“Guys, I’d like yous to meet…” His face went blank. He realized he never asked her name.
Before his pause went on too long, Betty saved him. “Lila, pleased to meet you all.
Betty could come up with an alias as easily as blinking. The men greeted her, each one trying to out charm the last. One of the men asked, “So how did you meet the old Anvil?”
The Anvil answered. “She needs some protection.”
Then he bent both of his arms up to his shoulders and began flexing his biceps. He alternated flexing between them so they looked like they were dancing. Then he synchronized his eyebrows to the movement. Betty wasn’t sure what to make of the spectacle. He looked goofy but his fans ate it up. They laughed and laughed.
One of the fans announced to the group. “You see? The Anvils still got the moves.”
Once the laughter and gasping and coughing subsided, the Anvil concluded his performance.
Another fan told Betty. “You came to the right guy for protection. Did you know that this mug KO-ed 108 bums in the ring?”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard all sorts of stories already.” She replied.
“I'll bet you did.” The fan noted.
Pete, the bartender, leaned in to the couple. “So what can I get for you?”
“Hey, do you remember the night the Chinaman KO-ed Eddie?” Anvil asked.
“Ha, ha, yeah.” Said Pete.
“Does the Chinaman still work here?” Asked Anvil.
“You mean Sam?”
“Sam? I thought his name would be something like Ping, or Sing, or Ming.”
“Ming, like in Flash Gordon? No he's one of the good ones. He's got a normal name, Sam. And yeah, he still drops off and picks up the laundry for this joint. He just comes in through the back now, you know, to avoid any problems with the customers. Did you know he delivers the loads by bicycle?” Asked Pete.
“No kiddin?” Said Anvil.
“What’s the name of the laundry where he works?” Betty interjected.
“I think he's actually the owner. It’s a small setup called Katana Laundry Services. I’ll get you the address.” Pete said and exited.
When he returned with the address, the Anvil was in the middle of another story from his gleaming days of glory. Betty accepted the address from Pete and stuck it in her purse. She remained seated. She appreciated Anvil’s help on her mission, and decided to play her part at his side as payment for his services. She wondered what he would say if he knew how she was going to employ her fighting skills, once she acquired them. She would have her own stories to tell someday.
The Anvil talked, and talked, and talked. If someone didn’t stop him, he would keep going like a phonograph record that reached the end and kept spinning and spinning. Once Betty felt she endured enough for two of them to be even, she announced she had to leave. Anvil continued his tale and she slipped out of the Benny’s undetected, and into the chilled evening air.
She still had a mission to complete.
The following day was cold. Betty stood outside a steel, street level door. It was painted brown. Brass numbers above it matched the address Pete gave her, but there was no other evidence that it led to a laundry. She knocked on the door a few times, but there was no answer. She tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. As it opened, she was blasted by steam that smelled like bleach. She recognized these clues from her days working in the hospital laundry. She was in the right place. The brown door opened to a flight of stairs. The temperature climbed as she ascended the uneven steps. At the top, a second door displayed the words Katana Laundry Service painted in red brush strokes.
A bell jingled as she entered the humid space. The jingle was lost in the ambient noise and activity inside.
It was a large, long room, with high ceilings and visible rafters. Tall windows ran down each side of the space. It held three large metal vats. Open flames danced underneath them. Above the vats, on wooden planks, barefoot Chinese boys stirred and poked at the wash with long wooden oars.
The area was an assembly line of rigged contraptions and hoses and pumps. The rickety array looked dangerous. Each station facilitated a different part of the laundering process. At one beginning there was a stack of bloated laundry bags. Then sat the vats. between the vats were large, wooden mangles. Then at the end, dozens and dozens of rows of linens hung on taught lines. The white sheets, swayed in the draft from open windows. An ironing press was the only piece of modern equipment. It sat at the end of the line. It was operated at a fevered pace by a serious looking Chinese man. All along the line, family members of all ages worked to keep their business alive.
One of the stirring boys pointed at Betty and yelled something that she heard but couldn’t comprehend. The older man at the iron press turned to see Betty then yelled something into a steamy cloud. A Chinese girl emerged and headed to the entrance. Her hair was twisted up into an odd square hat. She was near Betty’s age. She quickly reached her guest, stopped and bowed.
Confused Betty annunciated, "Do-you-speak-Eng-lish?"
"Hai. Ahhh, yes." She replied than continued. " I am Mimi. How may I serve you?"
"I want to learn how to fight." Said Betty.
She recounted Anvil’s tale to Mimi, who verified that her father, Sam, was, in fact, the man who defeated Eddie in the bar fight. Through the course of conversation Betty discovered Sam’s true name was Isamu, and his family was actually Japanese, not Chinese.
As they spoke, Betty hid her intended application for the fighting knowledge she was seeking. She omitted her plan to become a vigilante hell-bent on destroying the most powerful men in the City. Instead she explained that she wanted to feel safe. She wanted to know how to defend herself if she ever ran into trouble in the Citadel. Mimi understood Betty and thought her father might help. After all he trained Mimi for a similar purpose. She summoned him using words Betty couldn’t understand. He looked angry, as he approached.
Isamu wasn't much taller than Betty. He had a serious face that radiated disdain. Deep creases drew lines from his flared nostrils to a frown. He wore loose fitting, white clothing, with sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His forearms looked like a sailor's. Each muscle was defined like strands of cable. He stopped and faced Betty and bowed as if forced to.
Mimi translated the details of Betty’s dilemma into Japanese. Isamu understood and empathized, but he had his own responsibilities to contend with. So he said no. Betty didn’t need to speak Japanese to understand his decision, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Neither was Mimi, who quickly became Betty's advocate. The father daughter talk escalated into a spat.
Isamu said in Japanese. "Why are you wasting my time with this? I have work to do! I have no time for students. I need my hands for washing, not for teaching."
Mimi pressed in Japanese. "Then I will train her myself!"
Isamu said in Japanese. "You have work to do too! You are no teacher. Stop being silly and tell your friend to go. "
He shook his head and turned to walk away. Betty could see Mimi was losing him and interjected, "I can pay."
Mimi stopped her father and said in Japanese. "She has money."
Isamu said in Japanese. "Tell her to go home."
Mini said in English, "He says no."
Betty said. "But he doesn't even know how much I'm willing to pay. How can he say no?"