Ride

"What is it you want?"

Vince turned. He couldn't read anything in his sifu's face. The question had come from nowhere.

"...What?"

The old woman sighed. "Young Vince, when people come to my dojo, they all want different things." Her round face was sliced in two by the shadows cast from the sunset, making her folorn smile unnering to Vince. "The tourists want to experience our 'culture', whatever that is. The kids want to be their heroes on television. The young men want to impress the young women, and the young women want the young men to go away. But I have trained you for two months and you have not said anything to me about why you are here."

"I pay you." Vince looked around the open air dojo, a palm-leaf roof on wooden struts that gazed out over the ocean. "Six bucks a week to learn how to defend myself. Isn't that enough?"

For an answer, she swept out a leg. He almost managed to keep his balance this time.

"Money doesn't fuel people, Vince." Her voice was reproachful but not angry. He'd never seen her angry. "People who only want money aren't people at all. You want something else."

"Yeah, to not get beat up by old ladies." Vince climbed back to his feet, wincing. "Can I go now, or do I have to tell you my life story to get away?"

She looked disappointing in him. "Very well."

He wondered if he should have answered. Then he wondered if he had an answer that would have been good enough anyway.

---

The store didn't like him doing this.

Oh, it wasn't concerned for his safety. It could look after itself. It had figured out how to blend in on the new island, although so far it had trouble understanding that people on holiday didn't want to watch anime. No, what it was concerned about was that he wasn't doing it properly.

The neon green chunk of plastic rested on the bed behind him as he changed.

The vacation was doing him good. He'd gotten some muscle tone and lost a bit of weight, and he no longer looked like a zombie. So that was an improvement.

He hefted the ice hockey chest and shoulder pads over his head.

No, it wanted him to use the machine. Do the jingles. Say the catchphrases. But he wasn't gonna do that. He was his own person, not a product. Besides, he wasn't really doing this to help people, although it was a nice side bonus.

On went the ski goggles and the bandanna over his mouth.

It wasn't even as if there was much crime on this island anyway.

He picked up the rubber mallet in gloved hands. He looked like he could pass at a con. Ghetto Rider cosplay. Heh.

Vince went out into the night.