Capítulo 359: One Night in Bangkok
With a heavy sigh, Ranko leaned over the wrought iron railing of the unfurnished little balcony connected to her fifth-floor hotel room. What the heck is the point of this?! Any view she might have had of the Bangkok cityscape was entirely obscured by the fifteen-story concrete building next door. If she stared straight down, she could barely see two rows of the parking lot and the hotel's dumpster in the dim outdoor lighting.
Welcome to Thailand. Check out our cool cinder blocks. Come for the nothing, stay for the… even more fucking nothing!
"Screw this," she said aloud, stepping back through the sliding glass door into her room and latching it behind herself. She picked up a vinyl binder from the three-seater couch against the room's north wall, flipping to the second page. "Dammit," she exclaimed, her dejection growing as she noted that hotel room service had ended at nine in the evening, just twenty minutes prior. She tossed the binder back to the couch in disgust, where it bounced off the upholstered cushion and slid to the carpet below.
At least there were only a few days left until she returned to Tokyo. Only her show in Bangkok tomorrow night and one in Hanoi, Vietnam on Monday remained, and then she would be on the next plane home. What would be left of her home when she arrived remained to be seen, however. In just seven days, the sale of the Phoenix would be finalized, and it was a matter of days after that until the two-story brick building where Ranko Tendo had been truly born would succumb to the wrecking ball. According to her last phone call with Hana, none of her sisters had yet been successful in finding new jobs, though Mei at least had a promising second interview lined up for a role at a marketing agency.
At least her family would be okay financially for a few months, Ranko hoped. All it had cost her was fifty percent of the tour's merchandise revenue, and a hundred percent of her personal dignity. The check had yet to arrive at her apartment in Tokyo, but Ranko had confirmed the day before with Mr. Kondo that it was working its way through the Yokai accounting department for imminent dispatch. Strangely, since meeting with the Yokai executive in Singapore, she had not heard from Amaya Uyehara at all. She'd yet to speak with her bandmates about what she'd done either, but she hoped that the unexpected windfalls that would be waiting for them in their mailboxes when they got home would soften the blow.
While her bank account may well have been on track to being replenished, her heart was entirely empty. She had not spoken to Akane in four days. Ranko just couldn't bear to hear the love in her wife's voice. She didn't think she deserved it. It only reaffirmed to her what an amazing person - and a wonderful wife - Akane was, and it made her feel all the guiltier for having stabbed her in the back with a twenty-thousand yen rollerball pen. She'd tried, the last time they spoke, to tell Akane what she had done, but the words just would not pass through the miasma of shame. She knew nothing had changed from a practical standpoint - she was already forced to hide Akane's existence from Yokai Records before signing the code of conduct - but there was an oily feeling in her heart whenever she thought about having written her name on that piece of paper as if she agreed with it.
She paced the floor on her bare feet, sighing. This isn't gonna work. I'm gonna go crazy walking in circles in this room. I gotta get outta here and do something. She slipped on her black flats, opening the door into the hallway and using the deadbolt to prop it open so it wouldn't lock behind her. Ranko padded to the next door on the left, rapping on it three times. "You guys busy?"
"It's open," came a feminine shout through the closed door, and Ranko turned the handle and pushed the door inward.
"Hey, hey! What's shakin', gi… GYAH!"
Emi grinned up at Ranko devilishly. "Hey, you. Pull up a seat. We're almost done."
"The hell we are," Hitomi purred, diving her head back down between her girlfriend's legs on the queen-sized bed. Neither girl made any effort to hide Emi's state of undress.
Ranko blushed deep crimson, covering her eyes with her hands as she fumbled deeper into the room. "Really, you two?! You can't fuckin' warn a girl?"
Hitomi smacked the inside of Emi's bare thigh loudly with her hand, eliciting a loud yelp from her lover. "You hear that, Ems? I told you that you were being too quiet!"
Wow. They really weren't kidding. They honestly mean to just… keep going, with me just standing here?!
"Yeah, this… I'm… gonna go. This is… you two have fun." Ranko turned, shielding her view of the bed with her palm as she made her way back toward the door.
What I'd give to be able to be one-tenth as open about who I love, Ranko mused in frustration and no small amount of jealousy. At least I was able to spare them from that stupid contract. Small victories.
Emi emitted a pouting aww, intermixed with another sound that was far less dour. "You don't have to go, ya know, Ran-chan. I can totally scooch over."
Ranko gulped. "It's a… sweet offer, really, but I told ya, I'm not tryin' to mess around on Akane." I've already betrayed her more than enough on this trip. "I was just gonna ask if you wanted to go do something, but… it seems like you got plans already." Uncomfortable though she was, she managed a slight giggle as she made her way back to the door, only tripping once on the furniture as she traversed the room with her eyes closed.
"Maybe check with Crash," Hitomi offered. "I thought I heard him talking to Jake about something during sound check."
Ranko nodded. "Will do. Thanks. G'night!" She stepped quickly out of the room, willing herself not to hear her blonde backup singer resuming her cries of blissful indulgence as she cleared the door into the hallway and pulled it closed behind her.
"Well, o-kaaay. So, that happened," she mumbled quietly to herself, shaking her head with a disbelieving smirk as she walked past her still-ajar room entrance and the next two pairs of doors. She knocked sharply on the last door on the left side of the hallway, waiting for a response.
Please don't be blowing Shinji. Please don't be blowing Shinji.
Crash opened the door in a white tee shirt and blue jeans, his black leather coat slung over his right shoulder. "Hey, Ran-chan! What's goin' on, girl?"
Ranko blushed furiously again, looking down at her hands. Stupid brain. Stop that. "I just… I dunno, I was bored, and wanted to see what you guys were up to, and check if maybe you wanted to hang or somethin'."
The guitarist laughed, grinning broadly. "Talk about timing! Shin and I were just gonna head out. The nightlife in this town is supposed to be crazy, and I promised Shin a boys' night out. I think some of the other guys are coming, too."
Ranko winced, looking down a little sadly. "Oh. Okay. Well, have a good time, I guess." She turned with a dejected sigh back toward her room.
"Whoa, hey, hey!" Crash stepped out into the hallway, throwing his arm over the diminutive girl's bare shoulders. "You okay? Why the long face?"
Ranko shrugged under his arm. "I guess. Just… I'm in my head a little bit tonight, and wanted a distraction. But, it's cool. You guys go paint the town. I'll catch you in the morning. Don't get too hung over, though."
Crash glanced back into the room he shared with their bassist, where Shinji was still seated on the edge of his double bed pulling his black combat boots on. He sighed quietly. "Hey. Come with us."
"Huh? Are you sure?" Ranko blushed as an ironic thought crossed her mind. "I mean, I'm not exactly a boy, but I think I might be able to keep up with you guys." She glanced down at her sparkly red A-line dress with a little bit of a giggle. "I suppose if I'm gonna go to a boys' night, I should put on some uglier clothes. Maybe braid my hair, and see if I can figure out a way to smell really bad?"
Crash waved his hand dismissively with a hearty laugh. "Don't you dare. You look great, Ranko, like always. Just go grab your bag and stuff and meet us downstairs."
Her face discovering a new shade of red, Ranko nodded and rushed to her room to comply, a bit of a skip in her step.
* * *
"Oh, come on!"
Ranko giggled at Shinji's outburst, turning toward him and dipping her knees in a little curtsey with the hem of her dress held out at her sides in her fingertips. "I do believe that makes six bullseyes in a row, there, Mister Yokota."
The group occupied a packed bar in the downtown area, closer in size to Steam than the Phoenix. It was dark, lit mostly by the sporadic coverage of pendant lights and a variety of neon advertisements in various colors promoting liquor, cigarettes, and other vices that dotted the walls of the establishment. The room was filled with a deafening cacophony consisting of two different songs - one playing on the bar's main entertainment system and another on a coin-operated jukebox in the back corner - and the audio from several televisions on the east wall showing various sporting events. Besides the dartboards, there were billiards tables lining the back wall and a few arcade machines in the far corner, half of which were out of order. A heavy fog of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.
Shinji walked over to the dartboard, examining the blue-flighted projectile that had pierced the exact center of the colored ring as if he was searching for a guide wire or some other hidden mechanism. "Just… how?!"
