Steve Fujita

Aspiring dancers move to New York, aspiring actresses move to Los Angeles.  Candy Cain moved to the latter, yet worked as the former.  Many people would refer her type of dance as an illegitimate form of dance.  At this point, she didn't care if it was or wasn't an artsy respected form of dancing.  All she cared was that it paid the bills.

The lack of customers indicated the weather outside: cold and rainy.  Candy received a small wage, but most of her income came from tips customer's would give her.  Not the tips from dancing - that would only pay the rest of her rent - the rest of her bills and any savings would come from tips customers would give her by keeping them company - not the way most people stereotyped the dancers - but literally, to keep company with the customer with conversation.

It was hard to be motivated when the customer pool was slim; and the cold wet air roaring in from the outside.  She went through her motions.  She didn't notice a tall shadowy man come in and stand near the corner of the room - nor did anyone else.  Her mind was focused on a problem customer sitting in front of her.

"Shake it, baby! Come on! What am I paying you for," he said as he shook a lone dollar bill in front of his face.

Candy ignored him, but he was relentless.  No use being nice to this guy - he was an obnoxious drunk.  Probably cheap, too.

The man, a short, thin, middle-aged balding man in his fifties, continued to verbally harass Candy, until he jumped on stage and grabbed her.  She punched him in the groin, and ran off stage.  This amused the strange man standing in the corner. 

"Never changes - the relationship between dancers and their customers - whatever the culture, whatever the time," he thought.

I had the scanner on on my way home.  A robbery had just taken place nearby and I swung over to see if I could catch the culprit.  But the patrol men were already there.  I got out and talked to the victim and the officers, and started back to my car. I looked into an alley as I passed by one, and saw a human figure on top of another.

I went closer to break it up.  The one on top looked at me.  She had an evil look to her. Blood dripped from her mouth.  I stepped back.  The vampire slowly crawled towards me, seductively and menacingly.  Suddenly she shrieked, turned around and disappeared.  A hand tounched my shoulder.

It was Jubei. 

"That was Maria,"  I stammered. 

"I know," he said. Flatly, without emotion, he said, "You must now destroy her."

I ran into the mysterious samurai today.  Or, rather he probably arranged it so that I'd run into him.  All the supernatural possibilities are overloading me: vampires, immortal beings.

"You are the famous Yagyu Jubei aren't you?" I asked, directly.

"My name is Yagyu Jubei, yes, but famous, I do not know."

"Of course you are.  You've been portrayed in countless movies."

"Those are all fiction."

"If you are 400 years old - this reality is more unbelievable than anything I've seen of you in movies."

"You've found your family records."

"Yes."

"Then you know about Kageura?"

"Kind of.  I didn't find the complete journal. Just bits, and I had to piece it together.  I would still like to hear it from a primary source."

Jubei proceeded to tell me the whole story, of course some of it was heresay, for there were periods where he was not involved in the tale.

This is getting stranger by the minute.  All my vampire knowledge came from the movies, and now Jubei tells me that this vampire cannot be staked, but must have his stomach slit and beheaded, like a ritual hara-kiri.

He asked me about Maria. I said that I had not seen her for a few days.  He said he had a strange feeling about her, but cannot pinpoint it, and perhaps i should she that she is all right.

I asked him how I can contact him, and he said, that he will know.  Whatever that means. 

I was walking along the street when a man came up to me.

"Ms. Ramos?"

"Yes."

"Excuse me, but I remember you from the party. I also read your bylines.  There's not just one.  There is a whole nest of them.  Hundreds of them.  I can take you to see where they live."

"Sorry, mister. I'm busy."  I tried to brush him off, but then he looked at me, stared into my eyes, and I could not resist.

"Please, Ms. Ramos.  I insist."

This man led me into a cave. I cannot remember how I got there.  He told me to look through a crack, and there were hundreds of them, as he said. 

"Welcome." A deep voice said, behind me.  I turned around.  He was tall, and appeared to be dressed in Japanese samurai armour. 

"Won't you join us?" He asked.  Instinctively, I exposed my neck and offered it to him.

Continuing the account of the duel between Jubei and Kageura, Van Helsing wrote:

"The two men circled each other.  Yagyu waited for kageura to move first. Kageura swung at Yagyu's stomach. Yagyu deflected it.  Yagyu let Kageura initiate the attacks, deflecting each swing, countering only when he felt he could hit Kageura back. Kageura became impatient.  His swings gradually became less controlled. One one swing, Kageura sliced the fabric of Yagyu's kimono, but Yagyu deflected the blow and countered it with his own horizontal blow to the stomach. