make the maids sign." "Well, okay then," said Ueda. "If you have a note."

"So you see why those bitches want revenge. They can't sue me, not with my lawyers and money, so they're always sending their boyfriends around to teach me a lesson." "Poor fellow!" I said. "They'll kill me!" said Lackerbee. "I need martial arts training pronto! Do you know how I've been living the past few months?" Ueda shook his head. "How?" "Like a tick, burrowing into the depths of this house, never coming out into the light of day. I don't even know if it's day or night. I drift in and out of sleep and wake to screw those whores and order groceries online. Say, where's that new maid? I'm starved. I want to eat and go to bed, if you know what I mean." He had hardly spoken when Holly Maggoty entered the room. She was carrying a tray of food. She set a bowl of soup, a sandwich, and a glass of milk on the end table by Lackerbee. "Very nice, woman, thank you," mumbled Lackerbee, dipping his spoon into the greasy soup. Ueda's eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Something was wrong. "Don't eat!" Ueda cried. An instant later I understood as well. Ueda leaped upon Holly Maggoty as she tried to escape through the back door. He bashed her head against the wall and she fell to the ground. "Something wrong?" said Lackerbee. "Yes," said Ueda. "Holly Maggoty is an agent of the women who want to kill you!" "H-how do you know?" said Lackerbee. Ueda tipped Lackerbee's glass of milk onto the floor next to the dog, and the creature greedily began licking up the white liquid. Within seconds the dog keeled over and landed in the white puddle, dead. "Negrolo!" screamed Lackerbee. "Better him than you," said Ueda. "But he's lactose intolerant and has an allergy to dairy products," said Lackerbee. "Any milk would hurt him." "Oh," said Ueda. "Well, I still think it would have killed him. It's poisoned. Try it yourself if you don't believe me." "But how did you figure it out?" said Lackerbee. "Just a lucky guess?" "Nothing of the sort," said Ueda. "You said that you ordered your groceries online, and yet look, Holly Maggoty served you milk. You cannot order milk through the mail. Thus it is proved that the milk belonged to her." "Of course I can order milk," said Lackerbee. "The grocery store delivers the groceries, not the postal service!" "Oh," said Ueda. "But the fact remains that you were given soup with milk. This is entirely too much liquid for one meal. Any maid would know that." "What are you saying?" said Lackerbee. "I'm saying that Holly Maggoty is a man!" said Ueda. He reached down and pulled the wig off Holly Maggoty's head. "So it would seem," said Lackerbee, feeling Holly Maggoty's genitals to confirm this. "So it would seem. Well, this just proves that I'm being persecuted. We need to start my training now."

"I wish you luck," said Ueda. "I, however, will not be training you." "What?" said Lackerbee. "Name your price!" "Merely $10 for solving this crime," said Ueda. "As for being your sensei, I want nothing to do with a pussy like you." On the bike ride back to the dojo Ueda said to me, "Well, Otto, what did you think of this case?" "To be honest, it felt a little sloppy," I said. "Did you have to kill the dog?" "Yes, sometimes slop finds its way into things. But at least I won't have to be around that dandy and can devote my time to the real students." "But that two hundred dollars an hour!" I said. "We shall keep our dignity, Otto," said Ueda. "Arnold Lackerbee can keep his money. And his prison."

HYPNOTISM One Friday, when I asked Ueda for my $25 weekly salary, he opened his shoe box and looked in. I couldn't see how much was inside, but his face told a sorry tale of the contents. "Business not going so well?" I said. "It's true," said Ueda. "We've lost a few students to Zhen Brutus." "Zhen who?" I said. "Zhen Brutus!" said Ueda. "He's a martial artist like myself, but unlike me in every way that matters. Years ago I defeated Zhen repeatedly in mixed martial arts tournaments and he has never forgotten. He used to run a kung fu studio down the street but got closed down. Now he teaches 'underground' classes in a shed behind an auto body shop south of Market Street. He calls his group the Werewolves. We've lost two students to his dojo this week alone! If business stays this slow, I'll have to do more detective work." "Sounds good to me," I said. Ueda hung a sign on his office window: UEDA DETECTIVE AGENCY Ueda Sensei, President No crime too insidious. $10 per case and expenses. At that moment, Tommy Vanderschnitzel walked into the dojo. He was one of the students who had defected to Zhen Brutus and the Werewolves. "Tommy!" said Ueda, filled with glee. "You've... come back?" "I'll say!" said Tommy. "How do you tell a dead man from a not-dead man?" "Feel the pulse," said Ueda. "That will be ten dollars." "I don't think that's quite worth ten dollars," I said. "Is this a riddle, Tommy?" "Naw," said Tommy. "I just been ripped off by Zhen Brutus. The fink!" "How did it happen?" said Ueda. Tommy explained. An hour earlier he had gone to Zhen Brutus's dojo to spar. Zhen and the Werewolves had just returned from a bout of shoplifting and rape in Potrero Hill. They were sitting around a boiling kettle, feasting on grits. "I told Zhen I wanted a lesson, that I wanted to spar," said Tommy. "He said to come back in a few days when he'd worked off his hangover. I told him that he owed me a lesson now. After bugging him, he finally told me he'd teach me a special fighting technique, a secret form of hypnotism, for one hundred dollars. He said I'd be able to kill a man and eat his brains – if I so desired." "Wait – say that again," I said. "He said I could kill a man and eat his brains with hypnosis. He asked if I wanted to learn the secret for one hundred dollars.” "That's what I thought you said," I said. "That's an offer any sane man couldn't refuse." "I could have refused," said Ueda. "But I never claimed to be sane."

"So I coughed up a hundred big ones," said Tommy, "And Zhen pulled in this fat guy off the street, the kind of guy cannibals would go apeshit over in the South Pacific." "I know exactly the type you mean," said Ueda. "Zhen brought the guy into the dojo, waved his hand over him or something, and the guy fell to the ground KER-PLUNK." "The waving was no doubt for show," said Ueda. "Zhen probably offered the man on the street a free sample of ice cube or other delicacy laced with arsenic." "Gosh darn it, why didn't I think of that?" said Tommy. "When I asked Zhen how I could kill a man like that he just said, 'What, you weren't paying attention? Well, if you want to see it again you'll need to pay a thousand bucks.' Where am I supposed to get money like that?" Tommy put $10 on Ueda's desk. "I want you to prove I've been cheated," said Tommy. "Prove that Zhen didn't hypnotize that fat guy to death, Ueda Sensei! Oh, and help me get my hundred dollars back. All I got from Zhen's 'lesson' is this." He handed Ueda a photograph. It showed Tommy and Zhen standing together in front of the corpse. Zhen Brutus was a lean Chinaman with a forked beard and mustache. He smiled and maintained a hypnotic gaze while holding the dead man by the shoulder and crotch. Tommy looked on with ennui. "Dexter Mulcho, one of the Werewolves, snapped the picture with a Polaroid," said Tommy. "Dexter told me to show it to my friends and tell them about the lessons." "We're not your friends," I said. "Why are you showing this to us?" "I thought it might help with the case," said Tommy. "And perhaps it might," said Ueda. "Let's pay Zhen Brutus and his thugs a visit." Dexter drove us to the Soma, to the dojo of Zhen Brutus and the Werewolves (Werewolville). It had formerly been inhabited by an animal rapist, but Zhen had given the place a nice spring motif, with flowers strategically placed around the dojo. Zhen saw us instantly. "Make like a crusty old hooker and blow," snarled Zhen. "Give me back my money first," said Tommy. "When you took it, you didn't mention I'd need more lessons to kill people." "Oh, is that why you brought this little posse?" said Zhen. "Well, if it isn't my old nemesis Ueda. Even you must know, Sensei, that nobody learns overnight. It took me weeks to learn that trick." "Trick is right!" said Tommy. "You cheated me out of my cash." "Oh, really?" said Zhen. "And here I thought the man was dead. He's over there still. Go have a look." "We shall," said Ueda. Ueda and I examined the corpse, which lay in a pile in the corner. "I haven't had to clean up many corpses," I said, "but this sure likes like a dead man to me. And he smells like one!" I pinched my nose. "So you insist that this is a dead man?" said Ueda, turning to Zhen.

"Are you bonkers, Ueda?" said Zhen. "Even your pal there just told you it's so. That fatty is dead." "I think he's got us, Ueda Sensei," said Tommy. "We can't prove he didn't kill that guy with hypnosis. We know Zhen probably just poisoned him, but I can't afford an autopsy." "Neither can I," said Ueda. "But that is not necessary. That fat man is dead. But..." "What?" I said. Ueda kneeled down to the man and unzipped the bloated pants. Instead of revealing a tiny fat man's penis, there was a bloody stain that told of mutilation. "This fat man is no longer a man!" said Ueda. On the ride back to Uedaville he explained. "Zhen doesn't know any more about hypnotism than I know about Kermit the Frog's drug tests. You see, it was the photograph that gave him away. Zhen had poisoned the man and lured him in, but when he posed with fatty in the photograph he held him by the shoulder... and the crotch! This was entirely unnecessary and the only explanation was that Zhen was eager to eat the man's penis, regarded as a delicacy in China for enhancing virility. I know that Zhen is Chinese and cannot resist such appetizers." When it was revealed that the fat man was no longer a man, Zhen returned Tommy's money. Tommy returned to regular lessons at Uedaville.

SKULL MASSAGE I was cleaning the toilets while listening to my AM radio, when a news item came up about a fire burning just down the street from the dojo. "Fire!" I calmly screamed to Ueda. "The Amen Theater is on fire!" "Amen Theater?" said Ueda. "Oh, you mean that church that shows the same Christian film over and over and doesn't charge admission? Well, I guess it was only a matter of time before someone burned it down." "Come on!" I said. "I've never seen a theater burn." "Well, since the dojo is rather quiet right now, I suppose we can take a short ride over there." "Golly, I can hardly wait," I said. Unfortunately, by the time we reached the theater the fire had been extinguished and most of the onlookers had departed. The firemen were winding their hoses back onto the trucks. "Hey, fellows," I said. "Nobody hurt in this inferno, wot?" A grizzly man in a yellow fireman hat said, "Just a few hundred homeless people who slept in the theater." "Well, you win some, you lose some," I said. "Any idea what started it?" "What are you, an insurance investigator?" he said. "Piss off." Ueda and I hung around a while longer, watching them put their fancy equipment back in place. The fire engines drove off. We walked our bikes down the sidewalk a ways, and then I gave a gasp. "Ueda!" I said. From the alleyway between The Salondromat and Blowhard Sushi a man had staggered forth, dizzy. He held his head in his hands. Pus and blood ran onto the sidewalk and the smell was horrible from his leaky skull. "My God, how inconsiderate!" I said, holding my nose. The man fell to the ground. I was going to bypass my disgust and check him out with my janitorial skill and see if there was anything I might do to "clean" his wound, but before I could do so, a police siren screamed and I heard brakes screech. A giant Samoan cop joggled out of the car. "Well, Ueda, and your measly friend," said Lt. Mongro. "Trouble seems to follow you guys like a tailgater." "Not a particularly fresh simile," I said. "Yeah?" said Mongro. "Well, who asked you, Mr... Mr... Books!" "I think this man may be dying," said Ueda. "Alright, alright, Ueda, don't get your panties in a huff," said Mongro. "I'll deal with you later, rookie. Geez, what'd you do to him, Ueda?" "Oh, not by my hand," said Ueda. "I like to think I'm a little less sloppy than this." "Well, it looks like we're too late for this one," said Mongro. "He's already dead." The injured man on the sidewalk said, "I've been robbed!" "I don't believe he's dead, Lieutenant," I said. Ueda and Mongro dragged the man over to a brick wall and leaned him against it. "Tell us what happened while we patiently wait for an ambulance," said Ueda.

"Sure," said the man. "Not like I got anything better to do. It's only my brains leaking on the sidewalk after all." "Hey, don't I know you?" said Mongro. "Why, sure! You're that guy who runs the massage parlor right around the corner." "Yeah, that's me," he said. "Fred Fibersuck." "Alright, tell us what happened, Mr. Fibersuck," said Mongro. "I was slugged and robbed!" said Fibersuck. "Who done it?" said Mongro. "Someone bashed my skull from behind as I walked through this secluded alleyway counting my money," said Fibersuck. "I didn't get a look at who did it." "Are you always that stupid?" said Mongro. "I mean, walking through alleyways flashing money?" "It seemed like such a safe alley," said Fibersuck. "But now I'm out ten thousand dollars." "Ten thousand?" said Mongro, whistling. "Do you always go through that alley to get to the bank?" "Only when I have large sums of money so that I can count it without being disturbed." "Who knew you were taking so much money to the bank?" said Ueda. "Just the girls at my massage parlor," said Fibersuck. "It was the week's earnings and they all know I go to the bank today. But they couldn't be involved. They all love me." Ueda clutched Fred Fibersuck's shoulder. "Is... is... that your gas I smell?" "Y... yes!" said Fibersuck. "But I farted several minutes ago, in the alley. How can you still smell it?" "I have a keen nose," said Ueda. "But let me ask you, and please be forthright: Is that the reason you go down the alley? To expel gas from you anus?" "Yes. Yes, it's true. I'm rarely alone at the massage parlor and I dare not fart on the sidewalk lest I face social ostracism –" "You need not explain, Mr. Fibersuck," said Ueda. "It makes perfect sense to me, and I don't blame you. You did your best to mask the odor and any normal person would detect nothing." "It's true," I said. "I can't smell any flatulence. And yet I am perfectly normal." "You see?" said Ueda. "Now let me ask you, Mr. Fibersuck, whether there was any place a person might hide in the alley." "There was – behind the garbage bin," said Fibersuck. "But not a place that someone would see me coming. And I walk so silently that no one could have heard me. After all, carrying that kind of money, I stay alert for thieves." "Good man," said Ueda. "Then I think we have nearly solved this case." "Now you're pulling our chains, Ueda," said Mongro. "We hardly have a clue to go on!" "On the contrary, Lieutenant, we simply need to know which of your masseuses, Mr. Fibersuck, is..." "Is what?" said Fibersuck. "Yeah – is what, Ueda?" said Mongro. "Is what?" I said. "Stay out of this, rookie," said Mongro.

The air was cool and you could have heard a bell drop. You probably couldn't hear a pin drop because of the general noise level imposed by city life, but you could probably hear a bell drop. That's pretty quiet. "Thank you for allowing me my moment of suspense," said Ueda. "You only need to tell us, Mr. Fibersuck, which of your masseuses... is blind!" "Blind?" said Fibersuck. "Why... Cleopatra – not her real name, of course – is blind. Funny you should know I have a blind masseuse, but I hardly see the relevance. You don't expect me to believe she was somehow involved! She loves me like I was her father." "I think not," said Ueda. "And when you return to your massage parlor you will find her long gone." "Alright, Ueda, explain yourself," said Mongro. "It's all quite simple really. No one could have hidden in that alley to see Fibersuck approaching. However, a blind person could have concealed herself in such a way that she could know when someone was coming, and attack at the right moment, the way that a sighted person could not." "Of course!" I said. "I have often heard that the blind have superior hearing and other senses to compensate for lack of vision." "Yes," said Ueda. "But who can say if this Cleopatra woman heard the gas expelled from Fibersuck or smelled it, or some combination of the two?" "And so she surprised him as he passed the garbage bin," said Mongro, "and gave Fibersuck here a little skull massage. She took the money and she's probably on a train to Africa by now. Or something. Don't worry, Fibersuck, we'll get your money back. Fibersuck?" We all looked down at Fibersuck, who seemed to be dead. "Damn those slow paramedics!" said Mongro. "When did you guys call them?" "Call them?" I said. That evening Ueda informed me that Cleopatra had been found riding in circles on a bus in Oakland. Apparently she thought she was on an airplane. "Blind people!" said Ueda. "Always a barrelful of laughs! She'll be in prison a long, long time, I imagine." "I imagine it as well," I said. "And what of the money? That sure was an awful lot for a massage parlor." "Lt. Mongro says it's being returned to Fibersuck's widow," said Ueda. "He called her Mamasan for some reason, which I found peculiar because in Japanese –" "Who cares what he calls her as long as justice is done. And you remembered to get ten dollars from Mongro for solving the case?" "He said he would PayPal it to me," said Ueda. "Don't forget to have him add enough to cover the transaction fees. Otherwise you'll be left with eight dollars or something ridiculous." "Otto, you're right! Where would I be without you?" I suppressed a smile, turned away, and started sweeping the floor in preparation for the evening class.

GERBILS On the day the San Francisco Sex Olympics opened, Pedro Empedofelo trotted into Ueda's dojo, Uedaville. Pedro was alone. I immediately smelled trouble. Not literally smelled like a toilet that I'd forgotten to clean, but metaphorically. I'd never seen Pedro without Nestor and Redondo, his prized sex gerbils, to whom he was married. Pedro had made countless films and ran a website that featured him and the gerbils. He was so attached to them that he took them along everywhere in a small cage, even to his jiu-jitsu classes with Ueda. The sensei also sensed something was afoot and said to Pedro, "Is Nestor hurt? Or Redondo?" "I hope to God not," said Pedro. "Somebody has stolen them." "Kidnapped?" I said. "Aye," said Pedro. "But why?" I said. Pedro took a Scientific American clipping from his pocket and handed it to Ueda, and I read it over my employer's shoulder. It told about an alligator in Alabama named Floyd that had been trained to have intercourse with its owner, who also defecated in the creature's eye while feeding it a live pig. Floyd and his owner had won first prize in the Deep South Sex Olympics the year before, netting a cool $100,000. "Not shabby!" I said. "I get it," said Ueda. "What an alligator can do, two gerbils can do." "And more!" said Pedro. "But somebody kidnapped my little pals last night. We were supposed to perform this afternoon in the Olympics!" "Do you have any idea who might have taken them?" said Ueda. "I'm sure it was either Barnsworth Charisma or Leslie Puckerwell or Danny Spongesoft. They were the only ones who could've got to Nestor and Redondo." Pedro laid a crinkled $10 bill on Ueda's shoulder. I thought this was an unusual place to put money. "I've heard you solve crimes, Ueda Sensei," said Pedro. "I want you to figure out which of those fuckers stole my mates. All three are my friends – or were. Last night they all came over to my house to party." "Playing board games?" said Ueda. "Something like that," said Pedro. Ueda, Pedro, and I went to Pedro's house. Ueda wanted to look at where the gerbils lived. Pedro led us through the kitchen and into a bedroom filled with strange devices that Pedro called "toys," although they looked unlike any gerbil toys I knew. He also had a webcam aimed at a spot where he said the gerbil cage was kept. "Right there," said Pedro. "That's where I keep them. And their internet fans are getting unruly. Even when we're not... performing... they pay to have 24/7 access to my guys, with only small breaks when I take them out. I'm getting emails and people suspect that something's wrong. I owe it to my subscribers to solve this fast. Help me get my gerbils back, Ueda Sensei!" "Calm down," said Ueda.

"You know," I said, "We have a funny story about webcams ourselves –" "Not now, Otto," said Ueda. "I don't understand why gerbils are so popular," I said. "They get websites now, and reality TV shows, and animated films, and radio interviews. The whole world has gerbil mania! And God, keeping them clean must be horrible!" "That's the price you pay for love, my friend," said Pedro. "If you don't understand then I can't explain. Just help me find them." "So you suspect Barnsworth Charisma or Leslie Puckerwell or Danny Spongesoft," said Ueda. "Why would they do that?" "They're each performers in their own right," said Pedro. "And they know how talented Nestor and Redondo are. And consider this. Each has a good reason for knocking the gerbils out of the Olympics. Barnsworth Charisma's mother has an act with a horse. Leslie Puckerwell's granddaughter does something with an elephant, and Danny Spongesoft's brother has some tricks with bees." "I like bees," I said. "Being beaten by such talented gerbils would be hard to take," said Ueda. "So what happened last night?" "We were all in the living room having... fun," said Pedro, "and at some point my so-called friends all had opportunities to take the gerbils out of the house. Barnsworth and I played a game with a ping pong ball. Danny was doing something with the television on, and Leslie was reading the instructions for a new... toy." "Boy, you like toys," I said jovially. "While she was reading, Leslie suddenly asked what an Adonis Pouch is," said Pedro. "I couldn't remember and told her to go look it up online." "And what is an Adonis Pouch?" I said. "That's neither here nor there," said Pedro. "The point is that my computer is in the same room as the gerbils. She went in and shouted back the meaning of that phrase. But who knows what else she did with my gerbils!" "Aha," I said. "She could have moved them and their cage outside the kitchen door and taken them when she left." "Yeah, but so could Barnsworth and Danny," said Pedro. "Barnsworth banged... well, he hurt a rather delicate part of his anatomy with the ping pong ball." "With a ping pong ball?" said Ueda. "It hardly seems like an instrument of injury." "You'd be surprised," said Pedro. "He went to my bathroom to use the first-aid kit." "What about Danny Spongesoft?" said Ueda. "He went last and stayed longest," said Pedro. "He wanted a drink of ice water, but he found it challenging, he said, to get the ice out of the tray." "What, is he retarded or something?" I said. "It may have been a ruse," said Pedro, "to buy him some time." "So all three of your friends were alone near the gerbils at different times of the evening," I said. "Did they know where your computer and first-aid kit are in your house?" "Yes, we've downloaded porn together before, and we always seem to need the first-aid kit," said Pedro. "Why, just last week –"

My attempt at detective work left me confused and discouraged. "Perhaps the kidnapper was someone else entirely," I said. "What?" said Pedro. "I just told you my friends are all assholes with good reasons to ruin my performance in the Sex Olympics. Why don't you be quiet and let Ueda Sensei do the thinking? Aren't you his janitor?" "Ignore him, Otto," said Ueda. "He's just moody because his lovers were stolen." "Y-you're right," said Pedro. "I'm sorry if I was snappy, Otto." "That's okay," I said. "I know it's frustrating because we don't have one real clue. All three of your friends had good excuses to go through your house alone." "Good excuses?" said Ueda. "On the contrary, one had a phony, phony excuse." I gasped. "Have you proof?" "Proof," said Ueda, "is for lesser men. Far better than proof, I have intuition and a great mind for the criminal narrative." "But can you find my gerbils?" said Pedro. "I believe so." "And who has them?" said Pedro. "Danny Spongesoft." "Danny!" said Pedro. "That jerk! I'm gonna kill him! But how do you know?" Ueda cracked his knuckles and said, "You said Danny was watching TV. To do so requires hand-eye coordination to press buttons, a much more complex operation than getting ice out of a tray. Therefore we can assume he was lying when he said he had difficulty with the ice, and that he used the time to abduct your gerbils." With this realization intact, we hopped into Pedro's car and went to Danny Spongesoft's house. We rang and there was no answer. "Stand back," said Ueda, who proceeded to kick the door into a splintered mass and secure our entrance. Within the house we found Danny Spongesoft, naked on his living room floor and blaring selections from Queen's Greatest Hits. On Danny's lap, massaging his microphallus, were the two gerbils. When he saw Pedro, Ueda, and me, he screamed and confessed his crime. Pedro was able to take his gerbils and make his event at the Sex Olympics just in time that afternoon. They only won the bronze medal, which makes this story's ending a bit anticlimactic (which also makes the ending ironical, since it refers to the Sex Olympics). As a postscript to this riveting tale, a few months after its resolution, Pedro vanished from Ueda's dojo altogether. Ueda telephoned him and was informed by a burly voice that Pedro and his gerbils had left the U.S. for a small desert island, where they would live out the remainder of their days in solitude, feeding off each other until they died of scurvy. I never heard of Pedro (or Nestor and Redondo) again, so I cannot confirm or deny the fulfillment of this scenario.

A SCANDAL IN WALGREENS We were in Walgreens, a drug store, but we weren't buying drugs, because drug use is life abuse. Ueda and I were securing some shampoo that might alleviate his dandruff, ever irksome. While we waited in line with his liquid scalp relief, I noticed a tall blond man, about twenty years of age, stealthily walking toward the exit. "REEEEEEEEEEEE," went an alarm. "Thief!" shouted the Walgreens clerk. "Come back here, you!" Ueda, like a cat, was upon the blond man before I had a chance to take another breath, twisting his ear and dragging the perp to the Walgreens counter with him. "Nyaaaa," said the blond man. "Cut it out! I didn't do nothing." "You're a thief, blondie," said the feeble old Walgreens employee. "You're gonna go to prison." "Thief? Prove it, grandpa," said the blond man. "Grandpa?" I said. "Are you two related?" "He is being colloquial and rude," said Ueda. "They are not related." "He does look familiar though," said the Walgreens man. Ueda patted the blond man down and stopped at his pants pockets. He removed two packages of dental floss. "Aha!" said Ueda. "A dental floss thief." "You're crazy!" said the blond man. "I just paid for those. I've even got a receipt to prove it." He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and Ueda examined it. "Hmm, it does appear to be a receipt for two packages of dental floss," said Ueda. "Say," said the clerk, "Now that I think about it, I do recall selling you some floss a few minutes ago. But I took the RFID tags off it. It shouldn't trigger the shoplifter alarm." "Hey, I don't know anything about your alarms," said the man. "I just came in to get some floss and got manhandled by this Asian here for my troubles. Is this how Walgreens treats its customers?" To me the blond fellow still seemed nervous, and I thought he darted a glance at the exit. Was he preoccupied with something outside? Ueda noticed the glance as well. "One moment, Otto," said Ueda. "Keep an eye on this villain while I confirm my suspicions." Ueda bolted outside, and when he returned I thought that my mind was playing tricks on me. He had, also pinched by the ear and being dragged along behind him, another young man... identical to the first! "Ueda," I said, "What the devil goes on here? Is this some sort of magic trick?" "Nothing of the sort," said Ueda. "These two scoundrels are, in fact, twins." "Twins!" I said. "Of course! But why? What does it all mean?" "Yes, what goes on here?" said the bewildered Walgreens clerk. The tall blond twins looked at each other sheepishly but said nothing. "You won't say?" said Ueda to the diabolical duo. "Very well, then I shall explain. First, one of these fellows came in and bought two packages of dental floss. Then he went outside and handed his receipt to his twin brother, who came into the Walgreens and took two more packages of floss from the shelf. This second twin went out of the store without paying for the floss, uncaring whether he triggered the alarm as he did so, believing he was immune from justice because he had a receipt. One

more perk: The clerk, being old, would be confused and flustered. He clearly remembers selling floss to a man who looks just like this... so why was the alarm triggered? Perhaps the Walgreens man had failed to deactivate the security device on the floss. The clerk would apologize –" "And they would get away with twice as much dental floss as they paid for!" I said, following Ueda's train of thought. "What an ornate plan, and all for some dental floss." "The criminal mind has no limit to its nefariousness," said Ueda. Just then, a corpulent police officer entered the store. "Well, well, what have we got here?" said Mongro. I spoke: "These two –" "I wasn't talking to you, rookie," said Mongro. "What goes on, Ueda?" "I'm sure if you check the security footage you will have an answer to that yourself, Lieutenant. I leave these shoplifters in your capable hands." "Thieves, eh?" said Mongro. "What'd they get?" "Dental floss!" said the clerk. Mongro looked at the blond twins in disgust. "You filth..." Mongro slapped each twin in the back of the head. "Now get out of here!" "You're letting them go?" said Ueda. "These punks aren't worth my time," said Mongro. "You know, Lieutenant, were I not a masterful jiu-jitsu practitioner I might fear for my life knowing these knaves were on the street, ready to take revenge on me for this embarrassment at any moment. And what about my janitor here? Who will protect him?" With Lt. Mongro facing us, the two twins simultaneously stuck out their tongues at Ueda and me. Mongro didn't see a thing. "Bastards!" said Ueda. "What?" said Mongro. "What is it?" "Again, if you check the security footage I think you'll realize the extent of their depravity," said Ueda. The Walgreens clerk closed his register and led us to a dark, smelly room in the back. Mongro had his hands pinned around the necks of the blond twins, and brought them along. We gathered around a green and white screen and the clerk set up the footage. He rewound it to just the right moment, and played the tongue-taunting moment in slow motion. "Well, you boys must have been raised in a barn!" said Mongro. I felt the need to object to this statement. "I was actually raised in a barn myself, Lieutenant, so I take offense at the insinuation that living in a barn somehow ruins a person's character." Mongro ignored me. "Now is the time to do your job, Lt. Mongro," said Ueda. "Thrash these villains senseless or take them to prison." "Tell you what, Ueda," said Mongro. "I'm gonna let you get revenge on 'em, but not by putting them in a cell." "Beating them will be fine," said Ueda. "No, I can't allow that," said Mongro. "There are laws and stuff. But I will allow you to stick out your tongue at them yourself, with absolutely no fear of reprisal from the law."

Ueda sneered at the offer. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I am above that." "Oh?" said Mongro. "There are certain things a sensei simply doesn't do," said Ueda. And with that he picked up his shampoo, and we departed.

CHESTER'S TREE HOUSE After a Saturday morning "Girly" class (as Ueda called it), I noticed that Elaine Slutsky, a comely 13-year-old girl, went into the sensei's office. I wasn't eavesdropping per se, but I did overhear the conversation. "I need protection," said Elaine. "Why tell me?" said Ueda. "I am not Planned Parenthood." "Not that kind of protection," said Elaine. "I've already got that. What I need is protection from a scam. Chester Chachbag claims to have made a medical discovery, and I want to believe him. He says he can completely eliminate PMS with a pill!" "Fascinating," I whispered to myself. "Could it be true?" "Who is this Chester Chachbag?" said Ueda. "Some boy at my school," said Elaine. "And he claims to have created a pill that thousands of years of desperate scientific research by men has failed to reveal?" said Ueda. "That sure sounds like a scam to me, Elaine." "But what if it is true?" she said. She placed a $10 bill on Ueda's desk. "I've heard you can solve crimes, Ueda Sensei. I want you to figure out if it's true or not." Ueda pocketed the cash and said, "Very well. When can I meet this Chester Chachbag?" "He's called for a secret meeting today," said Elaine. "He told us girls at school to come to his tree house at 11 AM and be ready to pay. He didn't name a price." "Oh?" said Ueda. "That's never a good sign. He knows you are desperate." "Tell me about it!" said Elaine. Ueda looked at his watch. "If we're going to catch him, we'd better hurry. Come on!" I chose that moment to enter the room. "Can I come along?" "Of course, Otto," said Ueda. "But how will you guys get inside his tree house?" said Elaine. "Only girls are invited." "Then we shall have to become girls for this adventure," said Ueda. I did not like the sound of that. Ueda opened a closet in his office and removed two blond wigs and two dresses. "Get changed, Otto, and I shall do the same." And of course I initially resisted this foray into transvestitism, but my curiosity about the case persuaded me to put embarrassment aside and put the dress and wig on. I must admit that I looked good. Ueda also looked agreeable as a blond. "Let's go!" he shouted. We climbed the ladder into Chester's tree house just as he was about to make his sales pitch. His tree house was filled to capacity with teenage girls. He nodded to Elaine, but when he saw Ueda and me his eyebrows crinkled. "Who the hell are these bitches?" he said. "Oh," said Elaine. "This is my aunt... Frida" – he indicated me – "and this is her... uh... Asian lesbian lover. I told them about your PMS cure and they wanted to hear more." "Well, that's cool," said Chester. "I like Asians. Have a seat, ladies, and gather around."

Chester Chachbag made a wizardly gesture. Standing beside Chester was a hideous-looking girl in braces. She looked angry. "This is my sister Rhonda" said Chester. The girls chirped and laughed at the ugly girl. Chester raised his hands for silence. "You're itching to know why this meeting is a secret," said Chester. "I'll tell you. I want to keep this chance of a lifetime strictly for my local girl friends." The audience laughed again. "What's so funny?" I asked Elaine. "Everyone knows Chester could never get a girlfriend," said Elaine. "Quit flapping your gums, Chachbag!" said a shapely black girl in the front row. "Show us this damned pill!" "Can't wait to get rid of that PMS, eh, my young negress?" Chester shot back. "I wouldn't be surprised if a few of you girls are itching for it right now." "Me!" said one young tramp. "Me first!" said another chicken. "Settle down, settle down, ladies," said Chester. "You'll soon be able to get the PMS pill for yourself. But before y'all line up, I'd like to first give you a demonstration on my sis here. As you can see, she is... less than friendly right now. Can anyone guess why?" "That ho's got PMS!" said one girl. "That is correct," said Chester. "Just look at her! That furrowed brow, the fatigued look... she'll be drippin' blood any day now. But before that happens I will now give her the Chester Chachbag Magical PMS Pill, all rights reserved." "All right," said the black girl. Chester handed the pill to his sister Rhonda. She placed it in her mouth, then chug-a-lugged a glass of Ovaltine to wash it down. The audience was dead silent with anticipation. "Due to the fast-acting nature of my pill," said Chester, "you will notice a change almost instantly. Now watch this bitch become a lady!" Indeed, as we watched Chester's sister, her expression changed almost as soon as she gulped the pill. No longer moody and moribund, she transformed before our eyes into a glowing, smiling girl. "Did you see that?" Chester screamed with excitement. "The transformation is complete! The pill has taken effect. How do you feel, Rhonda?" "Gosh, Chester," said Rhonda, "I feel great! No more irritation on my part and everything's copacetic." "You're no longer in a snit?" said Chester. "I am not," she said. "And this, dear ladies, is why I call my pill magic," said Chester. "So... who's interested?" Hands flew up and girls chattered excitedly. "Me! Me! Me!" Chester smiled. "I thank you for your interest. However, I haven't yet told you the price." "So how much is it?" shouted Elaine, eager as any to get one of the pills. "Oh, I'm not asking for money," said Chester. "In fact, all you have to do is come visit me here in this tree house... alone, and stay with me for an hour or so, over there." As he said these last words he pointed to a filthy futon in the corner and added, "That's where the real magic happens."

Chester winked at the girls. "I think I'm going to be sick," said Elaine. "At the end of my session with you I'll give you a pill, and you will be free of your ailment – forever!" said Chester. "So – who wants to make the first appointment?" Again there was silence in the tree house, but finally a girl near the front raised her hand. Chester checked her out. "Great! Who else?" More hands went up – including Elaine, to my dismay – but before another girl could pawn herself away Ueda went to the front to address Chester and Rhonda. "Young man," said Ueda, "I think before any girl signs up for your treatment, I should point something out." "What's that?" said Chester. "That your sister is not a girl," said Ueda. There was a confused gasp from the audience. "W-what?" said Chester. "This is not a girl," said Ueda. He grabbed Rhonda's hair and removed it. "A wig!" said one girl. "Hey, Chester, what gives?" said another. I myself was flabbergasted by the high incidence of gender deception in Ueda's cases. "And since this 'Rhonda' is not a girl, I don't think PMS was ever an issue," said Ueda. Chester turned red. "Alright, alright," he said. "I admit it. This is my friend Andrew, not my sister. But how'd you figure it out?" "Simple," said Ueda. "For I too am a man, and I could see this boy's Adam's apple from a mile off." Ueda threw his own wig into the audience and took off his dress. "It's true!" said Chester. "And to think I was sexually attracted to you." "Chester, you asshole," said Elaine. "You were gonna scam us all to get in our panties." The girls started murmuring and began to sound most unlady-like. I haven't seen many mobs, but this was starting to look like one. Elaine looked at Ueda and said, "What should we do with him, Ueda Sensei? Should we kill him?" "Oh, I don't think that's necessary," said Ueda. "But you might consider castrating him. Without his balls he won't bother any other girls." "Hey, good idea, Sensei!" said Elaine. This suggestion pleased the other girls as well. "You may borrow my blade," said Ueda. "Otto and I must leave, however. We can't be associated with something like this." Ueda removed an ornate Japanese knife from his pants and Elaine promised to return it at her next jiu-jitsu class. "Hey!" said Chester. "You can't leave me with these harpies! I'm only 14! I'm just a kid!" Ignoring Chester, Ueda said, "Come along, Otto. We must be going. And remember, ladies – we were never here." Elaine smiled. We climbed down the ladder of Chester's tree house. I dared not look back.

HARPSICHORDIST IN THE DARK "What do you know about ginger ale?" This question, put to me by Ueda, seemed to come from out of the blue. "Well," I said, "It comes in a can from Mexico and tastes vaguely like tangy urine. In fact, I don't like it as much as urine. And you can divide the two words into two names: Ginger and Al. Ginger ale was concocted in 1851 by Thomas Cantrell –" "Alright, that'll do," said Ueda. "What a strange question to ask your janitor," said Myra Meeplehead, an ugly lesbian girl who was practicing a headstand. "Stay out of this, Myra," said Ueda. "I ask you this, Otto, because I've just been called to a case involving ginger ale, and since I've never tried this refreshing drink, it might be wise if I bring you along." "Alright!" I said. "Aw, do I have to leave?" said Myra. "No," said Ueda. "We'll leave Uedaville open so you may practice your headstand." "You're the best, Ueda Sensei!" We rode our bikes and Ueda explained. "It's a mighty strange case," he said. "Sabrina de Bona is in the middle of it." "The famous harpsichordist?" I said. "The very one," said Ueda. "She's got a home in North Beach and asked me to drop by. She believes she's been tricked out of her virginity by a glass of ginger ale." With a whopper like that tingling in my mind (and my privates), I could hardly stay on my bike. But I did. We arrived at Sabrina de Bona's North Beach flat and she admitted us to her living room. She had dark, wavy hair and wore only a bathrobe that exposed her giant Valkyrian cleavage. "Ueda Sensei?" she said, holding out her hand to my employer, who palmed it. "You brought someone with you. Judging from his demeanor, he is a fellow detective who can help you solve this mystery." I glowed. "No, Ms. de Bona, this is my janitor," said Ueda. I stopped glowing. "Do you always bring him along when you work on a crime?" she said. "Yes, especially on cases involving harpsichordists," said Ueda. "Wait a minute," said Ms. de Bona. "If you always bring him, there can be no especially." "You have a mind like a steel trap for language and logic, Ms. de Bona," said Ueda. "It's true, I've always loved a good puzzle," she said. "But this one has me stumped, and my friend Miranda told me how you helped her. Something about getting her timepiece back. So I thought it wouldn't hurt to call you in on this puzzle." "Miranda's time machine, yes," said Ueda. "A most exhilarating case." Sabrina de Bona motioned us to chairs, but remained standing herself. "I'm almost too ashamed to tell you what happened," she said. "You'll think me a fool."

"Over the telephone you said you had lost your virginity," said Ueda. "Lost it in a bet," said Ms. de Bona. "I made a bet last night with my boyfriend, Hans Brown, conductor for the San Francisco Symphony, and lost." "Wait, you have a boyfriend but never have sex with him?" I said. "Yes, that was a condition I forced on him," said Ms. de Bona. "Until we were married. He was always begging me to stick it in and I never let him. Blow jobs, hand jobs, it was all off limits." "Well, no wonder he raped you," I said. "He didn't rape me!" said Ms. de Bona. "He... he... tricked me!" She crossed the room to a table. On the table was an empty drinking glass. "This is an empty glass," she said. I marveled at her ability to state the obvious. "Last night, as on many a night, Hans and I worked on sudoku puzzles. We love them. And crossword puzzles, cryptograms. We love them all. We sat in this room, and the talk soon moved from puzzles to sex. It's all Hans thinks about, I swear. Sex, sex, sex." As she talked my eyes fell to her breasts, giant mountains ready to break out from beneath her fluffy bathrobe at any minute. "Hans is especially interested in rape fantasies," she went on. "And he knows I can't resist a puzzle. So he made a proposition involving a locked-room puzzle. Before I knew it, I'd bet him that I could solve his puzzle. I didn't think I could lose!" Ms. de Bona ran her fine, soft fingers through her crotch. "And you bet your virginity?" said Ueda. "No, I just agreed to let him cum in my face," she said. "Otto, cover your ears," said Ueda. "And what did the puzzle entail?" I said. "Something about ginger ale, wasn't it?" "Yes, janitor," she said. "Hans would turn off the light and leave me in the room. I would put some ice cubes in this drinking glass and put the glass in my safe. I had a can of ginger ale, and at the end of the hour I would open the safe and pour ginger ale into the cup and drink it with the ice." "No doubt water by then," said Ueda. "That seems hopelessly convoluted. What was the purpose of all this rigmarole?" "Hans claimed that he could find a way to slip a roofie into the drink during that hour as I sat alone in the dark." "And did he succeed?" I said. "Well, at the end of the hour I turned on the light," she said. "I was confident he hadn't been able to get to the drink because I heard nothing, and besides how would he be able to open the safe in the dark? I opened the safe and took out the glass. It was water. I poured some ginger ale in and drank the mixed liquids." "And?" said Ueda. "Oh, this is so embarrassing," she said. "I started feeling queasy. And then... things went black. That's all I remember. When I awoke I had a funny feeling in my vagina and anus." I said, "Funny ha-ha or funny I've-just-been-raped?" "Quiet, Otto," said Ueda. "So it sounds like he did more than just spill seed on your face."

"I'll say!" said Ms. de Bona. "That jerk did me while I was out, front and back. I know I can't get my virginity back, but I've got to know – how did he do it? How did he get into the safe to slip a roofie in my glass?" Before Ueda could throw in his "two cents," I thought I'd demonstrate my own burgeoning detective skill and take a stab at the solution. "Really, Ms. de Bona," I said, "It's quite simple. He didn't get into the safe at all. In fact, the roofie was in the ice cubes. All he had to do was let them melt, and they mixed with the ginger ale when you poured it in. Quite simple, case closed, thank you very much, have a good day." "I already thought of that, janitor," she said (I don't know why she didn't use my name). "They were my ice cubes. I checked them and put them in myself. Wrong answer." Not to be rebuffed so easily, I hazarded another guess. "Then it was the ginger ale itself. No doubt you had the bottled variety which is easily penetrated and resealed –" "No, it was a can," said Ms. de Bona, crushing my second theory. "Then... uh... then... uh..." I said. "Why don't we leave the detective work to Ueda Sensei?" she said. "Thank you," said Ueda. "But I must admit that Otto's guesses weren't totally astray. For indeed, your boyfriend Hans did not open the safe. The roofie was already in the glass." "But I told you it couldn't have been in the ice," she said. "Not the ice," said Ueda. "At the bottom of the glass itself." "But it was a glass from my cupboard," she said. "So it appeared," said Ueda. "But these glasses are cheap things easily obtained at any Chinese junk shop. Hans obviously purchased a glass identical to yours, and placed a roofie at the bottom. Then all he had to do was find a time to do the substitution." "Gee, I hadn't thought of that," she said. "Hans turned off the light and handed me the glass and I just assumed it was the one I had sitting on my harpsichord." "And when he left he probably grabbed your glass off the harpsichord and threw it away outside," said Ueda. "Damn it, why didn't I think of that?" she said. "I guess that's why we're the detectives and you're the harpsichordist," I said. "That will be ten dollars," said Ueda. She paid and we left her to her sudoku puzzles and the remnants of her hymen. On the bike ride back to the dojo I complimented Ueda on his penetrating work. "What can I say, Otto?" he said. "Like our Ms. de Bona, I too love a good puzzle." We arrived back at the dojo and Myra Meeplehead was still doing a headstand. Ueda ignored her and added ten more dollars to his shoe box of cash.

HIDDEN BANANA Pedro Picasso was the only student in Ueda's dojo who I knew was a stripper. But I never would have guessed he would have a mystery for Ueda (and me) to solve. One day he came into the dojo, his face bright red, and sweat spotting his blue T-shirt. "Could I mop you up?" I said (a bit of janitorial humor). "Damn it, Otto, I'm steaming... and it's got nothing to do with being a stripper!" said Pedro. "My landlord accused me of stealing his banana and I want to hire Ueda Sensei to prove I'm innocent." Like a butterfly from his cocoon, Ueda emerged from his office. "What's that? A case?" "Yes, I –" Ueda cut Pedro off. "Ten dollars." Pedro growled and dug into his wallet to return a Hamilton. "Thank you," said Ueda. "Now, you were saying something about a crime? Tell me exactly what happened." Pedro composed himself. "You know that I'm a stripper, Ueda Sensei." "I did not know that," said Ueda, and that must have made him the only one in the dojo who didn't know it. "Go on." "Yes, I'm a stripper. I perform for old women and homely young women. I work with a bunch of guys called the D-bags." "I assume you call yourself that because you keep your clothes in duffel bags," said Ueda. "Right," said Pedro. "Anyway, I've been hard up on cash lately. I was worried about making the rent and told my landlord, Mr. Wilson, about my financial troubles. He made me a deal. If I posed for him in the nude while he painted me, he would take a hundred bucks off my rent." "Good lord!" said Ueda. "One hundred dollars." "That was my reaction!" said Pedro. "Like a bloody horse head in my bed, it was an offer I couldn't refuse." Ueda nodded. "So he painted me for a while," said Pedro. "How long?" said Ueda. "Fourteen, maybe fifteen hours." "Okay, go on," said Ueda. "I was growing tired and kept dozing off," said Pedro. "Mr. Wilson would snap me to attention, and that bright light, that glaze... And then..." "What?" said Ueda. "In the midst of that scene, I noticed a bowl on the table," said Pedro. "Inside the bowl was a single banana. I asked Mr. Wilson if I might eat it. He said no, and that he needed it for his still-life studies. I was getting very hungry and lightheaded. I must have passed out. When I awoke, Mr. Wilson was very angry. He said that I had eaten his banana!" "Did you?" I said. "No!" said Pedro.

"Are you utterly certain of that?" said Ueda. "Mightn't you have accidentally eaten it in your famished state?" "Or while you slept?" I said. "Well... the banana was gone," said Pedro. "But I'm sure I didn't eat it! I was still as hungry as ever. I think I'd remember if I had eaten a banana." "When did this happen?" said Ueda. "I left Mr. Wilson's apartment not twenty minutes ago." "Let me smell your breath," said Ueda. Pedro opened his mouth and Ueda smelled. "Alright, I believe you." "Great!" said Pedro. "So what happened to the banana? Where could Mr. Wilson have hidden it? There was nowhere in the room for it to hide." "If that's so, we haven't a moment to lose!" said Ueda. "Are you coming, Otto?" I don't even know why he asked. The apartment building was chlorophyll green and very 70s. Pedro knocked on the door marked MANAGER, where I suppose the manager lived. The door opened and a portly middleaged man examined us. "You again," said Mr. Wilson, accosting Pedro. "Wasn't one banana enough? You bring your friends back to eat some more? Trying to starve me to death?" "That's not it at all, Mr. Wilson," said Pedro. "You know I didn't eat your banana!" "I know nothing of the sort," said Mr. Wilson. "And you can forget about that hundred dollar discount on your rent. It doesn't apply to banana thieves." "May we come in?" said Ueda. "I think I can locate that banana." "Sure, sure," said Mr. Wilson. "Be my guest, buddy!" The apartment was indeed bare except for Wilson's painting supplies and the empty bowl. "And you say the banana was in this bowl?" said Ueda. "It was," said Mr. Wilson. I noticed when he spoke that Ueda came closer and took a sniff of Wilson's breath. Of course! Ueda suspected that Wilson had eaten the banana himself. "And you have no idea where the banana is now, Mr. Wilson?" said Ueda. "Oh, for crying out loud," said Mr. Wilson. "Of course I know where it is! Pedro ate it!" "I must inform you that that's a complete lie," said Ueda. "Gentlemen, grab Mr. Wilson." It took me a moment to realize he included me in the term gentlemen. Pedro and I pinned Mr. Wilson by the arms and the landlord futilely struggled. "Hey, what's going on?" said Mr. Wilson. "I have rights. You can't do this to me just because you're Asian!" Ueda unzipped, unbuckled, and lowered Mr. Wilson's pants, and then his underwear, and then turned to me. "Otto, do you have a pair of rubber gloves with you?" I wouldn't be much of a janitor if I didn't keep a pair of rubber gloves with me at all times. I handed them to Ueda. "Thank you," said Ueda. He put the gloves on and spread the cheeks of Mr. Wilson's buttocks. He reached inside and felt around.

"Stop it," said Mr. Wilson. "Stop it." Ueda ignored him. Deeper and deeper into Mr. Wilson's innards went Ueda, until delight flooded the sensei's face. "Aha!" "What is it?" said Pedro. "What do you think?" said Ueda. First Ueda's elbow emerged, then his wrist, then his fist, and inside his fist he held the unpeeled and uneaten banana. We released our grip on Mr. Wilson, who quickly dressed himself. Ueda threw the banana at the landlord. "There's your banana," said Ueda. "Next time you try to rip your model off, hide your banana better." Mr. Wilson blushed. As we walked back to the dojo, Pedro said, "I don't know how I'll ever repay you, Ueda Sensei. Your detective skill is nothing short of brilliant." "Nonsense, Pedro. It's all rather simple. There was nowhere to hide the banana, therefore I knew it must still be in the room. Since Mr. Wilson was inside the room, it logically followed that the banana was inside of him. I merely had to ascertain which of his apertures it had entered. For once you eliminate the impenetrable, whatever remains, however interminable, must be illogical." "What?" I said. "Otto, go back to cleaning the locker room. You'll understand when you're older." I'm older now. I still don't understand.

THE CASE OF THE UNDERWATER GHOST LESBIANS Ueda and I were camping in Golden Gate Park near the baseball field, when Fabio Deviato crawled slowly into our tent. Fabio took jiu-jitsu lessons at Ueda's dojo, and he was often on the ground examining people's genitals. He studied STDs of all kinds. Nobody in San Francisco knew more about hidden desires and their consequences than Fabio Deviato. But what was he doing in our tent? Ueda watched Fabio, who came closer and closer to the sensei's family jewels. Fabio's hand jittered nervously as the magnifying glass he carried closed in on Ueda's "private" area. "What are you doing, Fabio?" said Ueda. "What the hell?" "Uh, right," said Fabio, still peering through the magnifying glass at Ueda's groin. "I don't think you'll find any unexpected gonorrhea or otherwise down there," said Ueda. "Can I spend the night out here with you guys?" said Fabio. "It will be like a slumber party." "Absolutely not," said Ueda. "Everyone knows you snore. Everyone knows you were evicted from your apartment building because of your snoring and because people thought you were a sperm whale in its death throes. Everyone knows how your mother begged your landlord to let you stay, saying that she would put cotton in your mouth, risking suffocation in the hopes of silencing your infernal snoring. Everyone knows, Fabio. Everyone." "I can't stay?" said Fabio. I felt bad for the young man. The feeling quickly passed. Fabio arose sadly. But upon looking around and remembering where he was, he cheered up at once. "Ueda Sensei! Boy, I'm glad my venereal studies led me here. I just remembered something." He placed a ten dollar bill, lined with homeless fecal matter, on the nylon floor of our tent. "I've been meaning to hire you." "No case is too insidious," said Ueda. "What's the problem?" "Somebody stole my erectometer," said Fabio. "Okay," said Ueda. "What's an erectometer?" "It's a cool device for measuring a man's... potency," said Fabio. "Who would want to steal it?" I said. "I think it was ghosts," said Fabio. "Lesbian ghosts." I swallowed hard. "L-lesbians? Where?" "In the old deserted Nixon Hotel," said Fabio. Ueda coughed. "I don't believe in ghosts. I believe in the power of violence." "Here are the facts," proclaimed Fabio. "Yesterday I followed a vaginal scent into the Nixon Hotel, derelict and abandoned, hoping to find a rotting vagabond or mutant love child on the brink of extinction. I was about to examine a pair of mating black widows in the garden out back, when two lesbian ghosts started splashing up at me from a puddle below." "So you got the willies and ran, dropping your erectometer?" said Ueda. "Like a little pussy," I chuckled. "No pun intended." Fabio sneered at me, but said, "Right. I raced away faster than crabs in a merkin. An hour later I went back for my erectometer. It was gone. Gone!"

"Did you notice anything special about the lesbians?" said Ueda. "They were ghosts," said Fabio. "Besides that," said Ueda. "They were making strange noises like they hated men," said Fabio. "That sounds pretty scary," said Ueda. "I'm afraid we must return to the scene of the crime to find the answer." "Go back th-there?" shivered Fabio. "Come on!" said Ueda, running, for no reason I could understand. We arrived at the Nixon Hotel, out of breath. As though it wasn't creepy enough, it happened to be around the corner from the dojo of Zhen Brutus and the Werewolves, a decrepit shed and hive of ignominy. The Nixon Hotel, a retirement project of beloved ex-President Richard Nixon that attempted to bring conservative values to San Francisco's liberal hospitality industry, quickly fell into disrepair after Nixon's death. Nobody else could manage like him. Now the giant building was rotting, filled with transients and feral crocodiles. It looked like no one had lived there in five hundred years and it would collapse at any moment! We walked through the hip-high grass and weeds, up onto the creaky front porch, and into the entrance hall. A giant picture of Richard Nixon greeted us, but some villain had spray-painted a short black mustache under Nixon's nose. "They're trying to make him look like Albert Einstein," I said. "The scientist man." "Stay focused, Otto!" said Ueda. "I left my erectometer just outside the back entrance," said Fabio. "I'll show you." It was good to get away from the defaced Nixon portrait. On the way to the back veranda we passed a statue of a naked young man. "I wanted to measure that," said Fabio, pointing to the statue's dong. Ueda gasped in admiration. "The best example I ever saw of the Dutch sculptor and 18th-century pornologist Kelvin Hurb," said Fabio, beaming. Out back it was swampy from a recent rain. Footprints went here and there but the freshest and most obvious were clearly those of Fabio, which stopped before a large puddle. "Here!" said Fabio, pointing at the shallow water. "I saw those two bull dykes howling up at me. I think if they hadn't been underwater they would've been faster and caught me!" Fabio took a step back and smiled. Ueda's nostrils flared. This meant danger was nigh. Ueda plowed into me and knocked me across the grass and into the mud. "Ugh!" I said. "What are you –" Before I could finish my question I saw a gigantic boulder fall to the ground and land in the spot where Ueda and I had been. "Good lord!" I said. Ueda was already on his feet and leapt. He landed on Fabio, kicking him in the back and crushing him to the dirt.

"Get off me!" said Fabio. "What do you think you're doing?" "Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing," said Ueda. "Because your story has been getting stinkier and stinkier. You said that the ghosts were lesbians. And yet how could you tell through that muddy water? And why would water slow down a ghost trying to catch you?" "D'oh!" said Fabio. Ueda pulled on Fabio's face inhumanly, and then Fabio's face came off in my employer's hand. "A mask!" I said. And underneath that mask: "Zhen Brutus!" "Curse you, Ueda!" said Zhen. Ueda kicked Zhen in the testicles and prepared to depart. "You are pathetic, Zhen," said Ueda. Zhen groaned in the mud.

SEX SHOP SHOPPER One day as I watched Ueda lead a jiu-jitsu class (my nerves had adjusted to the violence), I noticed a small African American man staring at the sign posted on Ueda's office window: UEDA DETECTIVE AGENCY Ueda Sensei, President No crime too insidious. $10 per case and expenses. Using logical reasoning, I guessed that we had a case. But rather than wait till Ueda finished the class, I conversed with the man myself. "Why, hello," I said. "You look like you have a crime that needs solving." "It's true," said the man. "My name is Roger. My niece learns fighting from Ueda Sensei –" "Charlene?" I guessed (she was the only black girl in that class). "No, Lin Mao," said Roger, heavily confusing me since Lin Mao was distinctly non-black. "But no matter," I said. "All are welcome with their crimes. Come, sir, you need not wait for Ueda Sensei to explain the issue. I am his trusted assistant. I can no doubt solve your riddle before Ueda completes his class." "Oh, I think I'd rather wait for the sensei," said Roger. "Come, don't be shy!" I said. I badgered him a few minutes more and finally the small chap told his tale. I licked my lips when I realized I'd be solving a crime on my own, taking the full share of the glory. I did not resent Ueda for always solving the crimes before me, but it would be a nice change to get the credit (and $10) myself! Roger sighed and began. "Alyssa's been stolen." "A kidnapping?" I said. "Well... call it what you will. She's gone. I'm very disturbed by it." "And have you gone to the police?" I said. "No, I was too embarrassed." "There's absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about," I said. "But going to the police is best avoided in these situations. Those fools will only get your Alyssa killed. How old is she, by the way?" "I got her four years ago," said Roger. "When you say you got her, you don't mean she's your pet dog or something else – in other words, not a little girl – and that I'll come to this realization halfway through the case and it will be ironic and we'll all have a laugh and I'll be left wondering why you didn't just tell me that to begin with?" "Alyssa is a virtual woman." "Ah, I dare say that qualifies as unusual," I said. "Virtual in what sense?" "She is a sex doll," said Roger. "Sex... doll?" "A rubber woman."

I don't know if it was the janitor in me or the idea of making love to a virtual woman, but I began to sweat. Words would not come. Fortunately, Ueda had concluded his class and salvaged the situation. "Something wrong, Otto?" said Ueda. "Is this black man insulting you for being white?" "N... nothing of the sort," I said. "A case –" "Ahhhh, a case," said Ueda. "Ten dollars." Roger gave Ueda the money and we all got comfortable in Ueda's office. "Alyssa's been stolen," Roger began again. And after a few more minutes of confusion and explanation, we were back where we left off. "She was stolen Friday night. There's not a single clue!" "I'll be the judge of that," said Ueda. "Details are what I need. Give me details about your stolen sex beast." "Sex doll," said Roger. "I live in a small house in the Sunset." Ueda laughed. "Ridiculous. There are no black people in the Sunset." "It sometimes feels like I'm the only one," said Roger. "But yes, that's where I live. I keep Alyssa in the living room near the fireplace, so she's warm when I'm ready for her." "That's very forward thinking," I said. Roger continued. "That morning my wife –" "You're what?" said Ueda. "Didn't you just say you have a rubber sex woman? Why on earth would you need a real woman as well?" "My wife likes Alyssa too," said Roger. "It makes the house feel cozier and masks the emptiness of our lives." "Okay," said Ueda. "Go on." "Friday morning my wife went to Daly City to visit her dying mother, leaving me alone. In the afternoon I had three friends over to play checkers." "That sounds fun," said Ueda. "Fun?" said Roger. "Checkers? I'll say! We played for nearly eighteen hours." "There's something familiar about this case," I said. "Silence, Otto," said Ueda. "Then, at four in the morning I had to call a halt," said Roger. "Too much fun for one day?" said Ueda. "Not at all," said Roger. "I'd remembered that my wife wanted me to go to the sex toy store and pick up a new vibrator and a case of Astroglide." "A case?" I said. "Good lord, man, how dry is she?" "Otto!" said Ueda. I closed my lips. "Before I left and sent my friends home," said Roger, "they each asked me to pick something up at the sex shop. Edgar Teabagger asked me to pick up a strawberry-flavored dong. Tom Hinky asked me to get him some bed restraint gear. Murray Footjob wanted me to find him a new prostate massager, a real gentle one." "I see," said Ueda. "I think we'd better go to this sex shop to learn more." "That's necessary?" said Roger. "No, you're right, of course not," said Ueda, sighing. I think Roger detected Ueda's disappointment. "But if you think it would help..."

We got to the sex toy store about fifteen minutes later. It was crowded with all sorts of men (and perverse women) with basketloads of sexual paraphernalia. They waited in long lines. "Is it always this crowded?" asked Ueda. "For example, when you came in the wee hours of the morn?" "Aye," said Roger. "I think it was even more crowded. That time of night. People need their fix. You know how it is." Ueda coughed and examined the colorful displays. A young woman approached him. "Can I help you find something?" she said. Ueda blushed and turned away. "Alright, I think I've seen enough." Next we went to Roger's house in the Sunset. It was a modest single-story dwelling and very quaint inside. I had trouble imagining a rubber woman sitting in his living room. Instead of that sex doll, there was a living woman. "Who is she?" I said. "She's not black." "My wife," said Roger. "She's sitting exactly where Alyssa sat." "How do you feel about that?" I asked Roger's wife. "What do you mean?" she said. "I miss Alyssa as much as Roger." "What time did you get home this morning?" said Ueda. "Roger says you went to Daly City to watch your mother die or something." "Yes, she passed this morning," she said. "I came home around eight." "You seem awfully calm and collected," said Ueda. "Are you always this calm after such events?" "This is the first time my mother's died," said Roger's wife. "I see," said Ueda. "Then I think I have no further questions." "You've cracked it, eh?" said Roger. "Astounding, Ueda. So which of my friends stole Alyssa? Tell me so I can beat them up, or pay someone like you to do it for me." "That won't be necessary," said Ueda. "Because Alyssa has not been stolen." There was a collective gasp in the room, as though the house had farted. "Do you mean to say," said Roger, "that Alyssa has been here all along, hiding under the floorboards, or crammed in the heating vent or some other hidden corner of the house?" "No," said Ueda. "I mean to say that she has been burned to death." "B-burned?" said Roger. "In that fireplace there," said Ueda. "I can smell her melted rubber flesh with my hypersensitive nose. Look there, a piece of her remains." Roger kneeled to the fireplace and picked up a small piece of rubber. "Alyssa!" he screamed. "Noooooooooooooo!" "Yes, it's true," said Ueda. "But who could have done such a thing?" said Roger. "If they had wanted her for their own sexual activities – that I could understand – but to burn her like this!" "Your friends didn't do this," said Ueda. "Your wife did." Terror filled the eyes of Roger's wife (whose name I never learned). Like a mad animal, Roger lunged at her throat and tore her jugular open with his teeth. Ueda pulled him off the woman, but it was too late. She died within seconds.

"What have I done?" said Roger.

it?"

After the police had taken Roger away, I chatted with Ueda. "How did you know the wife did

"I didn't," said Ueda. "It simply made the most sense. The fact that she sat in Alyssa's chair, literally taking her place. Well..." "So it was just a hunch?" I said. "Call it an educated guess, Otto. I was bluffing and wanted to see how it played out. I just wish I had prevented Roger's rage from taking her life." "I don't know what I'm supposed to learn from a case like this," I said. "Well, for one thing, you now see why I always collect a client's fee before starting a case," said Ueda. We laughed.

THE CASE OF THE MISSING $10 Ueda and I were having a race down Clement Street. He had developed speed from his martial arts training, but I had an endurance borne of many years swabbing mops on monotonous tile floors. I was just about to overcome him, this I swear, when I failed to notice an old person hunched over on her knees, right in the middle of the sidewalk. I smashed into her and we both let out screams. Ueda stopped running and came back to help us. "Mrs. Cooter!" said Ueda. "Are you alright?" He helped the old woman to her feet and ignored me. I had to get up myself. Not that I'm bitter. "Oh, Ueda Sensei, what a lovely surprise," said Mrs. Cooter. I assumed she was one of his students. Her gnarled sphincter of a mouth opened so wide you could see she only had a few teeth remaining, rotten black things that lived like rare zebras on her gums. "There was my purse. And a thief. Stole it! And I was screaming on my knees. Like Jesse James mating with a horse." "Whoa, slow down, Mrs. Cooter," said Ueda. "You are becoming nonlinear." "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just so anxious. Say, who is this handsome young friend of yours?" I smiled. "My name is Otto." "He's not my friend, he's my janitor," said Ueda. "Ignore him and tell your story. You were just robbed?" "I think so. Yes, my purse is gone. You didn't take it, did you?" "I did not," said Ueda. "Perhaps you can help me find it," said Mrs. Cooter. "I'm told you have uncanny detective powers." "That is so," said Ueda. "I charge ten dollars." "I don't have any money, Ueda Sensei. All my cash is in my purse. Perhaps I can pay you once you recover the purse?" "Out of the question," said Ueda. "What if the thief has already removed the money? Or what if we never apprehend him? I am a great detective, but sometimes criminals get away. I could spend weeks or months tracking him, wasting my valuable time, without a penny to show for it. And what if you don't even have ten dollars in your purse? You are old and senile and what you remember as ten dollars may in fact only be ten dollars in oatmeal coupons. Or such ridiculousness." "I don't know what to tell you then," she said. "I know what to tell you," said Ueda. "Goodbye." His eyes turned back to me and the street. "Shall we resume, Otto?" "Um... okay." "1... 2... 3... GO!" We ran once again, and this time I watched for old ladies.

MACADAM "Down with cars!" said Winkie Numcrunch. Winkie was a homeless man who also took jiujitsu lessons at Uedaville. "Cars are to pedestrians what white people were to blacks before the civil rights movement!" "That is a rather complicated analogy," I said. "What have cars ever done to you?" "One of them ran over my wife several years ago," said Winkie. Ah, I had forgotten that story. A drunken ten-year-old had run over Winkie's old lady. Since that day, he vowed he would never rest until all cars were purged from the face of the Earth. Winkie Numcrunch bellowed, "Down with the automobile!" "Why are you yelling?" I said. "We're right here. And you know Ueda Sensei and I don't have cars." "Oh yeah, sorry," said Winkie. "It's just that the anti-car movement is often overshadowed by other anti movements. The anti-circumcision movement, the anti-jokes movement, the antipartially-hydrogenated-soybean-oil movement. And so on. Everyone knows that cars are worse than serial killers. But nobody cares." "Thomas Jefferson cares," I said. "He never had a car," said Winkie. "I mean that you should write your Congressman/woman and Senator in Washington, D.C. When you have a cause like yours, you can't just scream it at strangers." "You're right!" said Winkie. "But how can I write 'em? I'm illiterate." "No wonder you're homeless," I said. "But don't let that stop you. Ueda and I would be glad to help you write letters for a mere ten dollars." Winkie placed a $10 bill on Ueda's desk. "All I want is the destruction of every car on Earth. Seriously, what good are cars? Do people really need to go places?" "Whatever you say, as long as you pay," said Ueda, collecting the cash. "That's my motto." "You're like a talking fortune cookie," I said. "You ought to raise your fees." "Hey!" said Winkie. "Quit giving him ideas. I could have used that ten bucks to buy food." "But then you wouldn't be able to write your Congress-people in your illiterate condition," I said. "You got me there," said Winkie. As we walked to the library, Winkie babbled about a host of different topics, occasionally recirculating back to his original idea with cars. The automobile would be replaced by giant spiderlike devices that flew through the air and ran on beer, he said. Soon every man, woman, and child would have a flying beer spider and the streets would be safe for pedestrians. At the library, we found the reference desk. We asked for the book Members of Congress. "No such book exists," said the reference librarian. "And if it does, we don't have it." "How do you know?" said Ueda. "You didn't even check." "I know our library's books," said the librarian. "And we don't have it." "Could you please just check in your card catalogue for Members of Congress?" said Ueda. The librarian sighed but pecked on his keyboard. Winkie licked his lips, sensing that he was getting closer to his goal of a car-free world. The librarian gasped.

"What is it?" I said. "We... apparently do have the book Members of Congress. How peculiar that I didn't know of its existence." "So you don't know everything," said Ueda. "If you did, you'd be able to gamble on the weather and make large sums of money. Instead, you stay behind this desk and hand out erroneous information." "I-I'm sorry," said the librarian. "I'm so sorry. Please follow me." The librarian was in a wheelchair and we followed him as he slowly rolled along. "At this rate we'll never get those addresses," said Winkie. "Patience," said Ueda. "We must lower our standards when dealing with cripples." "I know, I know," mumbled Winkie. Several minutes later we entered a small room with smelly yellow-paged phone books, legal tombs, and vinyl records. "This is where we keep old things," said the librarian. "Members of Congress is an old book. It should be right... there. Oh wait, it's gone!" "Somebody beat us to it," I said. "Goddamn it." "I think that guy has it," said the librarian, pointing to a man at a table who flipped through a musty book. Like Winkie, this man also appeared to be homeless. "You may have it when he's through. But it must not be taken from the building." "Wait a minute, I know that bum," said Winkie. "That's Edgar Allan Mescaline. Edgar's my rival in the homeless world." "There's so much about the homeless world I don't understand," I said. "All you need to know is that guy's a good-for-nothing rat," said Winkie. "If he knows I need that book he'll hide it or flush it down the toilet to keep me from it. Librarian, can I get that book tomorrow?" "I'm sorry, sir, no. After today the library will be closed for eight months to undergo a renovation. All of our books will be burned and we will get new books. All of the titles will be different so that people may have new thoughts." "Goddamn it!" said Winkie. "You can't fight city hall!" "Calm down, Winkie – we shall get that book and those addresses," said Ueda. "Well you fellas only have about twenty minutes," said the librarian. "And that book must not be taken from the building." The librarian rolled away into the mist. Winkie had caught the eye of Edgar. "Hey, Edgar," said Winkie. "What are you doing?" "Well, well, well, well, well," said Edgar. "If it isn't my old rival Winkie Numcrunch! I never thought I'd see you in a library." "I brought friends along to read for me," said Winkie. "We're not your friends," I said. "We're operating as independent contractors." "Right," said Winkie. "And we need that book to write the members of Congress." "Well, I need this book too," said Edgar. "For the exact same reason! I have an important cause that I'm championing!" "And what cause is that?" said Winkie.

"I'm trying to ban condoms because they're bad for the environment," said Edgar. "All rubber and latex condoms. Paper condoms are okay though because they're biodegradable." Winkie pulled a condom out of his pocket. "Hey, I been using the same condom for twenty years. I call that recycling." "That's impressive and commendable," said Edgar. "And for that I'll help you find the addresses. Give me that condom and I'll use it as a bookmark. When I'm done with the book I'll put it on the page with the addresses. It'll be easy for an illiterate like you to find." Winkie smiled and handed Edgar his condom. "I'll be done with the book in just a minute," said Edgar. "If you'll just give me some privacy..." "Sure," said Winkie. "C'mon, fellas, let's go to the next room." We left Edgar alone, and Winkie said, "I guess Edgar ain't such a bad fellow after all. Let bygones be bygones, I say. And it sounds like he has an important cause as well. Not as important as destroying all the cars of the world, but a close second." "Perhaps," said Ueda. "I think enough time has passed," I said. "We'd better hurry. The library is closing soon." We went back into the musty room and Edgar was gone. The book was not on the table, and it was not on the bookshelf. "He... he stole the book!" said Winkie. "And my prized condom! I been fooled!" "So you have," said Ueda. "And for another ten dollars we will track him for you." "Fuck!" said Winkie, handing Ueda $10 more. Ueda was on the trail like a bloodhound. "This should be easy enough, Otto. With my magnificent nose I can still detect the condom's smell. It combines polyurethane, semen, friction, and the unique odor of Winkie." We left the library. "Are you sure he took the book outside?" I said. "The librarian said it couldn't leave the building." "Positive," said Ueda. We crossed the street and went down an alley that looked like the perfect hiding place for a homeless person. We found a large cardboard box and Ueda kicked it. "Ugh!" said a voice from within the box. "We know you're in there, Edgar," said Winkie. "Gimme that book!" Instead of coming out of the box, Edgar tossed the book out. Winkie picked it up and flipped to the page bookmarked with the condom. "Is this it?" said Winkie, pointing to the page. "It sure is," I said. "Those are the addresses to write Congress people." "Thank God," said Winkie. "Let's write them down fast and get this thing back to the library before it closes." "Too late," said Ueda. We looked and a portcullis descended over the doors of the library, sealing its entrance for eight months. "Oh great, now we're common thieves," said Winkie. "I think we need to teach this bum a lesson."

We opened the cardboard box and Edgar Allan Mescaline sneered at us. We lifted him off the ground and carried him around the neighborhood looking for a suitable punishment to scar his mind forever. We finally found some wet tar on a street that had just been paved. We shoved Edgar into the tar up to his waste and held him there until it dried and he was frozen. This took nearly an hour. This story is called "Macadam" because I don't know the difference between tar and macadam, and it sounded like a better title than "Tar." We took the book Members of Congress back to the dojo and helped Winkie write letters. He tried to return the book to the library. Unable to do so, he finally turned himself in to the authorities. Unable to pay the library fee for the stolen book, he was sent to debtor's prison. That is the last I heard of him. The book Members of Congress is still in my possession. I recently opened it and noticed that the copyright date is 1978. I think that the members of Congress have been replaced since that time, and I can only hope that Winkie's letters were rerouted to the proper officials in this great bureaucracy of ours.

THE EXPLODING TOILET Ueda was finishing a giant glob of tofu Saturday morning when one of his students, Fonzie Tabasco, telephoned. Fonzie was San Francisco's master peeping tom. He photographed strangers through their windows at night and blackmailed them or sold their photos to the inquisitive. People make money all kinds of ways in the city. Fonzie wasn't calling about his photos, however. He was calling about... HIS LIFE. We had him on speakerphone. "Ueda! Otto!" he screamed through a gurgling mist of sound. "Get over here! My toilet's killing me!" "What?" said Ueda. "Your toilet? Fonzie? Fonzie?" There was only silence. "It's dead," I said. "Otto, don't assume he's dead. We must never assume that. And don't call another human being an it." "I mean that the line's dead," I said. "Oh. I suppose we had better investigate, even though we haven't been paid. I can't imagine why he called us instead of the police." "He knows that you're a great fighter, and that I'm a great janitor. Together we'd be unstoppable against a violent toilet." "Truth," said Ueda. When we arrived at Fonzie's house, he was out front. "What took you guys so long?" he said. "You only live two blocks away." "We stopped to get some gum," said Ueda. "What happened to you?" Fonzie did not look well. He was drenched and smelled horrible. "I told you. My toilet tried to kill me!" "Is it haunted?" I said. "No, just evil," said Fonzie. "Come on, I'll show you." "Do you have ten dollars?" said Ueda. Fonzie frowned and paid Ueda's fee. Before we went inside, an enormous station wagon pulled into Fonzie's driveway. It was completely filled with pornographic DVDs and magazines. A tall blond woman in a skintight leather jumpsuit got out of the car. She looked at Fonzie and said, "What's wrong, Fonzie? You smell like shit." "I had a little argument with my toilet," said Fonzie. "It looks like the toilet won," said the woman. "Hardy fuckin' har," said Fonzie. "Gentlemen, this is Gina Cameltoe, my girlfriend." "Pleased to eat you," I said. "I mean –" "Hello," said Ueda. Two fire trucks pulled up. Firemen raced into Fonzie's house. "Hey!" yelled Fonzie at the firemen. "What are you fuckers doing in my house?"

A black fireman said, "We got a call there was an explosion. We weren't doing anything at the station so we thought we'd check it out. Don't get in our way. If you gotta go in, use the back entrance." "That's what she said," said Fonzie. He motioned us to follow him, and we walked around the side of the house, through a weed-filled garden, and up the stairs around back. Fonzie opened the door of his house and we were in his living room. "Who is this old woman?" said Ueda, indicating a sedentary body in a rocking chair. "This is my mother," said Fonzie. "Don't worry, Mom! Ueda Sensei is here." "You never told me you had a mother," said Gina. The old woman stared dazedly at a Man Ray print on the wall. Occasionally firemen would walk through the living room. They shouted words in a secret fireman code. The floors were soaked and we were up to our ankles in water, urine, feces. It dripped from the ceiling, down the walls, onto the couch and the TV set. "Maybe we should turn off the TV so we aren't electrocuted," I said. "So now you're an electrician?" said Fonzie. "How'd this happen?" said Gina. "This way," said Fonzie. "I'll show you." We walked into a large bathroom where firemen fought a geyser of water. "That was once my toilet," said Fonzie. "I went wild at the Chinese buffet last night. It was an orgy of food, alcohol, methamphetamines, and obese Chinese waitresses. It all came out today. I thought my toilet could handle it, but I guess not. Boy, I'm glad I ran." "That's terrible," said Gina. "But we'd better get going, Fonz." "Gina is driving me to the Civic Center," Fonzie told us. "The biggest porn convention of the year is being held there today. We have a lot of shit to sell." "That sounds like fun," I said. "Can we help?" "As a matter of fact you can," said Fonzie. "There are two neon crates in the basement with some DVDs. My mom won't let me store any porn in the living room for some reason. Anyhoo, I'd go down there myself, but it's flooded with sewage. Here's the key, guys. Thanks." Ueda and I went to the door at the end of the hall. The key slid in jerkily, and I hoped it wouldn't open. It did. Inside, it was dark and humid. I heard the slosh of a gentle pool. I saw the faint outline of a liquid sea. "Golly," I said. "I hope this place is insured." "You know," said Ueda, "since this is more up your alley, I'm going to go to the living room to comfort the old mother while you descend. Good luck, Otto." Ueda patted me on the shoulder and vanished. The stairs creaked under my feet as I went down into the basement. I made my way slowly, checking my footing with every step, peering desperately for the neon crates. Where could they be? They might be anywhere. They might even be near the top of the stairs. Something snapped. I fell. Every inch of my skin was enflamed with icy water. My breath was taken away from me. I panicked. I gurgled, choking on the horrid swamp that surrounded me. I opened my eyes and they

burned with toxicity. They itched. It was like a water made of aquatic fleas that chewed on my skin and itched my orifices. I knew it was wrong, because water is not supposed to hurt. In trying to locate the direction that would take me back to air, I saw through my muddied vision a neon splash on my retina. It could have been hallucination, but while I was under the muck I decided to investigate. My hands stretched out magically before me and found a grip on the crate. I took it up with me to the surface, breaking water and sucking beautiful air into my lungs. I placed the crate on the stairs and looked up to see a hand reaching down to me. It was Fonzie Tabasco. "Are you alright?" he said. "Fine," I said. "Why do you ask?" "Well, there's one more crate. Keep looking, bro." Several minutes later I came out of the basement with both crates. I took them to the living room where Ueda watched Wheel of Fortune with the old woman. "This is a difficult puzzle," said Ueda. I dropped the crates near the TV set, and accidentally knocked it over. The TV fell to the floor and landed in the water. The room went gray. I awoke. I was on the living room floor, leaning against the wall. Ueda and the old woman were on the couch with their eyes closed. Gina and Fonzie were examining them. "What happened?" I said. "The TV fell in the water on the floor," said Fonzie. "You guys must have been electrocuted." "Ueda!" I said. "Is he...?" "He's fine," said Gina. "Thank God," I said. "My mother, on the other hand, is dead," said Fonzie. "That's unfortunate," I said. "Sorry, dude." Ueda's eyelids fluttered and he awoke. "Mmrrm?" "You're okay," said Fonzie. "You just got a little fried by the TV." Ueda nodded and looked from Fonzie, to me, to Gina, and said, "Oh, I think I've solved your mystery." "What mystery?" said Fonzie. "My toilet exploded because it couldn't handle my load." "Then why did you call us?" I said. "I needed someone to get these crates out of the basement," said Fonzie. "It was definitely worth ten dollars." "The person who exploded your toilet is in this room," said Ueda. "Wait, what?" said Fonzie. "Are you saying someone did this to me? They tried to murder me?" "That is precisely what I'm saying," said Ueda. Fonzie looked at the old woman. "It was mom, wasn't it? Well, it's too late to punish her now. God has already killed her." "It was not your mother," said Ueda. "Who else would want to kill Fonzie?" said Gina. "YOU," said Ueda.

The firemen were listening. When they heard this, they grabbed Gina and took her away. I don't know where they took her. "How did you figure it out, Ueda?" said Fonzie. "I never would have suspected that my girlfriend wanted to kill me." "Exactly," said Ueda. "She was the last person you'd expect. But look around this room. Who else would want to kill you? Me? Of course not. You pay your jiu-jitsu dues on time. Otto then? No, Otto no doubt loves you too. Your mother? No. For she brought you into this world and it would be a waste of energy to take you out of it." "What about those firemen in the hall then?" said Fonzie. "Maybe they wanted to kill me for being an asshole to them." "That would be plausible except for one thing," said Ueda. "They did not arrive until after the toilet exploded! Therefore they were not then acquainted with you and had no reason to kill you." "Aren't you overlooking one thing?" I asked. "Why does anyone have to be a murderer? I mean, why do we need to presuppose the existence of a murderer to begin with?" And then Ueda said something that I have never forgotten (actually, I've never forgotten anything, which is why I record stories so faithfully and unexpurgated). He said, "Because, Otto, we were called here to solve a mystery. And to paraphrase Voltaire, if a mystery did not exist, it would be necessary to invent one." Ueda laughed. And then he laughed some more.

LICENSE TO EAT Nigel Gullible strolled into Uedaville. "Have you seen any people I can eat around here?" he asked. "Not for 65 years," said Ueda. "That's when they outlawed cannibalism in the United States. Sorry, friend." Nigel's face fell. "I think Zhen Brutus put one over on me." "Oh no, not Zhen again," I groaned. "Zhen and his gang, the Werewolves, are always getting into hijinks." Nigel said, "If there's no one to eat around here, then this cannibalism license Zhen sold me is as phony as my mother's third breast." I wondered if I would ever meet Nigel's mother. "Let me see that license," said Ueda. It was an important looking document with a drawing of a man eating another man and laughing as he did so. There was no human language on the front, just the pretty drawing. On the back it read: "This license entitles the owner to pursue, shoot, kill, and remove organs from the following people: Americans." Below this were two columns labeled "A" and "B." "Zhen said I could hunt one person from column A each week, and three from column B," said Nigel. Under column A it said, "Americans." Under column B it also said, "Americans." "A ruthless paradox," said Ueda. "One that would only appeal to Zhen." "You sure know him well," said Nigel. "Are you brothers from the Orient?" "Zhen?" said Ueda, his face puckering. "Ha! Zhen is the fungus under my toenails, the dog crapping in my backyard. He is the scum of the Earth and will be treated as such. I've had to chastise him before. You can get these worthless cannibal licenses for free by writing an address in the back of Highlights magazine." Nigel wailed like a total pussy. "I promised to pay Zhen three thousand dollars for it on Monday. I thought it'd be worth it if I never had to buy groceries again." "You sap," I said. "If you give me ten dollars I will rescue you from this mess," said Ueda. "That sounds like a good deal," said Nigel, coughing up the money. "Tell me how you got into it," said Ueda. Nigel explained. Three hours ago he had biked to Spreckels Lake in Golden Gate Park to take a swim. An obese policeman had booked him for illegally swimming in the lake. While in jail waiting to get bailed out, he conversed with Zhen, who was locked up for urinating on Girl Scouts from the top of a city bus. "My towel accidentally rubbed against Zhen's pants, which were soaked with his urine," said Nigel. "The towel absorbed some of the pee, and Zhen accused me of stealing his bodily fluids. I gave him the towel and told him he could borrow it, and I'd get it back when he washed the urine out." "That was probably wise," said Ueda.

"Zhen said I was so nice that he'd do me a big favor," said Nigel. "He'd sell me a cannibal license, and I could pay him on Monday. I grabbed the license and was bailed out before he changed his mind." "I will talk Zhen into forgetting about the three thousand dollars," said Ueda. "The license is an out-and-out gyp." "Get back my towel too," said Nigel. "My gram bought it at the thrift store for a dollar and I'd like to get it back. If I tell her I lost it she'll despair. She'll probably die." The Werewolves dojo was a filthy shed behind a virulent auto body shop south of Market. As we approached with Nigel we saw a towel hanging just inside the front door. "That looks like my towel," said Nigel. "What if Zhen won't return it?" "We'll have to prove it's yours," said Ueda. Nigel whined. "How? It's a plain yellow towel and the urine is concealed." Our voices brought Zhen to the door of the dojo. "You should wear dresses," he growled at us, "so I know that you pussies are only pretending to be men." "That doesn't even make sense," I said. "We've come to return your worthless cannibal license and get Nigel's towel back," said Ueda. "The heck you are," said Zhen. "That punk owes me three grand. The license may not be effective due to local laws, but it's fine and dandy otherwise. And the towel stays." Nigel sucked his thumb nervously. Zhen sneered at him. "I've got a cure for thumb suckers." He took out a pair of scissors. "I cut off their penises." Zhen burst into uproarious laughter. "You contradicted your earlier joke," I said. "First you said we were women. Now you say we have penises." "Either way, I think we should leave," whispered Nigel. "I'm rather fond of my penis." "Not until Zhen agrees to take back the license and return the towel," insisted Ueda. "That's my towel," said Zhen. "I shoplifted it from Ross this morning after hosing off those Girl Scouts. With your famed nose, Ueda, you must be able to smell my alcohol-saturated pee." "Nigel bumped into your soggy pants in jail by accident," said Ueda. "That's the only reason his towel has your piss on it." "Is there any way we can prove the towel is yours?" I asked Nigel. "Some memento or insignia attached to it?" "Why... yes!" said Nigel. "Some of gram's dandruff may still be on the towel. She's always flaking all over everything. Our house is foggy with her snowy scalp." Ueda felt the soft, fluffy towel, searching for dandruff. There was none. Zhen's grin widened. "Go on, Mr. Wizard, prove that isn't mine. I'll take back the cannibal license and he can have the towel. If you can't prove it, I'm gonna feed Nigel to my dog." "Save the tough talk, Zhen," Ueda advised. "I can prove you're lying." "HOW?" someone said. I'm not sure who. "You said that your urine was drenched with alcohol," said Ueda. "So what?" said Zhen. "Maybe I had a few dozen beers."

"If that was the case, then you would have surely soaked this towel with far more urine that is currently on it," said Ueda. "This is a towel that is only dabbed with urine. This type of urine saturation is what happens when a stranger holding a clean towel bumps into a wino covered in his own piss and feces. This is a towel barely sautéed in urine. Were it truly yours, it would be a sponge that poured yellow when I squeeze it. But look. I squeeze and nothing comes forth. You lie, Zhen Brutus, you lie." "Curse you, Ueda," said Zhen, throwing the towel at Nigel. "Get out! Get out and never show your face here again! Curse the lot of you!" "Here is your license," said Nigel. He tossed the cannibal license on the floor for Zhen to pick up. "Eat it." Walking through the ejaculating skyscrapers of downtown, Ueda said, "I hope you have learned your lesson, Nigel." "Boy, have I!" said Nigel. "I'll never buy a cannibal license again." "I meant in a more general way," said Ueda. "About not trusting scoundrels and vagabonds, about not looking a gift horse in the mouth, about a fool and his money soon parting, about sticks and stones breaking no bones, about looking before you leap, about –" "Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Nigel. "I totally learned all that shit. Totally. Got it, Ueda Sensei." Nigel tapped his forehead. "It's all up here." "Thank God," said Ueda. "Thanks for all your hard work, guys. I'll never forget it. I gotta get going now. I'll see you cats later." Nigel waved to us and winked. He stepped into the street. He failed to look both ways before crossing. An emissions-free bus ran him over.

THE MISSING PENIS Chucky von Thistlebum was the least-dressed man in San Francisco. He would come to his jiujitsu classes at Uedaville wearing only the skin God gave him. On the fateful morning of this story, however, he came into Ueda's office wearing more than his birthday suit. He was wearing a pink towel. "Chucky!" said Ueda. "You look really gay in that pink towel." "What are you talking about?" said Chucky. "I mean..." Ueda checked himself and changed his tone. "This is the first time I've seen you wearing a towel." "I didn't want to wear it," said Chucky. "I just made a terrible mistake. I got fresh with Linda Suckworth." "That woman who bullies men?" I said. Chucky nodded. "She practices with her hula hoop at the park near my house. I went there with some lotion to watch. I ended up running for my life." "I don't understand," said Ueda. Chucky explained. "I was at the park and Linda moseyed over while I massaged my member. She told me my penis was short and that she wanted money if I was going to watch her. I told that ho to piss off, it's a free country, et cetera. She got mad and clobbered me. I passed out." "But that doesn't explain why you're wearing a towel," I said. "While I was unconscious she cut off my penis and took it," said Chucky. "I woke up and she was gone. I went home and got bandaged up." Chucky opened his pink towel to reveal a crotch that was covered like a mummy's diaper. "Close it! Close it!" said Ueda. Chucky put a $10 bill on Ueda's desk. "I want you to restore my manhood, Ueda Sensei. I want you to get my dick back." "I understand," said Ueda. "Losing one's penis is never a good thing." "Bah, you understand nothing," said Chucky. "My penis was small, but I could have been an underwear model. Or a superhero with a tight costume that revealed nothing taboo to the youth of today." "You're right, we haven't lost our dicks yet," said Ueda. "Our empathy has its limits. But this situation does allow you to show off that nice towel you've got." "You like it?" said Chucky. "My aunt gave it to me as a present for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day." "She has wonderful taste," I said. "Alright, enough about the towel," said Chucky. "Time's wasting! My dick's out there and I need your help. Find that Linda monster and get it back!" "We will begin at the park where the crime occurred," said Ueda. "Would you like to borrow a jiu-jitsu uniform, Chucky?" "Nah, I'm okay with this towel," he said. We walked silently to the park. I was ruminating. What might a woman do with a stolen penis? Eat it? Sell it to organ donors? Freeze it? Use it in a work of modern art? Throw it in a smoothie?

Mail it far away? Hide it on top of a skyscraper? There were so many possibilities, all of them valid, and we had to narrow it down to one: the truth. I asked myself: If I had just cut off a penis, what would I do with it? I had trouble getting past the first part of that question. I had never cut off a penis, and I never anticipated the need to do so. Circumstances might one day force me to slice into another man's flesh, but to cut away his manhood seemed beyond my current capabilities. Perhaps with the proper training... Then something occurred to me. If Linda had mutilated Chucky without so much as a second thought, what might she do to Ueda and me? Of course, Ueda was the best fighter in the world (and probably the universe), but if we should become separated and I find myself alone with this horrible Linda person...? I was coated with sweat at the mere thought. I could only hope that Linda perceived I was a gentleman. The park was desolate with a faint breeze when we reached it. I saw a woman with a hula hoop right away. She was a blond woman in her twenties with a pretty face, and enormous breasts that drooped down to her waist. As she hula hooped, her mammary glands danced wildly as well. "Is that her?" said Ueda. "Yeah," said Chucky, instinctively covering his groin with his hands. Ueda went straight up to her and said, "Hey, you. Chucky says you beat him and took his penis." "Who, me?" said Linda. "I'm not sure. Who's Chucky? One of your friends? Is he the janitor or the guy with the towel?" I'm not sure how she knew I was a janitor. My palms were sweaty like goo. "The towel man," said Ueda. "I think you owe Chucky an apology. And a penis." "Are you kidding me?" said Linda. "He was staring at me and I asked him to leave. That's when he started jerking off. Of course I beat him." "I'm having a nightmare," said Chucky. "Your friend was aroused watching me," said Linda. "I thought he was trying to pull his cock off. I was trying to do him a favor by cutting it off." "That's a lie!" said Chucky. "If I wanted my penis removed I'd go to a qualified professional. Check her pockets, Ueda. She's probably still got it on her." "No, it's gone," said Linda. "After I removed it I walked to my house across the street and changed my clothes. On the way I dropped his dick in a trash can that's already been emptied." Linda pointed across the park to a violet house. It looked like a house in the opening credits of Full House (a fine television show that I dearly miss). There was a trash can between us and the house. That much of Linda's story checked out. Ueda turned back to Linda and said, "Why didn't you... why... wait a minute!" "Something wrong?" I said. "Quiet please," said Ueda. "Something in the air. Just materialized. That scent. Dried blood... yes, I think it's Chucky's penis!" "Where?" said Chucky. "I didn't notice it until we looked away to her house," said Ueda. "I think she had the penis in her pocket and threw it away when we weren't looking!"

Linda looked flustered. "What? That's... that's ludicrous! I told you, I threw it in the trash over there." Ueda ignored her and was sniffing around a bush. I said nothing lest I distract him in this critical moment. I wasn't sure how his nose worked so well, whether it was an art form that anyone could develop, or if he was an amazing freak of nature. I only knew that he was powerful, and that I wished to be like him someday. "There!" he finally said. Chucky was as eager to find the penis as Ueda. He was on hands and knees and he followed Ueda's finger to a pocket in the bush. Delicately, Chucky removed it and held his tiny penis in his hand. It didn't look good. "I knew she was lying," said Chucky. "Nobody throws a perfectly good penis away when there are so many uses for it." "That's right," I said. "You can throw it in a stew, or laminate it as a Christmas ornament, or mount it on your dashboard, or mail it to elected officials, or use it as a hacky sack, or add it to a rock band, or –" "We understand, Otto," said Ueda. "The question now is how we should punish Linda," said Chucky. "You can't just go around removing dicks without fear of reprisal. If only she had a dick that we could remove!" I looked at Linda's enormous breasts. "We could –" "We'll worry about punishing her later," said Ueda. "Right now you must go to a hospital and get your penis reattached." "I don't have health insurance," said Chucky. "Then you should go to the low-cost clinic in the Tenderloin," said Ueda. "I don't trust them," said Chucky. "The Tenderloin smells." "Then we will let Otto reattach it," said Ueda. "He has years of experience with these types of things, and I believe he served as a doctor in the Persian Gulf War." "Actually, no," I said. "I was in the seventh grade at the time." "Nevertheless, he is very talented and I have full faith in him," said Ueda. "Alright then, let's do it," said Chucky. With Ueda's ringing endorsement, I couldn't say no. We returned to the dojo and I pondered the best method for affixing the penis back to the man. I suppose they would have used stitches in a proper hospital, but I had never threaded a needle in my life. Time was of the essence and there was no time to learn sewing now. I decided to go with bonding glue. The resulting product looked unique, to say the least. "Success?" said Ueda, who had gone to the next room to avoid queasiness. "Something quite like it," I said. "Well, it's in God's hands now," said Ueda. The next day Chucky surprisingly showed up for jiu-jitsu class. He looked unwell. His skin was pale and he was drenched in sweat. "What is that god-awful smell?" said Ueda. "Ah yes, your penis, Chucky." In the locker room I removed the bandage on Chucky's dick to see how it fared.

"I'm not a doctor, but that looks like gangrene," I said. "You should really go to a hospital." "I'll be... fine," said Chucky. Chucky stayed for a few minutes of sparring before Ueda sent him home. "Your disgusting smell distracts me." We never saw Chucky again.

TREE LOVER I was outside the dojo cleaning the windows when I noticed a man with his pants down and his penis inside a large tree. His lips were curled. "Arrahhrrr!" he snarled. His arms were wrapped around the trunk in a loving (yet vicious) grasp and he was clearly approaching sexual climax. With his penis inside a knobby hole on the side of the tree, he finally shot man-sap into his plant friend. He let out a cry of relief and fell to the sidewalk. Ueda heard the man's cry and rushed out for a ringside view. "You're too late," I said. "What a gyp," said Ueda. "I've been robbed." "It was a unique spectacle," I said. "Yes, I don't think I've seen anything like that before." "Hey, man on the sidewalk," said Ueda. "Next time you tussle the timber, let me know. I like to see unique spectacles as much as the next man." The man was gasping for breath, his penis hanging limp, dripping semen. "That's one off my bucket list," said the man. "By the way, my name is Syd Sponge." "Thank you for telling us your name," said Ueda. We eyed Syd's stomach. It was swollen like a giant breast that needed milking. "That was good," said Syd. "Now I'll be able to have a baby." "What, what?" said Ueda. "A man have a baby? I don't think that's possible." "I know it's strange," said Syd. "But I bought this potion at the swap meet. If I drink it and screw a tree I'll get pregnant. So I did and so I did, and now I'm only nine months away from giving birth! It's been a lifelong dream of mine, to have a child with a member of the plant kingdom. I had to drink a gallon of that potion – but look! – it's already working. Look at that bulge from my belly." "You don't think that's from drinking a gallon of liquid?" I said. "What are you saying? That I've been ripped off?" "That's exactly what we're saying," said Ueda. "I can prove the potion is a fake for ten dollars." "Gosh, I don't want to be ripped off," said Syd. "Well, what have I got to lose?" "Ten dollars," I said. Ueda slapped the back of my head. Syd handed Ueda the money. "Now, Syd," said Ueda, "can you show me this potion?" "Sure, I got the bottle," said Syd, indicating a plastic jug in the gutter. Ueda picked it up and sniffed. "Hmm," said Ueda. "It smells like iguana milk. But we'd better go to the swap meet to be sure." "Ueda," I whispered. "What if it's true? What if a man really can become pregnant? I'd be tempted to try it myself! It'd be every man's dream come true." "Don't you think I realize that, Otto? But settle down, this is most likely a scam." "What are you guys whispering about?" said Syd. "Let's go!"

We found the potion seller easily enough. The grisly fellow had bottles of purple potion on display. He also sold cantaloupe and grapefruit. A large crowd of men was assembled. He began his sales pitch just as we arrived. "Gather round," he shouted. "Gather round!" He lifted up his shirt to reveal his pot belly. "Would you believe my doctor once said I could never have children? That 'men don't have children.' Would you believe it? Well, I almost believed it as well." He paused to pat his gut. The audience oohed an aahed in admiration. "Well, I guess I showed that so-called medical professional! For as you can see, I have a baby inside me! And any day now I will eject it into this world!" The audience applauded. "Most men want this," he went on. "Why deprive yourself the joy of childbirth? Well, no more, I say. No more! I bring you a magic potion that will allow you to enter this enviable state." This speech was starting to remind me of that boy in the tree house (see "Chester's Tree House"). "This potion can be yours for a mere $99.99," he said. "Does that include shipping?" said a man in the audience. "No," said the seller. "Shipping and handling is $14.95." "Alright! I'll take a bottle!" "Me too!" Hands were waving large sums of money in the air. Over the noise of the crowd, Ueda raised his voice. "Hey, vile fat man!" said Ueda. "I have a question for you." "Yes?" he said. "What is it, my Asian friend?" "Where does the baby come out of the man?" said Ueda. "A good question," said the seller. "The baby comes out the... uh... through the penis." The noise of the crowd went silent. The arms carrying money were lowered. "Through the penis?" said Ueda. "Uh... yes," said the seller. "And have you given birth via this method before?" said Ueda. "Of course I have," said the seller. "Hundreds of times." "May we examine your penis," said Ueda. "I would like to verify that no damage results from such a birth." "Sure," said the seller. He lowered his pants and underwear. His penis looked normal. Ueda went to the front of the crowd to get a closer look. "May I feel your belly as well?" said Ueda. "No!" said the seller. "You might hurt my baby." "Like this?" said Ueda, unexpectedly punching the man in the belly. The crowd moaned, and the man fell over. "Are you crazy, Asian? I'll have a miscarriage now." "Rubbish," said Ueda. "Because I say you're a quack."

Ueda laughed. The audience didn't know what to do. Ueda left the crowd and I followed him. Syd came with us. "How did you know he was a fake?" said Syd. "I could just tell," said Ueda. "Does it matter?" Sometimes Ueda was less of a detective, and more of a barbarian.

THE WORLD ROMPER A strange man walked into Ueda's martial arts studio. He looked at Ueda doubtfully. "Are you that zany Asian who solves crimes of depravity and perversity?" he demanded. "That depends," said Ueda. "Are you a bill collector?" "No," said the man. "Then I am indeed that zany Asian," said Ueda. "Then riddle me this: what's the difference between light and hard?" Without missing a beat, Ueda replied, "You can sleep with a light on." "Correct," said the man. "I was told you had no leaks in your brain semen, and I am now satisfied. My name is Victor Viagra. You're my man." Victor Viagra laid ten $1 bills on Ueda's Black Narcissus DVD. "My name is Victor Viagra," he said. "You already told us that," said Ueda. "I live in the Marina and I'm very interested in women. I want to hire you to listen." "To women?" said Ueda. "I think I'd have to charge more than ten dollars for that." "No, to Dick Diddlepuss." Victor explained. He was president of the Jizz International Sex Society of Monkeyplanet (JISSOM). Dick Diddlepuss wanted to join JISSOM. "We always interrogate a guy before deciding whether to accept him as a member," said Victor. "Why do you need me?" said Ueda. "Dick Diddlepuss claims he's boned girls all over the world, even Antarctica. Our club could use someone like him. But we don't know enough to tell if he's lying or not. So I want you to listen while the club questions him." "What makes you think he'll lie?" said Ueda. "We take field trips to strip clubs and down to Tijuana," said Victor. "Sometimes we use club funds to get laid. It's fun." "I see, that does sound fun," said Ueda. "You're afraid Victor is just interested in saving money, not in promoting international sexual activity. I'll take the case." We rode the bus across town to a Victorian mansion the club used for its activities. "Will this be like Eyes Wide Shut?" said Ueda. "I've never seen that movie," said Victor. "By the way, why did you bring your janitor along?" We were introduced to the other members of JISSOM and sat on the living room floor. When Dick Diddlepuss arrived, the interview began. Dick answered the questions put to him. Yes, he would never get hung up on one woman. Yes, he wanted to prevent the spread of STDs. The questioning went on for several minutes. Dick handled himself well. Finally, Victor asked Dick about his sex tourism trips. "We'd like to hear about the 'wild life' in other parts of the world," said Victor. "We need more international experts." "Then I'm your man," said Dick. "I suppose I've done it in just about every country." "Do they do it differently around the world?" said Kirk Keepithard.

"Oh sure," said Dick. "Why, I remember in Egypt this cross-eyed slut kept pretending I was killing her whenever I went anal. Don't know who she thought she was fooling. By the time we were done she was an expert." The club applauded in approval. "Do you see any animals in your travels?" asked George Goblobber. "Sometimes I've had some pets in to help us out. There was that one chick in the Philippines who wouldn't let me bonk her unless her dog was licking her tits at the same time." "So what'd you do?" "I let the dog lick her tits!" said Dick. "I have nothing against animals, as long as I get my share of the pie." "Have you ever done an animal?" said Wayne Wiley. "Not lately," said Dick. "My left leg was amputated and replaced with a robot leg. And everyone knows that machines frighten animals." "I didn't know that," I whispered. "Have you ever done a tranny?" said Heathcliff Hardonski. "I imagine so," said Dick. "You throw enough beer and drugs in me and I'll hump your front lawn." "What's the oldest woman you've ever done?" said Victor. "Let me think... ah, that would have to be in Moscow. A group of old Russian hags were lingering on the street corner and I was ready to spit in anything. They must have seen me coming because they ran like teenagers, except the old bag I finally caught. She was lying on the ground sick or something. I dragged her in an alley and tried to get it up. It had only risen halfway, so I said screw it and used a corn cob I found on the ground instead." The club shuddered. It was a moment before the next question was asked. "What was the strangest thing that ever happened to you?" said Morton Mudsticker. "In Argentina I went to a carnival and did the fat lady, the bearded lady, and the monkeywoman in one horrendous foursome," said Dick. "Horrendous how?" said Victor. "The fat lady sat on my face and nearly suffocated me. The bearded lady gave me a blowjob and her beard was very irritable. And the monkey woman penetrated me from behind most mysteriously." "Golly," Victor whispered to Ueda. "Dick Diddlepuss has had all kinds of fantastic sexual adventures. Should we vote him into the club?" "You'd be better off voting in a eunuch," said Ueda. "A eunuch with bad breath!" Ueda laughed at his joke. "What do you mean?" said Victor. "WHAT WAS DICK'S MISTAKE?" "Oh, there were several," said Ueda. "He's out of his mind!" said Dick. "Don't listen to him! Who is this mysterious Asian anyway?" "I am Ueda Sensei, and that is enough. Your words are your undoing, Dick Diddlepuss. First, you said you did it with a woman in Egypt. A prostitute?" "Yeah, so what?" said Dick.

"You indicated she was cross-eyed. And yet it is a fact verifiable by any good encyclopedia that cross-eyed women are forbidden from whoring themselves in a Muslim country." "I – I probably just misremembered!" said Dick. "You also said that you caroused a woman in the Philippines. You said her dog licked her nipples while you performed your business." "Yeah!" said Dick. "What about it, man? You calling me a liar?" "I will only point out that a dog cannot stick out its tongue when there are more than two humans in a room," said Ueda. "Oh!" said Dick. "I – I didn't know that." "You also said that your left leg was amputated and replaced with an artificial limb. I would like to verify that." Ueda took his knife out of his pocket and plunged it into Dick Diddlepuss's leg. Dick Diddlepuss screamed and blood came out of the wound. "Aha!" said Ueda. "That looks like a real wound in a real leg!" "That's my right leg!" screamed Dick. "Not your left, my left!" "Oh." Ueda plunged the knife into Dick's other leg. There was no reaction from Dick. No blood came from the wound. "Well, maybe it is artificial after all," said Ueda. "Still, so far I'm two for three. Let's look at your next assertion. You said that you probably humped a transvestite while intoxicated on beer and drugs. But I recently read in an obscure medical journal how the mixing of alcohol, drugs, and transvestites nearly always results in death. How do you explain your survival?" Dick Diddlepuss looked like he was going to pass out. "Does... does anyone have a band-aid?" "You also said that you sexed an old Russian woman with a corn cob in a Moscow alley," said Ueda. "And yet it is a well-known fact that corn grown in Russia contains enough rocket fuel and other pollutants that any friction – such as that required to penetrate an old woman – instantly results in incineration. Did you, the corn cob, or the old woman, go up in flames?" "No, we didn't," said Dick. "And lastly, you said you did it with a band of circus freaks in Argentina," said Ueda. "But since it is against the law for circus freaks to breed with non-freaks in Argentina, we can only assume that this, like your other stories, is a pack of lies." Dick was unconscious. The other club members whispered among themselves. "Thank you for your detective sleuthing," said Victor Viagra. "We've reached a unanimous decision. Dick Diddlepuss shall not be admitted into JISSOM." "I think you've made the best decision," said Ueda. "Will you help us drag him into the alley around back?" said Dick. "Sure," said Ueda. On the bus back across town, I said, "Gosh, I didn't know all those obscure and interesting facts." "Neither did I," said Ueda. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Otto, that I was bluffing. I didn't like Dick Diddlepuss and I could smell something awry in his sweat. He may have only been nervous and anxious to get into the club, but my hunch is that he was lying." "So you don't always need facts. Sometimes you can just go on your gut and you'll be right because you're cool." "That is correct, Otto." "I wonder when I'll be able to just wing it like that," I said. "I'd like to solve a crime on my gut at least once in my life." Ueda rubbed his finger against the bus window. "It may be a while yet, Otto."

TAXMAN One fine day a man in a dark suit and tie came into the dojo. "You don't look like you're here to fight," I said jovially. "I hope not," said the man. "I'm Simon Lucre. I'm with the IRS." I dropped my dustpan to the floor. In Ueda's office I heard him pause the film he was watching and come out. "What's going on here?" said Ueda. "Are you the owner of this establishment?" said Simon. "People don't own establishments," said Ueda. "Establishments own people." "You don't need to tell me that. I'm with the IRS." "I don't know anything about it," said Ueda. "Go away." "I didn't even say why I'm here," said Simon. "For all you know, I'm here to return a tax overpayment." "I highly, highly doubt it," said Ueda. "Alright, I'm not," said Simon. "But there's no need to get off on the wrong foot. How long has this dojo been open?" "Uedaville? Oh, a couple of days," said Ueda. "Your neighbors say you've been here for months." "Which neighbors? Liars!" Ueda shouted. "The company that leases the building also confirmed you've been here a while." "I fail to see the point of this," said Ueda. "You haven't paid your 2001 taxes," said Simon. "You say that like it's a crime," said Ueda. "Well, since it's May now and you haven't filed an extension, it technically is. But listen, I don't want to bust your chops. I just want you to file your taxes." "And if I don't?" said Ueda. "You don't want to do that," said Simon. "Is that a threat?" said Ueda. "Because I don't like being threatened." Picking up one of the boards used for the Ueda Sensei Cowardice Test, Ueda smashed his forehead into it, splintering it into a million little pieces. Simon Lucre swallowed, and said, "I'm going to leave now." "Don't let the door hit your fat ass on the way out," I said. Ueda returned to his office and resumed his movie.

SUPERSTAR I was watching Ueda teach a children's class. The students were about to begin sparring. One boy, Luke Velveeta, seemed particularly eager to fight. Ueda lined him up to fight Sandy Kim, a tiny Chinese girl. "GO!" said Ueda, signaling the students to start tearing each other apart. All the students grappled together, but my eyes were on Luke and Sandy. She put up some good resistance, but Luke was like a savage beast. He pushed her arm aside and began squeezing her throat. I was about to rise and interfere, but Ueda beat me to it. "Let go, Luke! Let go!" As if coming out of a hypnotic daze, Luke slowly released his hands from Sandy's throat. "What are you doing?" said Ueda. "What kind of move was that?" "Aw, it was working, wasn't it?" said Luke belligerently. "And did you intend to kill Sandy?" said Ueda. "Tell you what, if you're so eager to kill, why don't you take me on?" "Glad to," said Luke. The boy had always been such a quiet, respectful youth, and I couldn't account for his sudden arrogance. GO!" said Ueda. Luke charged at Ueda. They engaged, each finding a grip on the other and falling to the mat to sort it out. To my surprise, Luke was holding his own, and I saw a look of confusion on Ueda's face. But then, as if holding back no more, Ueda switched holds and pinned Luke's arm behind him. "Do you surrender?" said Ueda. "NEVER!" said Luke. Ueda hadn't expected resistance, so he raised Luke's arm another notch. I could see Luke's eyes bulging, but he still refused to give in. "You are an obstinate young man," said Ueda. "And I think there is more here than meets the eye." Ueda pushed Luke's arm obscenely higher. There was a horrible cracking sound and the other students gasped in horror. Ueda had broken Luke's arm. "Oops," said Ueda. After an ambulance took Luke away and class was dismissed, I chatted with Ueda about the incident. "Something not quite right, eh?" I said. "A normal boy would have succumbed well before I destroyed his arm," said Ueda. "That was superhuman." "That was drugs!" The person who said this was Elmer Benvolio, a sallow Hispanic with Clark Kent glasses. "Drugs?" said Ueda. "You're saying Luke was on a drug, like 'the pot' or 'the acid'?" "Naw, not those," said Elmer. "Steroids! I seen him taking 'em in the locker room." "So that's how he became a martial arts superstar," I said. "What are we gonna do, Ueda?" "Let's talk to his parents and see if they can beat some sense into him."

That afternoon we biked to Luke Velveeta's house and saw something on the roof. It was Luke. "Hey, come down!" said Ueda. "Fuck off, arm breaker!" said Luke. One of his arms was in a cast. The other had a paper-mâché wing attached to it. He closed his eyes and began to rock. "What are you doing?" said Ueda. "I can do anything!" shouted Luke. "I'm God!" "Can't you be God down on the ground?" "I'm gonna fly," said Luke. "Nobody can fly!" I said. "Not even birds. It's all a trick to get you on the roof. You're doing just what they want you to do." "Aw, you shouldn't have said that," said Luke. "You've introduced a glitch in the matrix and I've lost faith." He started climbing down the drain pipe but slipped and fell on the grass. "Ouch." "What made you think you could fly?" said Ueda. "Are you high? Are you doing the cocaine?" "Man, Ueda Sensei, I don't have any more drugs. I'm so sad. I'm so –" "Who sold you the drugs?" I said. "We want to punish them for destroying your life." "It was the peer pressure, man," said Luke. "It got to me." "Who?" said Ueda. "We need a name if we are to thrash them." "My... dad?" said Luke. "Your father?" said Ueda. "Good lord, what a horrible parent." Ueda left Luke on the grass. He got a running start and jumped. He broke through the glass of Luke Velveeta's living room. I went through the front door so I could see the result. Inside he was manhandling Luke's father. "You're a sap," said Ueda. "Giving that filth to your own son!" "It's true, true," said the Velveeta patriarch. "I just wanted Luke to be the best fighter in the world." "That's ridiculous," said Ueda. "I'm the best fighter in the world." "I'm sorry, Ueda Sensei," said Luke's father. "I'll get him off the junk. You'll see." Ueda spit on the man's face. "Do what you want with your junkie child. But don't bring him to my dojo. He's finished there." "NO! Please, Ueda Sensei. Luke needs your instruction." "Nothing will make me change my mind," said Ueda. "What if we paid twice as much for lessons?" "I cannot be bought," said Ueda. "Three times as much! I'll pay three times as much!" This time Ueda didn't answer so quickly. "Well, I think Luke has probably learned his lesson from all this. He has a broken arm to remind him of his stupidity. Very well, he may return. His lessons will be three times the regular fee." "Thank you, Ueda Sensei," said Luke's father. "Thank you so much!" As for the moral of this tale, I'm still trying to figure it out. I know there's one in there, but I just haven't found it yet. I will keep looking.

BASEBALL It was the night of the championship baseball game between Ueda's Unicorns and Zhen Brutus's Junior Werewolves. The game had been proposed by Zhen Brutus, and Ueda could not refuse lest his honor be stained. He had selected his healthiest young martial artists to play in the game, and Zhen had done the same. When we entered Golden Gate Park, the bright lights over the baseball diamond were already on. A drunken crowd had filled the bleachers. A Chinese woman with huge breasts covered by a flimsy Werewolves T-shirt screamed, "The Werewolves are gonna rape the Unicorns tonight! Ha ha ha ha ha!" Ueda snorted. "I hope the Unicorns win," I said, "but the Werewolves are favored. Their players take vitamins." "But we have Pancho Simian," Ueda reminded me. Pancho Simian was a sensation. He could hit anything. While sparring at the dojo he even managed to hit Ueda once. Ueda went to the Unicorns' bench to coach his players. I found a seat right behind them. On the field the Unicorns were warming up. When Pancho Simian stepped up to the plate to take a practice swing, he hit the ball so hard, it soared over the fence and killed an elderly pensioner. We all laughed at Pancho's power. All, that is, except Zhen and his Werewolves. Mrs. Simian stood up and took a bow. "¡Ese es mi hijo!" Several white people on the Werewolves bleacher glared at her. "Oh yeah?" yelled a man wearing a Chevrolet hat. "What kind of beans you feeding your boy? Cheating beans?" I listened as they continued to trade prejudice. "The parents seem pretty uptight about this game," I whispered to Ueda. He nodded. "Last week during practice I heard a parent call Jimmy a heterosexual." "Really?" I shook my head. "I know it's a big game and winning is everything, but racism is wrong. After all, it's just a game." On the field, the players' warm-up had ended several minutes ago. "Why haven't they started the game?' I said. "Something must be awry," said Ueda. "I'll have a word with Zhen Brutus." "Be careful!" I cautioned. Everyone knew that Zhen was a slimy individual with a screwy moral compass. I watched as Ueda and Zhen conferenced. There was no love lost between them, but they were willing to put differences aside for the sake of the game. After a few minutes of glares and head shaking, Ueda returned to the bench. "The umpire had an aneurysm on the way to the field," said Ueda. "We need a substitute ump. I've agreed to let Zhen take the job." "WHAT?" I said. "Are you crazy? He'll cheat! He's as fair as a nickel with two heads." "That may be, Otto, but we have no other choice. Zhen says he has umping experience." "He has humping experience, raping the innocent!" I said.

But the game went on. It did not go well. By the sixth inning, the Unicorns were losing 28 to 2. Zhen kept tossing Unicorn players out of the game, saying they had used an inappropriate hand gesture or weren't wearing enough deodorant. "He's no batter, his mom's so much fatter," Zhen would chant when a Unicorn was at bat. "Keep your eye on the ball!" Ueda would shout, but players kept striking out. Finally, it was all up to Pancho Simian. I hardly understood the rules of baseball, but I assumed that if Pancho hit another ball out of the park, it would close the 28-2 gap between the teams and the thing would be settled. I stroked a crucifix in my pocket. Maybe Zhen would finally give us a break and be fair. The first pitch was low and Pancho didn't swing at it. Definitely a bad pitch. "Strike!" said Zhen Brutus. The Unicorns and their fans went berserk. "Are you crazy? Are you blind? That was a ball! I don't believe it!" "Good eye, Pancho!" yelled Ueda. "Wait for a good one!" The next pitch came in high and nearly beaned Pancho's head. "What the –" "STRIKE TWO!" said Zhen. Pancho gave Zhen and the pitcher a dirty look, but didn't lose his cool. The next pitch hit Pancho in the belly. He fell to the dirt. "STRIKE THREE!" said Zhen. The parents of the Unicorns rushed the field. Ueda rushed the field. The pitcher ran away. The fans on the Werewolves bleacher ran to the field. Everyone fought. It was a scene of blood and mayhem that I'll never forget. I remained in the bleachers since I have a delicate constitution, but I sympathized with Ueda and the Unicorns. It's hard to say who won that game. It might be best to call it a draw since the game was unfinished. Many players and children were hurt. A few were killed. Zhen got away, and Ueda was unscathed, of course. But I can't help thinking that it would have been a great game if only the umpire hadn't had that aneurysm. I went to visit that umpire in the hospital the next day. "How do you feel?" I asked. "Who are you?" he said. "Leave me alone. Nurse, get him out of here." "I'm sorry, Mr. Jacobs. He said he was family." I left and went to get a donut and a burrito. Fortunately I found a place that served both. When I began writing this adventure, I recalled more mystery, more daring, more detective work. Sometimes our memories play tricks on us.

AGGRESSIVE FEMALE Romeo Rimpod had a way with the gentle sex. He was forever typing notes and poems to other students at Uedaville. When we saw him in Dolores Park on Saturday afternoon, he wasn't typing. He was standing before a bench, bowing and tipping his hat to no one. "Romeo's probably talking to a ghost," I said. "Judging by the stink of his breath," said Ueda, using his superhuman sense of smell, "I think it more likely he's taken illicit mushrooms again. I'll bet he's meeting a girl. He's probably drugged out to calm his nerves." Romeo spied Ueda and motioned us over. "Which greeting do you like better?" he asked us. "This?" He lifted his hat a few inches off his head. "Or this?" He unzipped his fly and swept his shaft into the light of the sun. "I like the first one," said Ueda. "Yeah, the first one," I said. "The other makes it look like you're a sexual predator." "Good," said Romeo. "I like the simple approach myself. Let 'em know what I'm here for." Suddenly he stooped down to pick up the puffy seed head of a dandelion. "The perfect touch!" he exclaimed. He sat down on the bench, shoving the plant into his pants. "What's this all about, Romeo?" said Ueda. "I'm meeting Chloe Clitormass here any minute," said Romeo. "I have to treat her like a human being or something. Crazy broad." Ueda nodded, understanding. You couldn't treat Chloe like any old fleshy crevice. She practiced at Ueda's dojo too, and often left her opponents feeling flaccid and delicate. At the last tournament, she had accidentally sterilized a man. "Here she comes now," I remarked. "We'll leave you alone," Ueda told Romeo. "We're overdue at the men's restroom." "Good luck," said Romeo. "I hope you win." I puzzled the meaning of this last remark, and replied, "Yeah, well, I hope you win too!" "I hope we all win," said Romeo. "Planet Earth. The dark ones." We had walked fifty yards when I tugged Ueda behind a tree. "Can't you hold it, Otto?" said Ueda. "The restroom's not that far." "Not that, Ueda. Let's hide. I just have to see Romeo in action!" In the next 8.3 seconds, there was plenty of action – most of it by Chloe Clitormass. Romeo jumped to his feet. Before he had a chance to reach in his pants and execute his opening maneuver, Chloe knocked Romeo onto the bench and laid him out, toes up. She folded his arms over his chest, and began punching him in the testicles. "That is one aggressive female!" I said. "And very neat too," said Ueda. Chloe buried her knee in Romeo's rib cage and he gasped for air, begged for mercy. She punched his jaw to shut him up and turned his hat sideways so he looked like a 1980s "rapper." "Go find some toilet paper, you piece of shit!" she flung at the speechless remains of Romeo, and marched off.

"I'm glad we stayed to watch," I said. "It wasn't at all like I expected." When we reached him, Romeo was just coming around. He vomited. In the vomit I noticed the mushrooms, some blood, and a tooth. I brushed my hand against Romeo's forehead. "You poor boy," I murmured. "How does it feel? To be on your own? With no direction home? Like a complete unknown?" Romeo moaned. "Would you shut your janitor up, Ueda Sensei? He's hurting my brain." "How bad is it?" said Ueda. "I'm changing my name to Christopher Reeve," said Romeo. "Whatever made Chloe so angry?" I said. Romeo groaned. "All I did was write her this note." He fumbled a sheet from his pocket and gave it to Ueda. The sensei read the typewritten words. Dearest Chloe. How I long to have your underwear in my mouth as I tongue your anus. Let's get sweaty and fruitful and multiply. Maybe get some other girls to join us. I'd like to praise your beauty forever but I'd rather just bone you. When I'm doing other girls I sometimes think of you. Thine, Romeo "You've written better," said Ueda. "It's kind of crappy, but it isn't bad." "I borrowed some sentences from a Danielle Steel novel and a pornographic comic book and strung them together," Romeo admitted. "I was feeling experimental and lazy." He explained. Chloe was leaving that night for a week in Bosnia. He had dashed off the letter three hours ago to express his feelings for her. "I called her at noon PM," said Romeo. "You don't need to say PM when you say noon," I said. "Damn you, Otto," said Romeo. "Why do you have to be so right? Anyway, I expected to read the letter to her over the telephone, as if the words had just come to me. She wasn't home. So I spoke with Spockette, her kid sister. Spockette took down what I said and promised to give the message to Chloe." "Isn't Spockette only two years old?" said Ueda. "How could she write anything?" "She's extremely bright," said Romeo. "Extremely." "You live an extreme lifestyle," I said. "And you're an extreme janitor," said Romeo. This may have been an insult, but I took it as a compliment. "Even if she could write down your sophisticated love words," said Ueda, "Spockette probably flubbed the message. She got the words wrong. Or maybe she changed them because she doesn't like you and you're in a different age bracket." "She likes me," Romeo insisted. "And we're both in the 0 to 35 age bracket. She's taken messages before, and she prints clearly in capital letters. Besides, I had her repeat each word as she took it down."

He fingered his bruised penis a moment before continuing. "Chloe phoned me an hour ago. She knew I had called Spockette. She asked to meet me here. Oh my, did she sound randy." "She was eager to put your bulb in her mouth," I said. "Ueda, what went wrong for Romeo?" Ueda stroked his chin like it was a genie's lamp. He was staring at two squirrels fighting on the grass. Glee flickered across his Oriental features. "Kid sister Spockette meant well," he babbled, "but I'm afraid she is to blame. If you want to punish somebody, punish Spockette. If you want to assault her physically, don't tell me about it because that might incriminate me as well." "Spockette?" said Romeo. "Why on earth would she sabotage me? She likes me. WHY? WHY? WHY?" "The answer will cost you ten dollars," said Ueda. Romeo grumbled but handed Ueda the money. "Well?" "Perhaps you are thinking that Spockette had a poor grasp of punctuation," said Ueda. "Perhaps you are thinking she put commas and periods in the wrong places and annihilated your original meaning." "That thought did cross my mind," said Romeo. "And you might think that she transcribed your original message as: Dearest Chloe how I. Long to have your underwear in my mouth as I tongue your anus let's get. Sweaty, and, fruitful, and. Multiply maybe. Get some other. Girls to join us I'd. Like to praise your beauty forever but. I'd rather just. Bone. You when. I'm doing, other. Girls. I sometimes think. Of. You. Thine, Romeo This confusing punctuation scheme might have been enough to irritate her into a violent rage." "So that's how it happened!" said Romeo. "Actually, no," said Ueda. "I admit that was my original suspicion, but when I smelled the wounds Chloe inflicted on you, I noticed a peculiar smell. Invisible ink." "I'm afraid I don't follow your train of thought," said Romeo. "Invisible ink?" "Yes, on Chloe's hands when she beat you. Spockette had handed her the note with your message and it was blank. Spockette had recorded your words in invisible ink, and she was able to read them back to you because they were still on the paper. But when the ink dried, the words disappeared! She gave the paper to Chloe, and Chloe was infuriated. She thought you were playing games with her. A blank message? An empty page? An existential riddle? What could it mean? Rather than simply ask you the meaning, she chose to beat you. She had the ink on her hands from the note, and the ink is now on you." Romeo massaged his bent lip. "Goddamn females. Goddamn invisible ink!" I laughed and said, "Well, the mystery has been solved and I think it's high time I used the bathroom. Are you coming, Ueda?" "Yes, Otto," he said. "Our work is done here." Incidentally, Chloe Clitormass never returned from Bosnia. Some say that she was sold to a Russian prostitution ring. Others deny this story and say she developed a passion for entrepreneurial

endeavors during her trip, opening a chain of donut stores which she manages to this day. Still others say she started a cult that combined Scientology and Mormonism. And as much as I like donuts and prostitution, I like this last theory best.

MISCALCULATION Sunday afternoon, Ueda was watching The Long Goodbye when the telephone rang, so I answered it. It was Elmer Odious, one of Ueda's students. He talked so fast it was like hot diarrhea being poured in my ear. "Elmer," I said. "Elmer, calm down." "I'm calm as a bucket of bees," shot back Elmer. "Get Ueda Sensei! Get the police! Get the President!" "What's wrong?" I said, not yet ready to interrupt Ueda's moviegoing experience. "Somebody stole my piggy bank," said Elmer. I was looking out the dojo window, and I swear I saw Elmer on the street. "Elmer? Are you... are you outside the dojo right now?" "Oh yeah, I'm on my cell phone," he said. "Well, come inside." He came in, and it was true. He was magically talking to me with a phone that went with him. I could scarcely believe it, much less that a child would be allowed to carry such a thing. "Haven't you ever seen a cell phone, Otto?" he said. "Of... of course I have," I said. "Now what's this about your piggy bank being lost?" I tried to keep my voice down, but Ueda's keen senses had heard it all. He had frozen his film and came out to investigate. "A case, Otto?" he said. "Why, hello, young Elmer." "Hi, Ueda Sensei. Yeah, I've got a case. My piggy bank –" "Ten dollars," said Ueda. "What?" said Elmer. "My fee," said Ueda. "Ten American dollars. You have ten dollars, don't you?" "I – I have it," said Elmer. "Then you had best hand it over," I prodded. "But my piggy bank only had three dollars in it!" said Elmer. "Why should I pay ten dollars to get three dollars back?" "Why indeed?" said Ueda. He sighed, turned away, and returned to his office. The door slammed behind him. "Now I'll never get my piggy bank back," said Elmer. "I'm out three whole bucks!" "You know, Elmer, I may only be a janitor, but I have quite a knack for solving crimes myself. I'd be willing to take on the case. And I'd only charge... oh... two dollars." Elmer looked me over. He did a calculation in his head. "Naw, screw it," he said. "It ain't worth it." Elmer left. I went back to the locker room to mix a new vat of cleaning supplies. The light was dark, and as I stirred, a tiny drop of water fell from my eye. I brushed it away.

NEAR-RAPE Stella Suckhard ran into Ueda's dojo. "A big man just tried to rape me!" "Why?" I said. "These!" She held up her wobbly tits. Ueda and I gazed at her breasts. It was hard to think of anything less worth stealing, unless it was a jar of smallpox. "I want you to catch the near-rapist," said Stella. "He's dangerous." She put a coin on a gasoline can that Ueda had been using as a punching bag. It didn't chunk like a quarter. It didn't clink like a dime. It didn't even pock like a nickel. "Is that a penny?" said Ueda. "I'm sorry, but it's the only money I have," said Stella. "I'm sorry, but that is fucking ridiculous," said Ueda. Ueda picked up the penny. He looked it over and his eyes widened. "This is an 1823 Buffalo Slaughterhouse penny! It's worth $982,653!" "What? Really?" said Stella. Ueda threw the penny at Stella's forehead and it bounced to the floor. "No, I'm only kidding," said Ueda. Stella looked like she might cry. She didn't though. She dug into her purse and brought out two $5 bills (which total $10, since 2 x 5 = 10). "Thanks," said Ueda. "Now why don't you explain everything to me from the beginning. Paint a picture like it was a movie." "I was picking wild flowers in the Presidio," began Stella, "and I was so full of joy that I ran down the street with my flowers." "So far this is a really boring movie," said Ueda. "Can you pick it up a little?" "As I ran, I collided with a man of about 58 years. He had a paper bag in his hand, and when I ran into him, the bag broke open. Coins fell all over the sidewalk. Big coins, little coins, brown coins, silver coins, yellow coins, purple coins, velvet coins, furry coins, chocolate coins, cotton coins, chalk coins, butter coins –" "I think we get the point," said Ueda. "Please go on." "He picked up the coins and grabbed for my flower can to put them in. When he reached for it his hand brushed against my breast. That's when I knew he was trying to rape me." "And?" said Ueda. "A car drove up the street and he ran away," said Stella. "All he left behind was that penny." "Would you know the man if you saw him again?" said Ueda. "No, because I have no facial memory," said Stella. "Oh?" I said. "Then how do you know you're talking to Ueda Sensei and not me?" "Because you're wearing a janitor's uniform," she said. "And Ueda Sensei has a Japanese accent." She had me there. I looked at Ueda and could tell his brain was bubbling to understand the case.

"The man must have stolen the coins," said Ueda. "Otherwise he would have taken his time and raped you. But the car scared him off. He's probably hanging around the neighborhood, waiting for another chance to bonk you, Stella." Ueda pushed Stella into his office and locked the door. "We'll keep you in there until we catch the villain! You'll be safe." "Hey, let me out!" she said. "Can you cook?" said Ueda through the door. "Because I think there's some fish sticks under the desk. You can pop them in the microwave if they don't smell too rancid. They'll simply melt in your mouth. Oh, and feel free to watch my Kurosawa films." Ueda and I left the dojo and found a payphone. Ueda phoned Lt. Mongro. "Lieutenant! Have there been any recent thefts involving multidimensional coin collections?" I waited as Ueda listened, nodded, and smiled. "I see," he said. "Alright, we'll wait for you at 9th and Irving. I think I can catch the thief. I have a plan." We walked to the Inner Sunset for the appointed rendezvous. Ueda did not disclose his plan, but on the way he bought a coin at a magic shop and superglue at a hardware store. At 9th Avenue and Irving Street we met Lt. Mongro. "I think we will have no trouble apprehending this coin thief," said Ueda. "We will simply glue this fake coin to the pavement and wait." "For what?" said Mongro. "Any thrifty person will try to get that coin." "True," said Ueda. "But few will persist when they realize it is glued to the ground. Our thief, however, will." "Why?" I said. "Because this coin looks like a very rare coin, Otto. It is not, of course. It is but a shoddy imitation. But a casual glance will not disclose this. Our thief will be taken in and use superhuman effort to remove it. At least that is what I hope." After affixing the coin to the pavement, Ueda, Mongro, and I made ourselves comfortable in a nearby coffee shop. We had a clear view of the coin. It did not take long for people to see it. It seemed that everyone, from the homeless to the wealthy, tried to pick it up. But it would budge for no one. After a few seconds each individual's face would pucker up with bitter hatred for the trick that had taken them in, and they moved on, cursing their luck, and becoming more cynical for the transaction. This went on for several hours. What was initially amusing turned into a boring exercise in human clockwork. "It's getting late," said Mongro. "It looks like your thief ain't gonna show after all, Ueda. Maybe this isn't his neighborhood?" "Oh, it's his neighborhood," said Ueda. "Well, I'm outta here," said Mongro, wobbling away. The lieutenant gone, I said, "Maybe this is a fool's errand. Shouldn't we be getting home?" "No, Otto. Our thief will return." The sun had set and it was growing dark. As the streetlights were about to turn on, I noticed a tall, thin man examining the coin. "Is it him?" I whispered. "Quiet, Otto."

The man had a Swiss Army knife and he began chipping away at the glue that held the coin to the ground. "It's him, Otto. On three we shall charge him and apprehend him." "We?" I said. "Three!" said Ueda. I threw my latte aside and ran with Ueda as he screamed a frightening death charge. The stranger looked up. Ueda and I tackled him. He bobbed. Ueda kicked the screwdriver away and within seconds we had his hands tied with rope that Ueda mysteriously materialized from a hidden pocket. The man looked about 58 years of age. "Good work, Otto," said Ueda. "What now?" I said. "Let's get him back to the dojo." We got the rogue on the bus. The bus driver and a few others gave us looks when they saw the man's hands were bound, but Ueda explained, "He is a near-rapist." I was bushed by the time we got back to Uedaville. All that surveillance, keeping my eyes open. And I was hungry. We let Stella out of Ueda's office. "Did you eat all those fish sticks?" I asked her. "The microwave was broken," she said. "You didn't answer my question," I said. "I ate them cold," she said. "Hey! Who's this guy? He's dressed like the guy who near-raped me." "He is the one," said Ueda. "Your crime is solved." The bound man spoke up. "Rape her? What are you talking about? I wouldn't rape this slag." "You wouldn't?" said Ueda. "Hell no! Just look at her. Would you?" He had a point. "Don't listen to him!" said Stella. "He'll say anything to get off the hook." "No, I think he's telling the truth," said Ueda. "If I let you go, will you promise not to rape anyone in the near future?" "I promise not to rape her," said the man. "Close enough," said Ueda, cutting the ropes that bound the man. "You are free." "Great. Now I can go back and get that coin." "Have a nice night," I said. I started thinking about what I'd eat now that the fish sticks were gone. "Didn't you have a granola bar, Ueda?" "Yes." "I can't believe you let him go," said Stella. "He'll probably rape me as soon as I leave." "I sincerely doubt that," I said. "He gave his word. And a criminal's word is good as gold." "But it's dark out," said Stella. "I can't go out at night like this. Can I sleep here?" "No," said Ueda. "Can I stay and watch you guys sleep?" said Stella. "No," said Ueda.

"Please," she said. "I'm frightened. And I already gave you ten bucks. Isn't that worth anything?" Ueda nodded. "It is worth the price of those fish sticks. Go, Stella." She left. "Perhaps you think I was too harsh with her, Otto. That her fears were warranted. But I tell you that if I let her stay here we would never be rid of her. One night would become ten thousand and she would be afraid to leave my office lest one man's eyeball offend her. It can –" I interrupted. "Ueda, there's no need to explain. I didn't like her either." He smiled, and I went to my locker room to find that granola bar and get some sleep.

FRAMED The heart of Zhen Brutus beat with one desire. It was to get back at Ueda. Zhen hated Ueda for defeating him in so many fights. He longed to humiliate Ueda by yanking on his testicles. But Zhen couldn't do this with size and strength alone. Ueda was the better fighter. When they had last fought in a tournament (circa 1999) Zhen bled so much you would have believed men could menstruate. "Zhen will never let up until you're destroyed – or he is," I once told Ueda. "I will not plan my life around the depravity of others," said Ueda. "To live with his values would mean he's already won. But don't worry, Otto. Zhen's too bent out of shape to see straight. I'll be fine." On that particular day we passed by Zhen's dojo, the motley shed behind an auto body shop in the Soma, and I felt an eerie feeling pass over me. We were going to the birthday party of one of Ueda's students, Minnie Humperfast, who happened to live in the warehouse immediately next to Zhen's dojo. I only hoped that Zhen and the Werewolves stayed far away from Minnie's party. "Have no fear," said Ueda. "Zhen has a big handicap, his undersized penis. I've seen it in the locker room unfortunately, and it makes him a total pussy. He would never hazard a direct confrontation." "I hope you're right," I said, because I hoped he was right. We were passing Zhen's dojo and the silence was nauseating. I tried to think of the party and the lively evening in store for us. The street was deserted. Above, the sky was starless because of the city's glare, making it a murky black except for the full moon. Minnie's birthday party was fun piled on fun. And then pile on some more fun for good measure. And why not a little more. I'm trying to make the point that it was almost excessively fun, that if there was a law against fun, we certainly broke it that night (Note: at present there is no law against fun). Minnie was looking fantastically sexy, and I tried to remember if her birthday made her 17, or 18. I hoped the latter, because these things matter. After a few hours I was completely shitfaced (to use the popular expression). Ueda didn't drink, and I don't usually drink, but on my nights off and when someone else is paying for it, I have been known to imbibe. I was drawing closer and closer to Minnie, wondering what my hands might do, when Minnie received an unexpected phone call. "That was Ingrid Xylitol, my neighbor," said Minnie. "I thought Zhen Brutus was your neighbor," I said. "He is, in the other direction," she said. "But unlike Zhen, I like Ingrid. She's a great, quiet girl." "Thank you for describing her so I have a mental picture," I said, leaning towards Minnie and breathing in her eye. "What does Ingrid want? Is she looking for... company?" "She asked Ueda Sensei and you to come over right away!" said Minnie. "Oh, she likes two at once, eh?" I said. "There's been a crime," said Minnie. "You'd better hurry! She said to come at once and use the back door." I thought that might be girl talk for something less literal, but I didn't have a chance to voice my idea.

go."

"Let us go at once, Otto," said Ueda. I coughed on Minnie and said, "I hate to leave the party, but if this female needs help, we better

The warehouse next door was separated from Minnie's home by a line of bushes. Ueda and I crawled through them. No lights shone from Ingrid's warehouse as we approached the rear entrance. I grabbed the sleeve of Ueda's windbreaker. "Are you sure it was really Ingrid who telephoned – " A familiar voice cut me off. "There they are! The dirty sexual predators!" Zhen Brutus emerged from behind a dumpster. Lt. Mongro was with him. "They've come back for more pussy!" Zhen cried. "What is the meaning of this?" said Ueda. "Zhen claims you broke into Ingrid Xylitol's vagina a couple hours ago," Mongro declared. Ueda glared at Zhen Brutus. "You lying Chinaman! I'd rip off your penis if I could find it!" "Save those cherry lips for the other pedophiles in prison, Ueda," said Zhen. "Your secret life of crime is over!" "Settle down, both of you Asians," said Mongro. "Tell them what you told me, Zhen. The truth now." "I heard them talking about Ingrid Xylitol being alone in her warehouse as they passed my dojo two hours ago," Zhen began. "They decided this was their big chance. They broke into Ingrid's warehouse and I heard them banging poor Ms. Xylitol." "Why didn't you call the police then?" said Mongro. "I would have, but they finished so quickly and I didn't want to let them get away. I followed them to Minnie Humperfast's party next door, and called the cops when I was sure they'd be there a while." "You did the right thing, Zhen," said Mongro. "I must say I'm disappointed in you, Ueda. I never would have thought it possible. As for your janitor, that doesn't surprise me at all." "He's lying!" I yelled. "Where's this Ingrid woman? She must have seen who raped her." "Pipe down, rookie," said Mongro. "She's in a delicate state. But you're right, we might as well have her identify you and Ueda while the scent is fresh." Lt. Mongro called to another officer. A few minutes later the officer returned with a tall young woman. "Oh, she's tall," I said. "I don't even like tall women. It couldn't have been me." "Quiet, Otto," said Ueda. I could tell he was concentrating and that every moment counted if our liberty was to be secured. "Alright, ma'am," said Mongro. "Are these the guys who done ya?" She looked at Ueda and me, and then back to Lt. Mongro. "I... I think so. One of them was Asian and wore a windbreaker just like this one has. And the other one looked like a janitor just like this one does." "How do I look like a janitor?" I said. "Tell us how it happened," said Mongro. "Well, I was studying the heavens with my telescope, when I heard a clawing sound at the back door. I thought it might be a cat and that I could give it some milk. When I opened the door, two

men burst in. It was dark and I could barely see. They ripped my bathrobe off and took turns holding me to the ground while the other... oh... oh..." Ingrid shuddered. "It's okay, ma'am," said Mongro. "You don't need to explain any more. Unless... you want to..." "I don't," said Ingrid. "Of course, of course," said Mongro. "However, if you do have any more details you can phone me and explain it as graphically as you find necessary. You can also write me a report and email it to me. If you have a digital camera you can also send me photos. If you feel the urge to re-enact the events and record them, that would also help the investigation. I can even assist –" "I think I've said enough," said Ingrid. "Cool," said Mongro. "I'll call you in a few days in case you change your mind. But to be honest, this looks like an open and shut case. Two witnesses and a dark and stormy night." It wasn't actually raining, but I appreciate the lieutenant's point: it looked like we were screwed. "What are we gonna do, Ueda?" I said. "I don't want to go to jail. It's dark in there." "Have no fear, Otto," said Ueda. "We shall not be going to jail." "Don't even think of trying any of that jiu-jitsu on me," said Mongro. "We're old pals, Ueda, but if you done the deed then I gotta take you in." "We did not," said Ueda. "And I can prove quite easily who did it." HOW COULD HE PROVE IT? HOW COULD UEDA SHOW THAT WE WERE NOT IN FACT THE RAPISTS AND THAT SOMEONE ELSE WAS? HOW COULD HE DO THAT? WHAT SINISTER – Oops, sorry. I had the caps lock key on. "Zhen Brutus is in fact the rapist," said Ueda. "Wha... what are you talking about?" said Zhen. "You can't worm out of this by pinning the blame on me!" "Here is your proof," said Ueda, ripping off Zhen's jacket. Underneath was revealed a windbreaker identical in color to the one Ueda wore. "That doesn't prove a thing," said Zhen. "So what if we have similar taste in windbreakers?" "You obviously saw us heading to Minnie Humperfast's party and went to buy a windbreaker that would look like mine. Just look at the cheap quality of yours. You knew you could pass as me, a fellow Asian." "Leave me alone!" said Zhen. "Well, it's an interesting theory," said Mongro. "But I still got two witnesses that say you did it." "What about the janitor-esque accomplice?" I said. "No doubt one of Zhen's gang, the Werewolves," said Ueda. "He probably carried a broom with him so he'd look like a janitor." "That's true!" said Ingrid. "I had forgotten the broom." "How could you forget the broom?" said Mongro. "This changes everything. Describe the broom, Ms. Xylitol." "It was purple and splintered and hurt," she said.

"Like that one there?" said Ueda, pointing to a broom handle sticking out of a garbage bin. We went to the bin and looked in. A man was inside, trying to remain hidden and quiet. "Oh, hello," said the man. "He looks just like you, Otto," said Ueda. I didn't want to admit it, since the man had a pot belly, but he did look a little like me. "This is clearly Zhen's partner in rape," said Ueda. "Can you prove it?" said Mongro. "Ms. Xylitol, was there any distinguishing feature about the janitor rapist?" said Ueda. "Think hard!" "Hmm," she thought. "His breath smelled like artichokes." "That's it!" said Ueda. "I can already detect his artichoke breath with my super-smell. If you smell his breath you will discover the same, Lieutenant." "Open your mouth, you," said Mongro. The man in the dumpster did as he was told. "Artichokes!" said Mongro. "What did I tell you?" said Ueda. "Well, I'm satisfied," said Mongro. "Gee, I'm sorry for thinking you might be involved in this heinous crime, Ueda." "I forgive you, Lt. Mongro," said Ueda. "I forgive you too," I said. "I wasn't apologizing to you, rookie," said Mongro. Ueda and I were released and Mongro booked Zhen Brutus and his associate. A few weeks later I asked Ueda what had become of the criminals. Ueda snorted. "Zhen is already back on the street. He managed to pin most of it on his friend." "That's what friends are for," I said. "As for Zhen, he merely has to complete some art therapy and talk to elementary school students about rape, how it's unnecessary. Et cetera." "What? That's ludicrous! Excuse me, Ueda, I think I need to throw up in one of the toilets now." "That's life, kid," he said.

FOUR ARGUMENTS FOR THE ELIMINATION OF TIME I was straightening the dojo and Ueda was ironing his uniform, when Harv Oswald came in. He looked like he'd just been the victim of a hate crime. Or worse. "Good to see you, Harv," I said. "We haven't seen you at Uedaville lately." "Yeah, I been busy," said Harv. "Tell me about it!" I said. "They can put a man on the moon, but they can't put enough hours in the day." "Don't say that!" said Harv. "Sorry," I apologized. "I wasn't thinking." Harv Oswald had a thing about the moon – he thought that no human had ever been there. The trips by NASA astronauts? All a scam (according to Harv) to convince the Soviets that we were tops during the Cold War. Harv was president of the True Association of Moon Pioneers Overwriting Narrative (TAMPON). He was also the only member. Harv laid half of a torn $20 bill in Ueda's lap. "I want to hire you, Ueda Sensei." "The fee is ten dollars, not a circumcised twenty," said Ueda, lighting the torn bill with his lighter. We watched it ignite and wilt to nothingness. Harv took out a $10 bill. "The stores and bank wouldn't take that twenty. I thought you might." "You thought wrong," said Ueda, accepting the ten spot. "I like my money clean and sexy." "What's this case about?" I said. Harv moaned. "The public library is giving a prize for the best essay about space exploration. I wrote an essay about Michael Collins, the astronaut who supposedly stayed in the Apollo 11 spaceship while Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon. I prove that nobody would be stupid enough to fly to the moon and not even go down and check it out. Therefore we never went there. It's a great essay." "So what's the problem?" said Ueda. "My essay was stolen yesterday," said Harv. "There isn't time to rewrite it. The contest closes at noon today." I looked at my digital Incredible Hulk watch. 10:43 AM. "Good lord! We'd better hurry." "I need you to get my essay back!" said Harv. "I think Dung Stephens stole it. He'll enter my essay as his own and win the prize." "What's the prize?" I said. "A book called Everyone Poops," said Harv. That title sounded familiar to me. "By George Eliot, I believe?" "No," said Harv. "So you want me to find your essay so you can win this book?" said Ueda. "Right," said Harv. "Have you accused Dung Stephens?" I said. Harv rolled his eyes as if I was mentally retarded. "Yes, and of course he says he's innocent. I dared him to meet me in half an hour at the gas station bathroom. If we leave now you guys can help me beat him up and get the essay back."

"We are not going to the gas station," said Ueda. "Why not?" said Harv. "Because we are going to the thrift store." "What?" said Harv. "What the hell for?" "Sometimes you just have to go with the flow," I said. "I don't always understand Ueda's methods, but he's always right. Just go with us to the thrift store." "Alright," said Harv. "But I don't understand what the thrift store has to do with it. I just want my essay back. The clock is ticking!" I got a cute hat from the locker room and we were off. Harv and I followed Ueda to a Goodwill store on Clement Street. Inside the store, Ueda wandered off. I looked at some ties. I found one I liked. It was only a dollar. I talked myself out of it, however, when I realized I had no need for a tie. "Where'd Ueda go?" said Harv. "There he is," I said, "In the books." We joined him, and Ueda showed us a thin book he had found. "Everyone Poops," he said, showing me the title. It was the coveted book, and was priced at a mere fifty cents. "Here," said Ueda. "Now you don't need to enter the stupid contest." Ueda handed Harv the book and fifty cents. We left Harv there in the Goodwill store, and that's the last time that I ever saw him. The moral of this story is easy to miss. We all know that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. But how many of us recall this basic geometric fact when delving into the linguistic world of essays and contests? This is a question you can meditate on before entering your next contest.

BITTER DRINK J. Tart Livermore was known throughout San Francisco as "Sucker." He was the only senior citizen in San Francisco who ever came out tops in the local drinking contests. He could do shots like a teenager. One morning he came into our dojo and fell on the floor. Ueda was surprised to see Sucker in such bad shape. His face was very red. His well-known lower jaw hung down like a piece of melted cheese. His cheeks were going in and out faster than a lab rat's belly. He reached an arm toward Ueda. "Water," he said. "Water!" Ueda nodded at me and I ran into the locker room and returned with a pitcher of tap water cloudy with carcinogens. Ueda took the pitcher and dumped it on Sucker's head. Sucker's eyes were closed but his tongue slurped the water on his lips and face. His cheeks tightened. He smiled and opened his eyes. "I've been practicing," he said. "For what?" said Ueda. Sucker stood up and explained. "I want to ride the Mayor's daughter in the San Francisco Day Parade." "Back up a little please," said Ueda. "Your breath is unpleasant to my sensitive nose." "Oh, sorry," said Sucker. "What were you doing down on the floor gasping like the last dinosaur?" I said. "What does it all mean?" "Yes, explain yourself, Sucker," said Ueda. "Did you gents ever drink motor oil mixed with cabbage juice and horse blood?" said Sucker. "No," said Ueda. "I am fairly certain I have not," I said. "Or did you ever drink cat urine with tartar sauce and gnat droppings?" said Sucker. "No." "No." "Or what about pickle juice blended with aloe vera and pigeon mucus?" "No." "No." "Or have you ever drank watermelon juice, tabasco sauce, and pulverized birdseed?" "Again, no." "No." "Then what about vinegar, raw sewage, and cheap cologne?" "No." "No," I said. "Sucker, I wish you'd explain what you mean." "I've been drinking all of those things," said Sucker proudly. "For heaven's sake... why?" I said. "To build my constitution." "Toughening up your tonsils, eh?" said Ueda. "Well, I don't blame you." "I don't do it for me," said Sucker. "I do it for her."

Sucker handed us a flyer. It had a beautiful young woman's picture on it, and the following text: DO YOU WANT TO RIDE WITH THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTER IN THE SAN FRANCISCO DAY PARADE? THEN SIGN UP FOR THE DRINKING CONTEST! IF YOU CAN STOMACH A BITTER SOUTH AMERICAN PSYCHEDELIC AND MAKE IT TO THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTER, YOU GET TO RIDE WITH HER! "Aha," said Ueda. "You wish to win." "Yes, I want to ride her," said Sucker. "I don't even care if everyone is watching us. I just want to nail her." I tried to speak. "I think you misread –" "I understand completely," Ueda interrupted. "You are preparing for this event by drinking other noxious potions. A wise tactic since you don't know the precise ingredients of the contest drink." "Exactly," said Sucker. "I think I have a good chance of winning. My only real competition is Raoul Leadthroat. He too is known for downing some foul drinks." "That sounds like a serious threat," I said. "In the olden days," said Sucker, "an Injun youth couldn't became a brave until he swallowed a gallon of his grandfather's semen and ran with full force into a cactus." "I don't see the connection," I said. "I was talking to Ueda Sensei, janitor," said Sucker, handing $10 to Ueda. "I want to hire you to make sure Raoul Leadthroat doesn't cheat." "Cheat?" said Ueda. "How? On his swallows?" "He's done crooked shit before," said Sucker. "At one drinking party we had stuff that could melt a stove. Raoul drank it like it was Tang." "Tang?" I said. "The Chinese dynasty?" "No," said Sucker. "How could he possibly drink a dynasty?" "Oh, then you must mean the Tang fish," I said. "No," said Sucker. "You don't drink fish, you eat them." "Then perhaps you mean the village of Tang in Afghanistan," I said. "No," said Sucker. "How could anyone drink a village?" "Then I can't imagine what you mean when you say that Raoul drank a strange drink like it was Tang," I said. "I mean the sweet beverage used on early space flights to raise blood sugar of those beleaguered astronauts," said Sucker. "I've never heard of such a drink," I said. After Sucker had gone, Ueda told me his plan. "I'll need your help, Otto." "Really?" "Yes. For although I have two eyes, they can only look in one direction at a time. When we go to the parade tomorrow, I will watch Raoul Leadthroat, and you will watch the psychedelic brew." I tried to get a good night's sleep, but I was so anxious about our surveillance job that I barely got a wink.

The parade was held on a small street in the Crocker-Amazon neighborhood, a strange suburban location for a parade. There were only about thirteen people attending (including us), and one float. On the float was a woman who looked like the person on the pamphlet Sucker had shown us, who I assumed was the mayor's daughter, but she was much fatter than her image had led me to believe. "Glad you guys could make it," said Sucker. "It looks like Raoul Leadthroat is the only other contender." "You still want to go through with this?" I said. "Of course," said Sucker. "The odds are 50-50!" "Yes, but –" I looked at the mayor's daughter. "Never mind." A man in a wizard costume stood on the float. He raised his wand to get everyone's attention. "The brew is ready!" he screamed. He stirred a cauldron that sat near him, and beckoned Sucker and Raoul forward. "Gentlemen, drink all of the liquid in your glass or you will be disqualified. Once you imbibe it, the first one to reach the mayor's daughter gets to ride with her in the parade." Sucker grinned and licked his lips. The wizard used a ladle to pour the brew into two shot glasses. He placed one in front of Raoul and one in front of Sucker. "Drink it on three," he said. "One, two, THREE!" Raoul and Sucker chugged the drink. Raoul looked fine. Sucker, on the other hand, looked like he was going to puke it out. "Come on, Sucker!" I shouted, "Come on, old man, I know you can keep it down." But it was already too late. In a bulimic burst of energy, Sucker vomited on the edge of the float. While he cleared his stomach, his opponent Raoul made his way to the mayor's daughter. He wiped a greasy finger on her cheek. "Aha!" said Raoul. "I've won! I reached her first. Plus I didn't throw up. Feel free to congratulate me." "That Raoul is not human," I said to Ueda. "How'd he do it?" "Oh, Mr. Raoul," said Ueda. "Could I have a word with you?" "Not now, strange Asian man, I'm basking in my moment of glory." "Would you rather I have a word with the judges?" said Ueda. "Wh-what do you mean?" said Raoul nervously. He came to Ueda's side. "Alright, make it fast. I got a float to ride." "You will not be riding any float," said Ueda. "You cheated." "How?" said Raoul. "When you took your drink, you failed to pour it in your mouth," said Ueda. "Ridiculous!" said Raoul. "Of course it went in. I'm seeing pink unicorns and talking to aliens now. You just don't know." "If he didn't drink it, where did it go?" I said. "In his hair," said Ueda. Raoul's hair was a large, greasy beehive. Anything could have hidden up there. "Is it true, Raoul?" I said. "Y-yes," he admitted. "But don't tell the judges. Please!"

"Sorry, kid, those are the breaks," said Ueda. "My client Sucker took the drink like a man. You were fast, but my nose knows. I can still smell it in your hair under all that grease." "Damn!" said Raoul. "I thought I was quick enough to hide it." "Just walk away," said Ueda. "Then I won't have to tell anyone." Raoul thought it over, and decided to do just that. When Sucker saw his opponent leave, he came to us and said, "Hey, where's he going?" "I guess he didn't want to be in the parade after all," said Ueda. "Really? Gosh, then I guess I'm the winner!" said Sucker. "That's peachy. I don't know how you did it, Ueda Sensei, but you're A-1 in my book." "In my book too," I said. "Go ride your float," Ueda told Sucker. Sucker's grizzled features turned to face the mayor's daughter. He unzipped his pants and threw them aside, swaggering toward the large woman. She never saw it coming.

PILLS When Ueda and I went to build sand castles at Ocean Beach, we usually got there early before anyone else. But that Friday morning we weren't the earliest. As we arrived, Jinx Herpes climbed over a dune. He was moaning. People were always moaning. "Where does it hurt?" I asked, rubbing his side. "Don't touch me, Otto!" said Jinx. "You think just 'cause you're a janitor you can heal people?" I was going to say yes, but Ueda shushed me. "Is everything hunky dory, Jinx?" "No, it is not, Ueda Sensei," said Jinx. "I keep feeling rotten. I keep forgetting things. I need my medication." "Where is it?" said Ueda. "If I knew that, there would be no problem," said Jinx. "Ow! My neck hurts." Ueda raised his eyebrows. "Jinx, would you like to hire me to find your medication. It's not up to the usual insidious standards of the mysteries I solve, but it might be fun." "Okay," said Jinx (which wasn't his real name. His real name was Alexander Kreponovich, but everyone called him Jinx Herpes because of his uncanny ability to pick up sexually transmitted diseases). "Great," said Ueda. "That will be ten dollars." "Oh," said Jinx. "I have to pay you?" "Yes," said Ueda. "I thought that since I already pay you for teaching me jiu-jitsu that you might help me out of generosity. You know, one of the perks of being your student." Ueda laughed. It was a weird cackle. "No, Jinx. My two careers are completely unrelated." "Oh," said Jinx. "How much did you say?" "Ten dollars." "Gosh, that's a lot of money in this economy," said Jinx. "Do you want your medication back or not?" said Ueda. Jinx gave Ueda the money. "Excellent," said Ueda. "Now we can get down to business. Tell me everything." Jinx began. "I was born in the year 1973 on a cold hospital floor –" "Make it snappy," I said. "We don't want you dying of medical complications before you finish your story." "It's no joke, Otto," said Jinx. "Five minutes ago I nearly got a terrible pain in my big toe." "Which foot?" I said. "Left foot," said Jinx. He blathered on and on. He had awakened at sunrise. Rather than spend the day at clinics, he had gone to the beach for some fresh air. "It was foggy and cold, but gosh, I felt great. I took off all my clothes and ran in the fog. But then I got lost and couldn't find my clothes again. And I left my pills in my shirt pocket." "So that's why you're naked," I said. Jinx was naked. "Yeah," said Jinx. "Is that all?" said Ueda.

"No, there's more. I searched for my clothes. Suddenly I noticed something shiny on the ground. I stared at the glitter it emitted, and looked up in the sky to see a large light shining on it. And on me! A disc descended and a door opened –" "Before you go on," said Ueda, "I should warn you that I have no tolerance for alien abduction stories. I really, really hope this isn't one." "It's... um..." said Jinx. "What?" I said. "Never mind," said Jinx. "Anyways, I couldn't find my clothes and now I feel all crappy. I can't even ride the bus home because I gave you the ten dollars I had taped to my skin in case I lost my clothes." "That was very strategic," I said. "Taping money to your skin." "It was, wasn't it?" said Jinx. "Yeah, but paying us wasn't," I said. "What if we don't find your clothes?" "We shall," said Ueda. "I have a plan!" Rather that listen to Ueda's plan, I stared at two cute girls who had just arrived at the beach. There was a blond and a brunette, and I couldn't decide which I liked better. The blond had huge fake tits, but the brunette had a titanic ass. If I got an erection now, I wondered, for which girl would it come into being? "So what do you think of my plan, Otto?" said Ueda. "What?" I said. "Oh... yeah, yeah, good one, Ueda." "You weren't listening, were you?" he said. "To what?" I said. "You're not listening now, are you, Otto? You're staring at those women." "What, me?" I said. I turned back and noticed that Jinx was gone. "Hey, where's our client?" "I think he is visiting your lady friends," said Ueda. Sure enough, Jinx had walked over to the girls. He still wasn't wearing clothes, but he didn't seem to think this was an issue. I tried to lip-read the conversation, but that takes a lot of practice and I failed miserably. "Taco sunrise at eleven," Jinx seemed to say. "Cuatro cuatro lee," said the blond chick. "So what's your plan?" I asked Ueda. "We will rent a metal detector from the metal detector store, Otto. We will use the metal detector to find Jinx's pills." "There seems to be a flaw in your plan," I said. "And what is that?" said Ueda. "His pills are in his clothes. We should be able to see his clothes. I don't think we need a metal detector." "That is one possibility," said Ueda. "Furthermore, do we even know that his pills have metal in them?" I said. "Did you ask Jinx what kind of pills he takes?" "I did not, Otto, and in truth I was only testing you. The fact is, I have already solved the case." "You have?" I said. "So where are his clothes and his medication?"

"That I do not know," said Ueda. "But you said –" "I said I had solved it, Otto. And I have. I hypnotized Jinx while you were distracted and sent him on a reverse course to retrace his steps." "You can do that?" I said. "I ordered a booklet from the back of a magazine once," said Ueda. "It taught me this trick." I was thankful that somebody had taught him. I didn't really fancy the idea of combing the dunes all day with a metal detector. I looked back at Jinx and the two women, but only the two women remained. "He's gone!" I said. "Maybe he's been abducted again!" "No, I'm right behind you," said Jinx. I turned around and there he was, fully clothed. "So you found your things," said Ueda. "Yeah, I had this strange compulsion to talk to those girls," said Jinx, "and then to walk up a certain dune that I had neglected in my search earlier. A homeless person was sitting on my clothes and he had eaten some of the pills, but most of them remained." "That's great," I said. "Case closed." "Yeah," said Jinx. "But since I solved it myself, you can give me my ten dollars back." Ueda's face froze, and then he exploded in more laughter. "Oh, Jinx, you are an encyclopedia of laughs. A complete riot." "You're not gonna give me my money back?" said Jinx. Ueda's grin stayed frozen on his face. I tugged on his sleeve, and we left.

FAMOUS PAPER "Psst! Otto," said Ueda one day. "Would you like to come visit my friend Lugrap McSmut with me?" "Not now, Ueda," I said. "I'm busy scouring grime in the locker room." "Leave it for later," he said. "I think you'll enjoy this." He wouldn't elaborate, and to assuage my curiosity I went with him. Lugrap admitted us to his Victorian house and said, "Welcome to my humble abode, Ueda. And I see you've brought a friend." As he said this, my nose was overwhelmed by the smell of shit. "Jesus Christ!" I said. I turned to Ueda and noticed that he had plugs shoved up his nostrils. "Ueda, what –" "You didn't tell him?" said Lugrap to Ueda. Ueda shook his head. "You scoundrel," said Lugrap. To me he said, "Don't be confused, sir. It is my collection that you smell." "Collection?" I said. "Yes, collection. You know. Eccentrics horde things for no plausible reason. Things like dolls, stamps, and coins." "And you?" I said. "As far as I know, I am the only collector of used toilet paper," said Lugrap. "Used...?" I looked down the hall and saw rack upon rack of yellowing paper, smeared with brown stains. I didn't want to stare, but my eyes could not turn away. "I can never have enough," said Lugrap. "Any vaguely famous person is a candidate." We walked through his house and every room had racks of used toilet paper, laying out like dried seaweed. I began to feel dizzy. "It started when I was a kid," said Lugrap. "My father was a Hollywood producer, and one day John Travolta was over at our house. Travolta had gone to use our bathroom, and apologized because he couldn't get the toilet to flush. While my dad called a plumber, I fished Travolta's toilet paper out of the bowl, dried it, and kept it in a photo album. The rest, as they say, is history." I couldn't imagine how Lugrap had acquired the toilet paper of so many celebrities. I dared not ask. "Come into my den," said Lugrap. "I was just showing my good friends Wally and Clyde some toilet paper used by Gerald Ford." Ueda and I followed Lugrap into a room, where two evil-looking men sat. They had their hands around each other's necks. I think they had been fighting. "Wally! Clyde!" said Lugrap. "What the deuce is going on here?" "Clyde stole your Gerald Ford toilet paper!" said one man, who I assumed was Wayne. "That's a lie!" said the other. "Wayne stole it!" "Stole my... Ford sample?" said Lugrap. He looked on a shelf and he let out a low whine. "Where is it? WHERE IS IT?" "That's what I'm telling you," said Clyde. "Wayne got it! I was trying to stop him."

"Don't believe a word he says, Lugrap!" said Wayne. "It looks like you have a bit of a mystery on your hands," I said. "I'll say I do!" said Lugrap. "How can I accuse either of my dear friends without offending them permanently?" "The best thing to do is strip search both of them," said Ueda. "If a man is your true friend, he will tolerate a simple strip search." "You're right," said Lugrap. "But I don't think I could do it myself." "I will handle it," said Ueda. "You will?" said Lugrap. "For ten dollars," said Ueda. "My fee for any detective case." "Well, if you say so," said Lugrap. "It's worth it." After he paid, Lugrap excused himself and locked Ueda and me in with Wayne and Clyde. They were stubborn, but five minutes later we had completed the strip search. Ueda unlocked the door and let both men go. Lugrap rejoined us. "Well?" he said. "Why did you let them go? Which one's the bad guy?" "They were both clean," said Ueda. "But the Gerald Ford toilet paper!" said Lugrap. "It's gone! How will I ever get it back? It's my best piece!" "Settle down," said Ueda. "I have every confidence we will get it back. Somehow." Ueda had recently purchased a "new" used computer. It had an enormous 1 gigabyte hard drive. I'm not a computer expert, but with a machine like that on our side, we would be unstoppable, like David Hasselhoff and KITT. A few days after the incident at Lugrap McSmut's, Ueda called me into his office. "I think I've found something," said Ueda. "Great Scott, what?" I said. "I was looking for ninja supplies on Ebay, and –" "Ueda, you are getting far too technical for me. I've used a computer before, but I'm not a rocket scientist." "Just look," he said. On his monitor was an item for sale. It was the Ford toilet paper. "Someone's trying to sell it on the information superhighway?" I said. "It appears so." Ueda clicked on the username of the person selling the used toilet paper: butthumper94. "He's got good feedback," I said, checking out his profile. "Who do you think it is – Wayne or Clyde?" "I've looked at his purchase history," said Ueda, "and he's bought a lot of pornographic films featuring black women." "Does that narrow it down?" I said. "It might," said Ueda, who was dialing a number on the phone. After a few seconds I heard his half of the conversation. "Yes, hello, Lugrap, it's Ueda Sensei... no, I haven't cracked it yet, but we're getting close... I just have a question for you: does either Wayne or Clyde like black women... what?... they both do?... damn."

Ueda hung up. "I heard everything," I said. "Of course you did," said Ueda. "You were standing right there." "If only we could narrow it down." I clicked through the items Lugrap had purchased. There had to be some kind of pattern, some kind of preference. "Aha! Look, Ueda – all of the films he bought were made between 1986 and 1992. Could that be meaningful?" He didn't answer, but Ueda called Lugrap and told him to come to the dojo immediately. "1986 and 1992?" said Lugrap after we had explained our finding. "Why yes, Clyde has always had a preference for black women in that era. Are you saying that Clyde is the guilty party?" "I am indeed," said Ueda. "Hey, I just noticed something!" I said. "The auction for the Ford toilet paper ends in twenty minutes!" "Should we bid on it to secure the item?" said Ueda. "Yes!" said Lugrap. "Just get it back!" We tried to bid, but we couldn't set up a profile in time. The winning bid was for $14,387. "Who would have guessed that Gerald Ford was so valuable?" I said. "The power of nostalgia," said Lugrap. "Come on! If we go to Clyde's now we might be able to get the toilet paper back before he mails it to the high bidder." We ran like few men have been known to run. Lugrap and I were huffing and puffing when we arrived at Clyde's house, but Ueda hadn't even broken a sweat. Clyde was approaching the house. "Where have you been?" said Lugrap. "Where's my fucking toilet paper?" "I... I..." "Don't even try to lie, Clyde!" said Lugrap, furious. "We know you have it!" We took Clyde into his house and beat him a while. He admitted he had stolen the toilet paper. He had student loans to pay off, and couldn't resist. We got the address where he had mailed the toilet paper. It was in Wisconsin. "Well, it's out of our hands now," said Ueda. "You win some, you lose some." "I'm not losing this," said Lugrap. "I'm going to Wisconsin to get my toilet paper back." A few weeks later Lugrap came into the dojo looking deflated. "Well?" said Ueda. "I found the toilet paper alright," said Lugrap. "Some nut in Wisconsin had bought it. He was trying to clone Gerald Ford with the DNA." "Good heavens," I said. "Did he succeed?" "He had cloned someone from the paper, but not Gerald Ford," said Lugrap. "Who?" said Ueda. "Shari Lewis," said Lugrap. "The beloved puppeteer?" I said. "The same," said Lugrap. "When I realized I'd been duped, that it wasn't Ford's toilet paper after all, I let the guy keep it." "That was nice of you," said Ueda.

"So is this a happy ending or not?" I said. "I feel so shaken," said Lugrap. "If that toilet paper was a fake, what about the others? My whole world is crumbling down." "You could always burn it all and find a new hobby," I said. There was a twinkle in Lugrap's eye. A few days later, Lugrap showed up at the dojo. He was covered in soot. "I did it, Otto! I did it, Ueda! I burned all my toilet paper." "Good for you," said Ueda. "What now?" "Now I need a place to sleep," said Lugrap. "I accidentally burned my house down in the process." "Really?" I said. "That wasn't very bright." Lugrap chuckled and said, "So can I stay here?" Ueda chuckled and said, "No, you may not."

LIFE SAVERS Ueda had invited Lt. Mongro to the dojo for dinner. The policeman arrived at six o'clock on the button. "Hey, Ueda," said Mongro, "you didn't say your sidekick would be here with you." "Do you object?" said Ueda. "No, no, not at all," said Mongro. "I can ignore him easy enough. It's you I want to talk to. I got a crime I just can't wrap my head around." "I can probably solve it too," I said. Mongro chortled. "Yeah right, rookie." We sat down on the mats and Ueda brought over three bowls of Cup Noodles. "Fresh from the microwave," said Ueda. "Gosh," said Mongro. "While it cools you can enthrall us with your puzzle," said Ueda. "By the way, do you have ten dollars?" Mongro gave Ueda the money. "It's a straightforward theft case," said Mongro. "It seems that way. What's been stolen? A very expensive sex toy, supposedly used by none other than Marilyn Monroe." "The actress and celebrity?" I said. "No, the potato chip! Where'd you get this guy, Ueda?" "He cleans the toilets well," said Ueda. I felt my face go scarlet. "Yeah, Marilyn Monroe, the famous dead movie star," said Mongro. "Someone stole a device that went into her delicate places." "Who owned such a thing?" I said. "Bill Borg." "The filthy rich computer pioneer?" I said. "Yeah, the toy was taken from inside his mansion. But to get it the thief had to get past a dog that ran around the yard outside. The dog would kill anyone not accompanied by a family member. Also, the sex toy was in a special room that had no windows and it was locked. So how'd the thief get inside? We know it was stolen at night, so it would have been too dark to pick the lock. I'm stumped!" "Of course you are," said Ueda. "Because you think like a policeman. But me? I think like a criminal. But I don't believe in crime myself." "And why is that?" said Mongro. "I like to maintain my purity," said Ueda. "So how'd the thief do it?" I asked the sensei. "I have my suspicions," said Ueda. "First: was there any candy found near the locked room that housed the sex toy?" "Why... now that you mention it, I just remembered that there was," said Mongro. "A pack of Life Savers." "As I thought," said Ueda. "An old trick."

"But what can you mean?" said Mongro. Ignoring him, Ueda fired another question that seemed random to me: "Was there any other sexual paraphernalia found near the scene of the crime?" "We did find a heavily lubricated condom," said Mongro. "But I thought nothing of it. I attributed it to a wild party thrown at the mansion. The mere detritus of Bill Borg's billionaire lifestyle." "Unlikely," said Ueda. "Borg's house is surely maintained – immaculately, knowing the rich – and any trash on his property would be picked up within hours. We can only assume the condom was used in the crime." "I can't imagine how," said Mongro. "Because you lack imagination," said Ueda. "I admit that my imaginings usually don't have condoms," said Mongro. "You say that Bill Borg had a dog," said Ueda. "Dogs, like the universe, are not easily fought. It is much easier to befriend them. One common technique is to feed a dog. This will make it your friend. One less common technique, for obvious reasons, is to seduce the dog. I believe this is what our thief has done." Mongro threw up on the floor. "Sorry," he said. "It's just that your imagery disgusts me. I'll let the rookie clean this up." Mongro winked at me. Ueda went on: "And once the thief bypassed the dog, the only obstacle was the locked door. He could have used a flashlight to see the lock and pick it. But turning on a flashlight makes noise. Click, click. Someone might have heard him and shot his brains out, and he didn't want that to happen. A simpler way to get light is Life Savers, which emit faint sparks when chewed. That's enough light to see a lock and pick it." "Fascinating," I said. "Yeah, why do Life Savers spark when you chew them in the dark?" said Mongro. "Because they have tiny fairies inside that explode as they're devoured," said Ueda. "I always wondered," said Mongro. "Well, it looks like you've accounted for everything... except the identity of the thief! I don't suppose we'll ever catch him or her." "Thank you for not discriminating against the female gender," said Ueda. "But we can be fairly certain the thief was male." "How's that?" I said. "Oh, the condom." "Yes, and because there's only one person insidious enough to carry out this crime," said Ueda. "Zhen Brutus!" "Oh, not him again," I said. We piled into Lt. Mongro's police car (the Mongromobile), and Ueda and I sat in back like criminals. When we arrived at the evil dojo of Zhen Brutus, Mongro said, "You guys can stay outside if you don't want to get involved." "We want to get involved," said Ueda. Inside, Zhen led a class of teenage thugs, demonstrating how to knock a woman to the ground and abuse her virtue. Zhen saw Lt. Mongro. He saw us. He let out a shriek. He tried to run past us and onto the street, but Ueda grabbed him by the pony tail and kicked him in the testicles. "Damn you, Ueda!" said Zhen. "Japanese swine!"

Ueda yanked Zhen's ponytail and said, "Where is the stolen sex toy, Zhen?" "You pigs don't have a warrant. Find it up your mom's –" Ueda twisted the pony tail and Zhen screamed. "I got your warrant right here," said Mongro, fondling his giant Samoan crotch. Zhen's students dispersed like fleas when they saw their sensei bested, and Mongro searched the dojo while we (i.e. Ueda) kept an eye on Zhen. "I found it!" said Mongro. It was in a cherry-colored (and flavored?) box, and Mongro ignored me when I asked to look inside and feel it. Mongro put cuffs on Zhen Brutus and hauled him away. I felt clean inside. This time I thought we had Zhen Brutus for sure. Stealing a rich man's sex toy had to qualify as a federal offense. And yet, a few days later, when I asked Ueda if he had any word on the length of Zhen's prison sentence, my employer sighed. "Alas, Otto, Zhen has escaped prison once again. The judge let him off with a despicably light sentence. He made Zhen teach martial arts to paraplegics for a month." "Ridiculous," I said. "I know, I know." Bill Borg had his sex toy returned to him. A kind of justice did take place, however. When Bill Borg learned what had become of the criminal behind the theft, he must have been angry too. He purchased the entire city block in which Zhen's dojo sat, and demolished all the buildings. In its place he constructed a mall that only sold an unpopular mp3 player (the Yoque). Few people go to the mall, but Zhen's dojo is gone, and that is what's important.

TOXIC COUSIN I was at the dojo cleaning the mirrors of bodily fluids. "I have a surprise for you, Otto," said Ueda. "Leave me be," I said. "I don't like surprises." "My cousin Michi is coming to visit from Japan." "Oh no," I said. "Does this mean I have to share my bedroom?" My bedroom was the locker room, and I didn't fancy the idea of sharing it. "Michi will only be here a week," said Ueda. "Try to be nice. My cousin is only nineteen and will arrive in time for dinner. Be on your best behavior." When Michi arrived, I noticed she was female. Ueda had failed to mention this. "Why, helloooo," I said. She ate her rice and broccoli quietly, hardly saying a word. She may have been deaf, or mute, or a deaf-mute (or even blind I suppose, although she gave no indication of this). After a dessert of teriyaki ice cream, Michi excused herself and went to the locker room to sleep. "Is she always that quiet?" I asked. "No, she was fired from her job last week," said Ueda. "It has upset her terribly and stained the family honor. Aunt Rika felt she needed a change. So she sent her to us for a few days." "Why was she fired?" I said. "She's pretty, and pretty people don't usually get fired." "They say she caused her company to dump a thousand tons of toxic waste into a small lake that poisoned a small town," said Ueda. "Michi claims it wasn't her fault." "Michi's probably lying," I said. "It's most likely her fault." "I agree. But if there's a way we can prove she's innocent –" "Even though she's undoubtedly guilty?" "Yes. If we can show she's innocent and shift the blame to another party, we'll restore honor to her family." "That sounds like a good plan," I said. "Pretty people shouldn't have to suffer like regular people. If only we can find a clue. However, Japan is a long way from San Francisco." "But Japantown is not!" said Ueda. "Well... that is true," I said. "But I fail to see the point." "So do I," said Ueda. "It just seemed like the right thing to say." "Tell you what," I said. "I'll grill her tonight. Any clues will have to come from Michi's memory." "Good man," said Ueda. I went to the locker room. The light was out, but my Big Bird nightlight was plugged in. I lay down on my cot. Michi was lying on the ground, staring at the ceiling. "Michi, are you awake?" I said. "No." "Oh, sorry." I was going to let it go at that, but then I realized that she couldn't speak if she was asleep, Q.E.D. I continued and tried some small talk. "Michi?"

"What?" "Do you like the 49ers?" "What are 49ers?" "They're – oh, never mind." "Good night, janitor." "Michi?" "Yes?" "Do you like burritos? Because there's a great Mexican place –" "I do not like Mexicans," she said. "Oh." I had exhausted my conversational topics. It seemed a good time to transition to the "meat" of the matter. "Michi, I heard you were fired. Why?" Instead of an answer, I heard her crying. It made me sad and I started crying too. Eventually we both stopped crying because eventually your body runs out of tears. That's science. "Michi, why were you fired?" I repeated. "They said I had sex with a corporate spy. He used my company email account to order toxic waste dumped in a lake. It's not losing the job that hurts. It's losing my family honor." "Yes, that's what Ueda said. So... did it really happen like that?" "Of course not!" she said. "You believe me, don't you, janitor?" "Sure," I said. (Note: I didn't really believe her.) "What can I do with my life now?" she said. "Everyone thinks I'm a toxic killer. My life is worth nothing." "Don't throw your life away!" I said. "Life is precious." "Who said anything about throwing my life away? Are you saying I should kill myself?" "No, don't!" "That might not be such a bad idea," she said. "It would solve all my problems." "Ridiculous," I said. "You tell Ueda what happened tomorrow and he'll solve all your problems. He's a great detective." "I'll think about it, janitor." A few minutes later I heard her snoring. It kept me up for several hours, but I was relieved she had gone to sleep. Morning came and she still slept. I talked with Ueda in his office. "Well? What did you find out?" he said. "I think she's guilty." "Yes, but is there any room for doubt?" "It seems pretty straightforward. She did it." "Hmm, I'd better talk with her." We went to the locker room and turned on the light. Michi lay on the floor. She was motionless and blood came from her mouth. She had an empty bottle of sleeping pills in her hand. "Michi!" said Ueda.

Fortunately, Ueda had a stomach pump in his office, and a half hour later Michi was restored. "Never ever try to kill yourself again," said Ueda. "That may be acceptable in Japan, but not here in the red, white, and blue." "Alright, cousin," she said. "I'm just so sad. I have a confession." "Okay," said Ueda. "Go ahead and confess." "I really did allow the corporate spy to send that email. It was all my fault. But I've learned my lesson." "Good," said Ueda. "Honesty is the best policy. I read that on a bumper sticker and it reeks of wisdom." I had a suggestion. "Ueda, what if Michi stays here in the U.S.? She can't go back to Japan or she'll live her life as a spinster nobody wants. But here nobody cares if she's destroyed a small town with toxic waste. As long as she looks good, that's all that matters. That's why America is great." "That's true, Otto," said Ueda. "And that sounds like a good suggestion. I don't really want to solve a case that doesn't need solving, and Michi probably doesn't have ten dollars. So what about it, Michi? Do you want to stay in the U.S.?" "Gosh, could I?" she said. "But will the government allow me to stay here?" "Yes, if you marry an American," said Ueda, looking at me. He winked. "Wait, what?" I said. "What are you suggesting?" "Otto here is a bachelor," said Ueda. "You can marry him and secure your future in America." "But I barely know him," said Michi. "And he's a janitor." "I will vouch for him," said Ueda. "He is the best janitor in the world." "In the world? Really?" said Michi. "Well, I guess it'd be okay then." "Then it's settled," said Ueda. "We can go to city hall and get you kids hitched right now." Ueda didn't ask if I wanted to get married. I guess some things go without saying. Ueda acted as both best man and father of the bride. It was a very touching ceremony. "You know, Ueda, when I began this day I had no idea I would get married," I said. "Few people ever do," he said. "But now you're married and your new life can begin. Isn't it exciting?" "It sure is," I said. "But I don't have enough money for a fancy honeymoon." "I've already thought of that," said Ueda. "I've booked you guys one night at the Motel 6 in Oakland, all expenses paid. I even got your BART tickets." He handed us the tickets and I almost cried. I hugged Ueda. "You're the best friend in the world," I said. "And you are the best janitor in the world," he said. "I'll see you guys tomorrow. Your locker room awaits." Michi and I took the escalator underground to catch the next train to Oakland. My new life had begun. THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Robert Crayola was born in Orange County, California, in 1979. He became obsessed with narrative at a young age, particularly prose and comics, producing hundreds of stories (including a novel that was later destroyed) while still in high school. After working in public schools in California and South Korea for ten years, he abandoned that career and put all his energy into art and stories. His first book was Cheat Codes for Life, a self-help and magic book, followed quickly by Dr. Jew, a humorous novel. Next came William Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience, for which he created unorthodox new illustrations and an appendix, and Ueda Sensei Solves Crimes of Depravity and Perversity, a collection of 32 humorous mystery tales. Future volumes in the Ueda Sensei series are planned, with the second volume being expected by late 2011/early 2012. Go to robertcrayola.com for all Robert Crayola products, videos, news, and more.