Ranko smirked victoriously, hopping up onto the wooden railing around the dart area with her backside. Hmm. Let's keep the showing off to the dartboard, she thought, crossing her ankles rather than risking exposing her green satin panties. Not tryin' to be like Emi tonight. "Just skill, buddy. Hey, sucks to suck, I guess! But I think the more important question is, where's my money? Or, would you rather go double or nothing again?"
Shinji grumbled as he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a thick wad of brightly-colored bills and beginning to count them out. "Fuck, I have no idea how much this even is in yen. Just take it," he groaned, handing her half the stack.
"Pleasure doing business with you, kind sir," Ranko said with a grin, her ponytail drooping over her shoulder as she stuffed the money down into her black-and-white purse. This must be what Nabiki feels like when she dog walks somebody in a boardroom, she thought triumphantly. The grin momentarily faded from her cheeks at the thought of what her agent and sister's reaction would be when she found out Ranko had signed away much of their band's leverage with Yokai Records for want of enough money to pay her sisters' rent, grocery and electric bills for a few months.
Ranko's smirk returned as she spied the billiards table in the dark back corner of the bar. Precision staff work… yeah, I can do that. "Who wants to try that with me?!" She giggled gleefully, turning and nudging Crash in the sternum with her hand. "C'mon, one of you boys has to be brave enough to challenge a poor, defenseless girl, right?
Crash laughed, holding up his palms in surrender. "Don't fuckin' look at me! You already cleaned me out at the beer pong thing."
Likewise, Shinji scoffed, picking up his highball glass of bourbon and sipping at it. "Not it! If you get any more of my money tonight, I won't even be able to keep drinking!"
Craning her neck, she found Ariel, Zoe, Jacob and Norio huddled around one of the round back tables. They seemed to be very intently watching a rugby game on the rightmost television mounted to the wall, and judging by how excited the quartet got whenever the red team scored, they weren't likely keen to be disrupted. That left but one member of their entourage unaccounted for, and however much she tried to crane her neck above the crowd, she did not spy him anywhere in the smoke. Ranko rolled her eyes, shaking her head in playful disappointment. "Are there really none of you boys willing to try and reclaim at least a little honor for your gender tonight?"
As Ranko goadingly needled her bandmates and friends, a slender man stepped up behind her. He wore a pair of torn blue jeans and a green plaid button-down shirt, threadbare in places, over a gray tee shirt that was likely black once, the screen printing on it long ago lost to time. He looked as if he'd not had a shave in a week, or a haircut in three years. "I'll play you," he said in English through a bit of a sneer. "Thousand baht a ball." As he spoke, he ground a blue cube of chalk onto the tip of a pool cue that retained less than half of its original red paint.
Ranko blinked. Is that a lot? "I, uh… sure! Okay!" She hopped down off the railing, grabbing the nearly-empty highball glass of arak that rested to her left. She'd asked the bartender to add a little honey to it, and so it was almost Yui's signature Snakebite cocktail. It reminded her a little of home. As Shinji began lining up his next dart throw, Ranko followed the man to a billiards table with a faded green felt top in the dim back corner of the bar. A long lamp with a dusty green glass shroud depicting a Thai ginger beer brand's logo hung over the table, but the bulb appeared to be burned out, as it emitted no light even after she pulled on the little brass chain dangling from it.
Ranko knocked the remainder of her drink back, waving for a server in a skin-tight pink skirt and pointing to her empty glass to indicate the desire for another round across the loud bar room. Receiving a nod of acknowledgement from the harried blonde, Ranko turned her attention back to the table to watch as her challenger finished racking the balls.
"You wanna break," the man asked in English.
Ranko shook her head, waving him back toward the table with the back of her right hand. "Naah. You go ahead. I don't want you to have any excuses when I clean your clock." In truth, she was getting a bit nervous and wanted to observe for a moment longer. She had only played the game a few times, years ago, before her sisters had removed the billiards table in the Phoenix to make room for the expansion of her stage. I wonder where that thing even ended up. She wasn't entirely sure she even remembered the rules, and even if she did, she was operating on the assumption that they played by the same set in Thailand.
The confident man fired his cue forward, launching the white ball into the mass of colored ones. They launched this way and that with a loud series of clacks, and two of them sank into the pockets at the far corners of the table with resonant thunk sounds. "Looks like I'm stripes," he said with a chuckle, walking around the table to plan his next shot.
