Sanky Panky Pirate

By KuroKoneko Kamen

Machete is a Sanky Panky from the Dominican Republic who via a strange series of events turns pirate. The story takes place during the 17th Century, the Golden Age of Piracy. Machete lives in Cabarete Village where he is forced to become a thief. He robs merchant ships until he gets caught nearly getting a one-way ticket to Davy Jones’ Locker.

Machete becomes a Sanky Panky instead in order to seduce rich gringas into giving him money. Machete’s ultimate goal is to convince one of these bonnie lasses to marry him.

However, Cabarete Village is attacked by one of the Seven Deadly Pirates that rule the seas: Captain Envy, who takes Machete’s mother Esperanza hostage to settle a grudge. Machete goes to rescue his mother but gets his ass kicked. Captain Envy decides to offer Machete a deal: if Machete can somehow manage to amass the sum of 1,000 pieces-of-eight Machete can buy back his mother and Cabarete Village’s freedom.

Not having the slightest idea how to get his hands on the ransom, Machete devises a plan to seduce a siren witch in order to obtain a treasure map, convinces an ex-pirate captain to lend him a ship, and starts out on his quest.

As he sails to the mysterious Lost Island where the treasure is located, Machete acquires a crew: a samurai sushi chef, a navigator mermaid, a siren witch, a vampire priest (ex-Templar Knight) and others...

• Language: English
• Publisher: KuroKoneko Kamen
• Release date: Dec 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465925565

KuroKoneko Kamen

Author KuroKoneko Kamen (Black Kitten Mask) has always had an interest in Japanese culture from folktales about yokai (ancient demons) to anime and manga. As a result of being an otaku a lot of her stories are set in Japan or have a Japanese theme. Even when in the midst of a pirate novel expect a samurai warrior to be thrown into the mix. Her latest passion is paranormal romance and she’s written stories where ghosts, demons, and angels find love. Keeping her company as she writes are her several dogs and cats, some of which are rescues (now including a pet turtle someone wanted to make a soup out of). To keep updated on new stories and specials visit the author’s facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/authorkurokonekokamen.

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Sanky Panky Pirate

By

KuroKoneko Kamen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by KuroKoneko Kamen

Cover Design by Geoff Trebs

Author Photo by Michele Shiels

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1: Avast me beauty! Prepare to be boarded!

[Golden Age of Piracy - Island in the Caribbean - Dominican Republic]

Die Machete!

A pale, lanky gentleman dressed in a well-tailored suit with a pair of round spectacles on his face and with his black hair slicked back in a very serious way, was not acting very gentlemanly as he swung his cutlass at me in a rather violent manner.

"Hijo de puta! You son of a bitch!" He yelled as he continued to swing his sword at me in a series of deadly jabs and slashes.

Yep, these were the first words out of my brother’s mouth as soon as he recognized me. It had been ten years since we had last seen each other and this was a reunion of sorts. Not exactly the best greeting to receive from one’s brother after such a long time of separation but I can’t say I really blame him due to the current circumstances.

I ducked and my brother’s cutlass went whizzing over my head. He took a couple of strands of my long, wavy, black hair with the blow. I was thinking of getting a haircut anyways, honest. Long hair was way too much work for a guy to handle. I was lazy, a low maintenance kind of guy.

"What’s this hermano? Not only did you learn how to use a sword while you were away you also became a barber?" I teased. Yea, I had a problem with taking things seriously.

I had to admit that I was very surprised my wimpy and scholarly brother Santiago could actually wield a sword now. Back just a few years ago all Santiago did was read weird philosophy books with titles like: The Book of Lieh-Tzu, Love, Freedom, Aloneness: The Koan of Relationships, Meditation: The First and Last Freedom, Courage: The Joy of Living Dangerously, Intuition: Knowing Beyond Logic, Freedom from the Known, As One Is: To Free the Mind from All Conditioning.

I stroked my chin as I observed my brother taking a fighting stance. Obviously someone had taught him how to fight and knowing my brother he had probably also read up on the art of combat.

And therein lay the problem. My brother stuck ‘to the books’ too much. Meaning he always followed the rules. He wasn’t impulsive or imaginative enough to win a real fight. Real life was impossible to predict. I was the exact opposite: I never played nor fought by the rules. I had been taught swordsmanship but I didn’t follow the forms exactly. I always put my own twist on the way I fought.

Therefore, my brother’s motions were completely predictable therefore. Whereas the way I moved, ducked, evaded and attacked was completely unpredictable and chaotic. One minute I would be jabbing my machete forward only to end up spinning on my head and kicking out with my feet at my brother’s head in a kind of break dancing move…though break dancing didn’t exist in the seventeenth century…

The way I fought was hotheaded and reckless – the way my brother fought was coolheaded and calculating.

Why were we fighting, one may ask? What could possibly make two brothers fight each other like this? With one of them (aka Santiago) trying to kill the other (aka me) so mercilessly.

--A buxom beauty of course. (It’s always a woman, isn’t it?)

Said blonde bombshell was lying on the only bed that was in the hotel room while giving us an amused look when my brother wasn’t looking. She was scantily clad (regretfully I had had a hand in this). She was wearing a white, lace-up corset and a pair of lacy, white panties. Her wavy blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and over her breasts in golden waves. She had large, silver-blue eyes that reminded me fondly of newly polished steel. Her lips were painted provocatively in red. She was extremely pale skinned – a rich, gringa merchant’s daughter. The prime prey of any Sanky Panky. And had I already mentioned that she had an extremely nice pair of full, luscious breasts.

She looked just like an angel but was more like a devil in disguise. The reality was that I could easily win and kick my brother’s ass. But there was only one problem. I was actually a great big softy. Totally misunderstood by the world. Sure, I got into fights all the time and beat the shit out of people on a daily basis but this was my brother, people!

Blanca? My brother’s attention was drawn to the woman on the bed, Are you alright?

Blanca wrapped her arms around her bare chest and gave my brother a frightened look, tears filling her eyes expertly. Santiago…Thank God…He!

Santiago reached his hand out to cup Blanca’s cheek. I watched in disbelief as she pressed her cheek into his hand and gave him a relieved look. What an actress! Don’t worry, my sweet. Just let me handle this. Santiago told her and Blanca nodded. He patted her head and returned his attention back to me.

I gawked at Blanca. What the hell is this? I turned to face my brother with a slightly confused look on my face. Oi! Since when was I the villain of this story? I mean really – Blanca was the one who had been seducing me not the other way around, dammit! What’s going on? I groused, beginning to get frustrated.

I will protect my lady’s honor. Santiago declared pointing his cutlass at me. I am the Lady Blanca’s fiancé!

Fiancé?! I gaped at my brother in shock, No way… I sent Blanca an accusing stare. How dare that vixen try to seduce me when she was engaged with my brother. Even though I liked sex…I wouldn’t have betrayed my brother for just another piece of ass however nice.

You will pay for dishonoring my fiancé, Machete! Santiago lunged at me.

Hey, no one’s ‘dishonored’ anyone yet. You interrupted us remember? I shot back as I was forced to dodge out of the way of my brother’s sword. Shit. Oi! That was close! That could have hurt! Crap. Can’t we discuss this? This is all just a big misunderstanding…that woman…she…! I was saying.

Santiago let out a heavy sigh. "Idiot. That’s because I was trying to hurt you, kill you rather. And discuss this? Santiago drawled as he swung his cutlass and nearly beheaded me once again and took a few more hairs in the attack. Since when were you one for conversation Machete? No, you’re a man of actions, of fists and of blows. So that’s how we’ll communicate!"

I watched as several more locks of my hair fell to the ground. Dammit. This was going to make it harder for me to be a Sanky Panky with the awful haircut I now had. I was unarmed and my brother was out for blood…

I spotted my machete out of the corner of my eye and lunged for it. I picked it up just in the nick of time as I turned and blocked a forward jab from my brother’s cutlass.

My brother didn’t stop there, however, and kept on swinging his cutlass relentlessly at me while I blocked. Sparks flew up into the air and I saw them reflected beautifully in Blanca’s silver-blue eyes…

I really didn’t want to hurt my brother though and so was only blocking his blows half-heartedly. It was probably because of this that he managed to disarm me-

I watched as my machete went flying up into the air and landed on the floor. I saw the triumphant look on my brother’s face. He thought he had already won. But I wasn’t the same Machete my brother knew from ten years ago. I took a deep breath and got into a fighting stance. "Have it your way, let’s communicate hermano!" I agreed.

[MACHETE VS SANTIAGO] FIGHT!

Santiago raised an eyebrow at my strange fighting stance and was probably wondering what I was up to.

Santiago charged me, expecting to run me through. But I lithely dodged his attacks. Jab. Evade. Slash. Evade. Stab. Evade. Santiago lunged his sword forward and watched it go over my shoulder-

I spun sideways and delivered a sidekick to Santiago’s stomach.

Oof! My brother staggered backwards and gave me a shocked look. Santiago charged me again, holding his cutlass in both hands and brought it down at me in a high downwards slash.

I didn’t move and I’m sure my brother was regretting his hasty actions and thinking to himself that he’d really end up slicing his own brother in two. However-

[TIME OUT. HIT THAT PAUSE BUTTON.]

I’m really getting ahead of myself. Aren’t I? I should really start this story at the beginning. And I guess the real beginning would be the day I was born…

I was born on a windward island in the Caribbean called Dominican Republic in the town called Cabarete Village. The day I was born was unlucky. A hurricane was passing through Dominican Republic and leaving your home was not only dangerous but impossible. I mean, the wind was blowing so hard cows were flying through the air. My mother Esperanza – an exotic island woman with tanned skin, long, wavy, black hair and eyes that resembled onyx stones – sent for the local doctor, a man named Dr. Julian to come once she had gone into labor, but he was unable to leave Cabarete Hospital because of the hurricane.

The only other person who was there to assist my mother during childbirth, however, was my barbaric, gringo, pirate father apparently. He didn’t know the first thing about childbirth but somehow my mother managed to safely deliver me into this world…

My umbilical chord still needed to be cut and there were no scalpels available, and so not knowing what else to do my father whipped out his machete and cut my umbilical chord with it before my mother could stop him. My mother, of course, had a fit:

Franco! What do you think you’re doing waving that dangerous weapon around in front of your own son like that?! He could be hurt! Esperanza exclaimed.

But Franco just chuckled. "Me son won’t be hurt so easily. Blimey! Look how he’s grabbed onto me machete and won’t let go!"

Esperanza looked down at her baby boy and her eyes widened when she saw that it was true and that I was gripping the blade of the machete with my bare hand and giggling. My mother promptly passed out from the sight.

This lad of mine has balls of steel! My pirate father chuckled uproariously at the fact that even though he was waving a machete at me I didn’t cry. I’m going to call him Machete!

And that’s apparently how I ended up with a cliché name like Machete.

Sometime not long after that my father departed the Dominican Republic…never to return again. My pirate father had abandoned my mother and had chosen his first love: the sea. Because of this I decided I hated pirates. My mother told me that father had probably been killed either in a sea battle against a merchant ship he was trying to plunder or perhaps the Sea Forces had finally caught up with him. Once, my mother slipped up and told me that Father had a bounty of one thousand pieces-of-eight on his head. An unheard of bounty. It made me wonder sometimes, just who was my father, really?

[FASTFORWARD]

Okay, so I grew up. People grow up whether they want to or not. Before I knew it I had somehow managed to survive to the age of twelve. Even with the hard time my Mother had raising me by herself when I was twelve I was dirt poor. I was also a limpiabotas – a shoeshine boy. I would go into town and shine the shoes of rich gringo merchants for about one real. Merchants would come to the DR on galleons in order to resupply before practically fleeing to the next island.

I wanted to grow up quickly, so that I could help my mother, but time moves slowly when you want it to move fast. Time – is a real puta like that.

I would hang out with the other limpiabotas my age at the strip of restaurants and taverns located along the beach and where the merchants were most likely to frequent as they went there to wine and dine. All the dominican kids would be there ready to ask the merchants if they needed their shoes shinned for one real.

The problem with this business endeavor was that the ratio of limpiabotas to merchants was five to one. So for us kids it was war. We formed alliances, had fights, won and lost turf. I had learned to throw a punch at a very young age because of this all in order to survive. All this for a single ‘real’ which was equal to one piece-of-eight. It was a hard knock life.

And then the Japanese invented a new kind of shoe: a platform with a thong strap that would come to be known as a ‘sandal’ and which would soon make us limpiabotas obsolete. Damn those Japs…

My two best friends – Moreno and Amano – were also limpiabotas. My friend Moreno was a dark-skinned, somewhat ugly kid, but the kindest and most loyal person you’d ever meet. He was self-conscious of his afro and so always shaved his head and wore a bandana. Moreno sometimes went hungry since instead of shinning merchants’ shoes like he was supposed to he was often occupied in his favorite pastime instead: stealing the panties of the merchants’ rich, pretty, gringa daughters.

I had several adventures helping Moreno to escape successfully from merchants’ vacation villas (the merchants never stayed in Dominican Republic permanently but did occasionally stay for a one to two week vacation). Sometimes I would have to break Moreno out of jail if he got caught. Moreno was always getting himself into trouble, which in a way was a good thing, since I was bored out of my mind in Dominican Republic and getting Moreno out of trouble gave me something to do.

My soft-spoken friend Amano was very different from the overly loud Moreno. He was a mulatto like me but lucked out with prettier genes. If you’d call it luck that is. He ended up with trigeno, olive-colored skin, curly, golden-brown hair and clear, green eyes. He had a very pretty face. People were always mistaking Amano for a girl…and he ended up getting bullied a lot because of it. Although, as soon as I found out about this I beat up all the kids who had been picking on Amano and that put an end to that.

Ah, there’s one more friend I’m forgetting about. The Fourth Musketeer. He was the sickly son of Cabarete Village’s doctor – Dr. Julian. His son’s name was Sebastian. Sebastian was so weak, sick and pathetic that he had to stay confined in a room at the makeshift hospital that existed in Cabarete Village. Sebastian was a gringo like his father and so had pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. He was the same age as Moreno, Amano and I.

The three of us used to go visit Sebastian in his hospital room and play with him. We’d bring board games, play cards and I’d tell Sebastian stories of my adventures in Dominican Republic saving Amano and Moreno from bullies or angry merchants, getting into fights, running away and escaping from the authoritites…

Sebastian’s eyes would grow quite large as I told him my slightly over embellished and over exaggerated stories. I knew he enjoyed those stories very much and knew he admired me since he was always complimenting me. Saying things like:

Wow! You’re so cool, Machete! I wish I could be as tough as you! He would say.

I think it gave me a big head or a rush or something because I kept going back to that hospital room and kept on telling Sebastian stories of my exploits and mishaps in Cabarete Village as the years went by…

[TWO YEARS LATER]

As I got a little older, a little bigger and a little stronger I was able to help out at the restaurants that were on the beach as an ‘odd jobs boy’. I earned about three reals for an entire day’s work.

Around this time, my mother fell gravely ill. She had always had a very delicate constitution due to having a weak heart. We had no money for her heart medication and that’s when I decided to try my hand at being a ladrone (thief). My friend Moreno was the best pickpocket in Cabarete Village and soon showed me the ropes. Before long, I tired of picking pockets, my eyes wandering to those fat merchant ships in our harbor. I had always been a reckless youth and so I decided to try sneaking onboard and stealing from those merchant ships instead. I would steal whatever I got my hands on.

I was a good thief. I rarely got caught, but then of course there were the times when I did get caught. On the occasions when the merchant sailors would catch me they would beat the shit out of me. They’d whip the flesh off my back, showing me no mercy even though I was just a stupid kid. It hurt like hell but I refused to cry in front of them. I wouldn’t cry because my mother cried enough for the both of us.

I remember my beautiful mother’s tears…

I would return home covered in blood, battered and bruised from my exploits. My mother would wrap her arms around me, hug me close pushing my face right in her ample bosom, and stroke my hair as she apologized:

"I’m so sorry Machete…for not being a better mother. For being so weak and pathetic. For you having to suffer because of me. For not being smarter, less clumsy. You’re just a kid and should be having fun and having a childhood but because of me you have to grow up too fast. I’m so sorry, mi precioso hijo."

But I was the one who was sorry. Sorry that I was still too young, too stupid, and too weak to protect my mother.

Oops, I haven’t even mentioned my brother Santiago yet. Nope, unfortunately I wasn’t an only child as chulo (cool) as that would have been. Well, my brother was the exact opposite of me. He was a total bookworm. He spent all his time doing nothing but learning to read and write and even learned English. He then began to read books and more books until he had read every book that existed in our tiny town.

After my brother had finished reading the very last book that existed in the DR he surprised me with his request to steal him a book or two from one of the merchant’s ships. And so, I began to steal books from the merchant ships for my brother as well as silver or gold to support my family. This is how Santiago began to learn about trade, and things like accounting, bartering, mathematics, navigation, etc. I never would have dreamed that my brother was secretly studying to become a merchant.

My brother had a real thirst for knowledge. His mind was like a sponge. He wanted to learn, to become smarter and use his brain to help mom and I: us.

I, on the other hand, was never one for scholarly pursuits. Santiago tried to teach me how to read and write, but I just didn’t have the patience for it. The words on the page all looked like gibberish to me. Like some kind of foreign alien language. It might as well have been hieroglyphics. I’d get brain freeze just trying. I also sucked at trying to learn languages.

My mother continued to encourage Santiago as he increased his intellect while I continued to train my body.

[THREE YEARS LATER]

I was seventeen now. Around this time I was just working on getting physically stronger. I’d get into fights against my fellow dominicans. This is how I learned to fight so well. How to throw a punch, a straight right, an uppercut and how to do a roundhouse kick. I guess you could say I grew up and turned into a juvenile delinquent. At first I fought only because the fights seemed to come to me but then I began to enjoy it. After that I was always looking for a good reason to fight. Anytime I fought this rush of adrenaline surged through me and my sangre caliente.

This is probably how I ended up attracting the attention of this skilled Jap. One of the merchants that had come to the DR happened to have a samurai bodyguard from Sakura Jima (Island of the Cherry Blossoms). I caught his eye during a ‘betting fight’ and he challenged me. He beat me easily then on a whim decided to train me for the twenty days that he was going to be staying in the DR.

Let me REWIND. I was in the middle of a betting fight when I met The Samurai. My buddies and I were so dirt poor we couldn’t even have proper ‘cock fights’ to bet on since we couldn’t afford to buy a rooster, and so we used ourselves. We’d fight against each other and bet on the outcome using currency that was usually things like bags of rice, rum or cigarettes (called papelates back in the seventeenth century).

The guy I was fighting was twice as large as me, but when the fight started all I saw was red. I just started punching him and kept on punching him until he was on the ground. And even then I didn’t stop. I was straddling my opponent and punching him mercilessly across the face again and again, the feeling of my fist connecting with his jaw was somehow satisfying.

In that moment I felt powerful. Having another human being like that completely at my mercy – I would soon discover that this feeling of being strong was nothing but an illusion.

I was just some weak dominican punk.

The adrenaline rush and my sangre caliente had gone to my head and no one could stop me even though they tried. Apparently, as some of my buddies had tried to grab onto my arms I had sent them flying without even realizing it. I probably would have ended up killing Chinchorizo if it weren’t for The Samurai.

I felt an iron grip on my shoulder and I was suddenly flung backwards off of Chinchorizo and went skidding across the sand. Blinded by anger I quickly pushed myself up off the beach and stood to see who the hijo de puta, bastard, was that dared to interfere with my fight.

The blood that had rushed to my head though was already receding. I stood up to see a man with oriental features standing in front of me with an annoyingly blank look on his face. This man, who was probably Japanese, looked about forty-seven years old since there was gray mixed in through his black hair. He was wearing a rather strange outfit: a pair of pants that almost looked like a skirt at first and which I would later learn were called ‘hakama’ or ‘split pants’. He was also wearing a kind of kimono wrap shirt, which I later learned was called a ‘haori’. He had a pair of thong sandals on his feet. And he had his hair in a topknot.

This guy would have looked like a total wimp in that kind of an outfit if it hadn’t been for that scary looking face of his. He had fierce, narrow eyes and there was a gigantic scar on his cheek. The scar consisted of three slashes that made it look like a gigantic tiger had slashed it claws across his face. But there could be no such thing as a tiger that was that large…

Sandals. My eye twitched. Stupid Japs! I had lost a lot of business as a limpiabota because of those damned Japs and their damned sandals…

My eyes were drawn to the incredibly long and unusual looking weapon that was strapped to his waist and which I would later learn was called a ‘katana’.

That’s one hell of a machete. I thought to myself. Like the machete of all machetes. The Big Kahuna of machetes.

[MACHETE VS THE SAMURAI] ROUND ONE, FIGHT!

The Jap just stood there and calmly looked back at me. He nodded once and got into a fighting stance, though at the time I had no idea what the hell he was doing. He just moved his right foot forward, turned his body somewhat sideways, positioned his left foot back, and raised his hands before him, but not into fists…

I could feel a trickle of sweat running down the side of my face at that. It looked completely retarded. I mean, what was he planning to do to me? Slap me? And then with his right hand The Samurai suddenly made an unmistakable hand motion that clearly said: ‘Come and get it’.

My eye twitched again. What the fuck?! Was this stupid Jap trying to pick a fight with me?! Well, if it was a fight he wanted – it was a fight he was going to get.

"AHHHHH! ¡Coñio!" I ran at the Jap recklessly across the sand, fist raised and swung my fist at the Jap – for a right hook—

But with minimal movement the Jap somehow dodged my punch.

I blinked down at my fist in shock, quirking my head at the Jap. I scratched my head, befuddled. What the fuck had just happened? A fluke? I never missed a punch.

A fluke, I decided and moved to punch the Jap again. I swung and missed – again. I furrowed my brows – perplexed by this strange turn of events and tried to punch the Jap again and again. But each time and with very little movement the Jap dodged my attacks.

I was beginning to get pissed. Fucking Jap was making a fool out of me in front of mis amigos, ‘my friends’, and so I moved in to finish him off with a good ‘ol straight right. That’s when the world went topsy-turvy.

Apparently, the Jap had grabbed my arm and using my own forward momentum had tossed me over his shoulder and onto my back. Panting for breath I looked up at the starry night sky overhead. There was a full moon shinning brightly. The fronds of the nearby palm trees looked black against the sky and somehow framed the sky in a picturesque manner. The night sky in the DR was always like this – perfect. There was very little extra light coming from the sparse number of restaurants and taverns that were on the beach that would have otherwise interfered with the view of the stars.

I thought to myself: What the fuck have I been doing all this time? I thought that I had been getting stronger…and this Jap just popped out of nowhere to show me how wrong I was. I wasn’t strong at all. The guys in the DR were all a bunch of weak, pansy asses. I was just a big fish in a small pond.

The Samurai – now he was strong.

I pushed myself back up off the beach and turned to face The Samurai. I dusted sand off my clothes and ran my hands back through my messy hair. "What the fuck was that? Some kind of kung fu magic shit?"

To my surprise the stoic samurai smiled slightly at me, a mischievous gleam in his eye. If you want to learn more…follow me. That said he turned around and began to calmly walk off down the beach.

Suffice it to say, I hightailed it after him. Hey! Wait up, old man! Geez…

The Samurai was the bodyguard of one of the merchants who was currently resupplying at Dominican Republic. He was going to be in the DR for only twenty days, which was actually an unusually long time for here. Apparently, the merchant got some puta (whore) pregnant and wanted to be there for the child’s birth. The merchant planned to take the child but leave the puta behind. Tough luck.

Twenty days. I had twenty days to learn martial arts, and to learn everything I could from The Samurai. When I think back on those twenty days I feel like they were the most thrilling, most exciting, most challenging days of my life. Martial arts changed me – mind, body and soul.

The Samurai was a hard, merciless, ‘Spartan’ teacher. He taught me all forms of Japanese martial arts: karate, akido, jujutsu, and kendo (Japanese swordsmanship).

He helped me to build up the strength in my body first by making me perform the strangest tasks: meditation under waterfalls, fighting perros callejeros, wild dogs, and punching my fist into a barrel filled with uncooked habichuelas (beans) to build calluses on my hands. He also designed these extremely heavy weights, which wrapped around my legs, arms and torso that I was forced to wear when we sparred.

And then there was jogging.

One would have thought this would be the most normal activity out of all the things sensei (teacher) was making me do but it was probably the most unusual. To build up my strength he had me do the strangest method of jogging imaginable.

The day before I began training with the samurai he told me to meet him the following day at sunrise on the beach. I arrived there to see The Samurai standing on the beach and next to him was a four-foot tall Buddha statue. The Samurai directed me to put the Buddha statue on my back and jog around the entire circumference of Dominican Republic.

I felt a trickle of sweat form on the side of my head for his outlandish request but I did as I was told. The next day, I arrived at the beach at dawn to see The Samurai standing there with that damned Buddha statue next to him again. Again, I was forced to jog around the island with that damned heavy statue on my back.

Several days later…

I thought I was going crazy. The days passed but the statue on my back wasn’t feeling any lighter. It may have been my imagination but some days the statue even felt heavier. I wondered with a sigh if I would ever gain strength.

Ten days later…

I arrived at the beach and saw The Samurai with the Buddha statue standing next to him. I’m not a morning person. I was barely awake but this time I noticed something odd about the stone statue.

I rubbed my eyes and squinted at it. The morning sun was too damned bright. Hey…wasn’t that statue shorter? The statue The Samurai had brought with him that morning looked exactly the same as usual but was about a foot taller than The Samurai making it at least seven-feet tall. When I had started jogging with the statue on my back I could have sworn that the statue was two feet shorter than The Samurai.

The Samurai gave me a bland look. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s the same statue, baka (idiot). Hayaku! Hurry up and go jogging!"

Keh, I gave The Samurai an incredulous look. There was no way I was going to be able to lift that huge statue! I went over to the statue and put my hands on it. I then tried to lift it up and to my surprise I was able to lift the seven-foot tall statue and put it on my back! Unreal. I jogged around the island.

The next day…

Oi! Hey! I gawked at the statue that was standing next to The Samurai in disbelief. It was at least eight-feet tall. Do you take me for a fool, Jap! That can’t be the same statue as yesterday!

Again, The Samurai just eyed me thoughtfully with that Poker Face of his. It’s the same statue. He insisted. "Now go jog, kuso gaki! Damned brat!"

Keh, I snorted and picked up the statue, put it on my back, piggyback style, and started my vigorous morning jog around the island.

That evening, I was out drinking with my two best friends Moreno and Amano when something unusual happened. Amano had grown up to be an even prettier man and deciding to put his only and best asset to good use – aka his pretty face – decided to become a Sanky Panky. What is a Sanky Panky one may ask?

A Sanky Panky is a male gigolo found in the Caribbean. A Sanky Panky solicits on beaches and has clients of both sexes. When with men, the Sanky Panky usually assumes the active (aka top) role, but when with women assumes the role of an ideal lover.

A Sanky Panky’s aim is not to directly negotiate money for sex but to create a pseudo-relationship which can be continued even after the merchant ship leaves and that can be continued upon their return. The merchants or their daughters would have money sent to the Sanky Panky while they were on voyage. A Sanky Panky’s goal is marriage to a rich merchant (or merchant’s daughter) and the opportunity to leave the Dominican Republic and sail to a more prosperous island or the New World.

Some dominicans would insult Amano by calling him a ‘Hanky Panky’ which was a derogatory term for a man who sleeps with another man, referring to the assumption that he’s taking the ‘passive role’ of being on the bottom during sex. The guys that dared to insult my lifelong friend though were complete idiots since I’d always make sure to track them down and beat the crap out of them. After that no one would dare to call Amano a Hanky Panky to my face.

Moreno had grown up to become the best pickpocket in Cabarete Village. Moreno didn’t have the looks to be a Sanky Panky even if he wanted to. Yep, he was still ugly. He also still wore a bandana around his head to hide his kinky hair self-consciously. If you happened to pass Moreno on the street you would probably find out later that you were missing something. Good ‘ol Sticky Fingers Moreno.

A Hanky Panky and a ladrone: I know what you’re thinking. Those were my best friends but in the Dominican Republic…most men were ladrones and most women were prostitutas. That’s just the way it was.

"So let me get this straight. Some Jap saw you street fighting and has decided to train you and teach you martial arts?" Moreno was giving me an incredulous look. Lucky things didn’t happen very often in the DR.

I nodded. Aye. I’m undergoing the strangest training though. He makes me carry stone statues on my back and run around the island every morning for one. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s not some kind of closet sadist.

Moreno raised an eyebrow at the description of The Samurai’s unusual training methods. He shook his head. "Eso es jodido. That’s fucked up man. How is any of that crap going to make you stronger? When is he going to start teaching you actual martial arts? Like how to fight?"

Amano was frowning and looking more and more worried as the subject of our conversation unfolded. That sounds very…dangerous. I could never do something like that. I wouldn’t survive a day of that kind of Spartan training. Besides, as you guys know I’m a lover not a fighter.

I shrugged. Who knows? But I know one thing for sure: he’s strong. The way he moved when I fought him…it was so fast…there must be some kind of trick to it…a secret… I stroked my chin in thought.

Maybe there’s a method to his madness. Amano put his hands out in a helpless gesture. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

What’s that supposed to mean? I asked as I picked earwax out of my ear.

You must sit on a rock for three years before it will get warm. Amano responded.

I snorted.

He means you can’t succeed in anything overnight. Moreno said. To accomplish anything takes time. And everyone starts out as a beginner. There is no way to skip steps. And when you’re in the Dominican Republic things always take twice as along. A merchant was walking past us and Moreno picked his pocket, stealing his gold watch in a second. Moreno looked at the watch appraisingly before sticking it in his pocket. I rolled my eyes at him. Strength is overrated. Moreno continued. What you need is speed… A merchant’s gringa daughter walked by us next and Moreno’s hand moved swiftly through the air. Moreno waited a moment before the girl was out of eyesight before he showed the two of us what he had swiped from her. He pulled a lacy red bra out from his shirt’s sleeve.

Ooo. Amano clapped softly.

I shook my head at Moreno’s antics. And that’s getting you money, how?

Moreno shrugged. How’s strength supposed to get you money? He countered.

I watched Moreno tuck the bra away. I’ll…be able to beat those merchant sailors up when they catch me trying to rob their ships. I won’t get whipped again. I’ll be able to beat the crap out of them, take their gold and escape. A cocky smirk formed on my face.

Moreno gave me a skeptical look. "So you’re telling me that you’ve not only become a ladrone you’re a violent ladrone now? Do you intend to kill a merchant for a bag of gold coins?"

Amano was giving me a fretful look. Machete…

I sighed. …no. I ruffled my hair in an exasperated fashion with my two hands. I’m just sick of getting whipped…those cowardly bastards…

Machete…I think you’re forgetting something kinda important. Amano began. You’re the bad guy in this scenario. The merchants made their money honestly, through trade, and you’re the thief who is trying to steal their silver or gold for having done nothing. Being a thief isn’t a real job, you know. When they catch you and punish you…they’re in the right. You’re lucky they haven’t decided to seriously hurt you or kill you yet…

I’m the bad guy? I blinked and scratched my head thoughtfully. I had never really thought of it like that. "I guess you’re right but…it’s hard for me to think of these asshole merchants as ‘good guys’. They come to our little island to resupply and sleep with our men and women and then leave. They use the DR and the dominicans for their own pleasure. Like a handkerchief they use us and throw us away. And the way that those merchants have treated my mother makes my blood boil…" I clenched my fists at the thought.

"But being a ladrone is so dangerous. You could get hurt. Amano wrung his hands together as he looked at me intently. I think you should give up being a ladrone and be a Sanky Panky like me. You’d get to sleep with the beautiful gringa merchant daughters and get paid for it. These girls like a little café in their leche."

I chuckled in amusement, nervous laughter to hide my embarrassment. I didn’t know diddlysquat about women and the idea of being a Sanky Panky terrified me. Hahahaha, no thanks. Me? A Sanky Panky? Get real. I’m too busy with other more important things to bother with women…

The reason I was terrified by the idea of sleeping with a woman was because I was afraid of making a woman cry – like my mother, who cried herself to sleep every night. But there was no way I’d tell the guys that. They’d think I was a real pussy.

"No real man is ever too busy to not have time for a woman," Moreno declared as another cute gringa walked past los tres amigos. Moreno waited a moment and pulled out a matching bra and panty set. Moreno brought the lingerie to his nose and breathed in deep. Ah, the scent of a woman.

I broke out laughing. Ahahaha! How do you do that, Moreno! I whacked my friend hard on the back in an appreciative manner—

And Moreno was sent flying over the bar to land on the floor with a loud crash as several rum bottles and glasses were broken behind the bar.

Amano’s eyes went wide in horror. Moreno?!

I looked down at my hand in shock. I hadn’t even hit my friend that hard and yet I had sent him flying – unreal. A method to his madness huh? I muttered to myself thinking about The Samurai and his odd training methods. Something didn’t feel right. I had a suspicion about something, but needed to confirm it.

[ONE HOUR LATER]

I snuck onboard the merchant ship that The Samurai was living on and made my way into the cargo hold. I lit a lantern and began to inspect the hold. I walked behind some crates and that’s when I saw them:

A collection of Buddha statues ranging in height from two-feet to ten-feet tall.

Ehhhh?! Huh?! I gawked at the Buddha statues in awe. What?! Impossible… The Samurai had been swapping the Buddha statues daily? I walked over to the ten-foot tall Buddha statue. There’s no way I can lift this. I thought to myself. No way…I reached out, put my arms around the statue and lifted—

The statue was lifted up and off the ground easily.

"Blimey!