Oh, hell. I might have stepped in it a little. Ranko swallowed hard as the waitress returned with her drink, fidgeting as she leaned against the railing and studied her opponent.
The next shot rocketed forth from the black-haired man's cue, slamming into two more balls. Both ricocheted toward the middle pocket on the right side of the table, but neither found their intended mark.
"Damn," he said, motioning to Ranko with his stick as he walked back toward her. "Your shot, sweetness."
Sweetness? Oh, boy, you're gonna get it now. Ranko set her drink down on the railing surrounding the billiards area and hopped to her feet. She stalked around the table trying to find the best angle to attempt a shot at a solid-colored ball, but the current position of the cue ball left her few good options. Okay, Kumiko. I stand corrected. Apparently there was a reason to pay attention in geometry class after all.
Ranko leaned over the table to place her right hand near the cue ball, cringing with a sudden realization and pulling her hand back a bit. Maybe I should have changed clothes after all, she thought as she decided to sacrifice a little bit of additional reach for the retention of her feminine modesty. Don't need Skippy back there getting a show.
However, as Ranko lined up her cue, her opponent was not focused on her backside at all. Instead, he was digging for something in the hip pocket of his jeans. As the loud clack of Ranko's shot split the air, and she watched with bated breath to see if it was successful, he quickly tipped the contents of his hand over the redhead's full glass.
"Almost," he said in mock pity. "My shot."
He walked around the table, grinning as he confirmed that Ranko's failed shot had lined his next one up perfectly. With a quick poke of his cue, the eleven ball found the corner pocket, and his follow-up shot sank the thirteen ball along the left side just as easily.
Fuck, Ranko thought, watching his run of the table intently as she sipped the milky-white cocktail in her hand. I might be in trouble here.
His third shot sent the ten ball wide left of its intended pocket on the green felt table, and he snapped his fingers in exaggerated regret. "So close. Your go," he said, meandering back to the corner. As Ranko rubbed her chin, trying to decide between targeting the four and the two balls, her opponent grinned at the sight of her half-empty cocktail resting on the bamboo railing. Whether I lose this match or not, I think I'm winning tonight, sugar.
"There you are, babe!"
Ranko jumped at the booming voice's English words, and her stick sailed high, barely nudging the white ball. "The hell, man?! And in the middle of my shot?!" She rose from her bent-over position, leveling her cue stick across the edge of the table. "Dude, Lance, major party foul!"
The enormous man threw his arm around Ranko's shoulder, engulfing her in a tight hug. "I've been looking all over for you, sweetheart! I swear," he said, turning to the man she'd been playing billiards with, "you take your eye off them for one second, and they're off flirting with someone else!"
Ranko steamed at the accusation, but before she could wrest herself free of the behemoth's tight grasp, he leaned down as if to kiss her on the cheek. While no kiss came, he whispered hoarsely in her ear, in Japanese.
"Don't move."
"Look, man, we're in the middle of a ga…" The main in the plaid shirt stepped backward, his sentence dying in his throat at the sight of the expression on Lance's face. Something about the combination of that much determination, painted over that much muscle, was suddenly giving him the very strong urge to be literally anywhere else. "You know what? You're right. You two have a great night, and keep a tighter leash on your girl next time, man."
Ranko blinked as Lance loosened his grip on her. Just in the few moments he'd held her, she'd started to feel a little less steady on her feet. Man, that last drink must'a been strong as hell, she thought, blinking a little at the halos forming around some of the neon beer ads on the wall.
"Come with me," Lance said in Japanese, taking her firmly by the shoulders. He marched her back to the dartboard area, where Crash and Shinji had resumed a new game. It seemed to be more evenly matched without the deadly accuracy of a master martial artist influencing the score.
"Guys, c'mere," Lance said, an urgency in his voice as he again swallowed Ranko up in arms as thick as holiday hams.
Balancing the red dart in his hand, Crash continued to aim his next throw. "Uh-huh. Gimme just a minute, bud. I'm in the middle of…"
Lance closed the distance between the two, physically hauling Ranko off her feet and carrying her in one arm like a rag doll as he moved. He reached out with his right arm, grabbing Crash's leather jacket and yanking him close. His taut left bicep was still locked around Ranko's chest, enveloping her and preventing her from even contemplating freeing herself from his grasp.
"Shut up, Crash! Shinji, get your ass over here!" Lance spoke forcefully, and in Japanese - two things he almost never did in the bandmates' presence.
Ranko giggled absently, reaching out from under Lance's bicep and curling her finger toward herself in the come here gesture toward Shinji. "Here, Shinji, Shinji…"
Shinji hopped up from his table, recognizing the seriousness of whatever the situation was. He spied the distant look in the redhead's eyes with a chuckle. "Good gods, she's wrecked. Little princess never could handle her booze."
Lance shook his head, clutching Ranko protectively in his arms. "No, man. Somebody put something in her fucking drink. I couldn't get to her quick enough to stop her."
"Oh, fuck," Crash said, rocking back on his heels. His eyes bulged, panic setting in as he regarded his impaired friend in Lance's embrace. "What are we gonna…"
Ranko tittered again, looking up at Lance with a wide, vacant smile and tapping him repeatedly on the chest with her index finger. "Did you know you're really tall?" She turned her eyes to her bassist, shaking her head with a frown of pity. "Shinji's not tall. Taller than me, but that's only 'cause he's a yucky boy. Short Shinji. Shorji? Naaaww. Mini-Shinji. Minji." Shinji could only roll his eyes and glower at his impaired friend's mirthful mocking.
Lance looked around the smokey bar room, assessing their situation. He leveled a finger in Crash's face, still clutching Ranko tight against his body with his great forearm like she was a cherished stuffed animal. The redhead rested her cheek on her roadie's rock-hard abs, as it seemed to make the room stop rocking a little bit. "Crash, you get her back to the hotel, and I mean right now. You don't stop for anything or anybody. You don't talk to anybody. You don't take your god damned eyes off of her for one mother fucking second. Nobody so much as looks at her until she's back safe in her room, do you fucking understand me?!"
Crash nodded, reaching for his pocket with hysteria in his eyes. It took him two attempts to find the opening in his jeans, so frantic was he to get it done quickly. "Sure! I uh… lemme just…"
"Leave your goddamn tab, Crash! Get. Her. OUT of here! NOW!"
Lance took Ranko's shoulders in his hands, stretching his arms out and locking his elbows to observe the state of the young woman in his care. His voice softened, and he spoke slowly and deliberately, as if talking to a child he'd found lost without their mother. "Hey, Ranko? How you doing, sweetheart?"
"I should have worn my green dress. Iss less itchy." Ranko smiled up at him blankly, her unfocused eyes seeming to struggle with the bright white glare around the light glinting off of her friend's bald scalp. "Do you like my green dress, Lancey?"
With a nod, Lance brushed the singer's hair from her face, adjusting his grip on her left shoulder and counteracting her sway as she teetered slightly on her feet in the hopes of keeping her vertical. "Listen to me, Ran-chan. Crash is gonna take you home, okay, honey? You stay right with him, and he's gonna keep you safe, you got me?" His last few words may have been directed at Ranko, but the look in Lance's eyes when they met Crash's over her shoulder made them sound significantly more like a threat to the young guitarist.
Ranko closed her eyes, nodding softly with a goofy smile. Her head was beginning to droop to the side somewhat. "Uh-huh! Yes sir, mister Lance, sir. I'm safe with Crash. Always." She tried to raise her hand to her forehead in a mock military salute, but she bonked herself in the nose with her thumb instead.
"You." Lance turned his eyes up to Shinji as a giggling Ranko was transferred into Crash's arms, collapsing limply against her guitarist's chest. "Find Zoe, and tell Jake to get them the hell out of here, too. Don't let anyone take their eyes off of Zo, and for God's sake, nobody fucking drink anything. Tell the staff what happened, too."
Shinji nodded. "On it! But… what are you gonna do?"
Lance scanned the room with his eyes, finding it fairly easy to do so given his significant height advantage over most of the locals. The sweet, playful teddy bear expression the Dapper Dragons were so used to seeing on their friend's face was nowhere to be found. The deadly focus in Lance's eyes was unsettling even to the hard-edged bassist. In that moment, Shinji realized he was no longer speaking to their kindly roadie Lance, but to Petty Officer First Class Riker, formerly of the United States Navy's special forces.
"I'm gonna go find Ranko's new friend, and we're gonna have ourselves a nice little chat."
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder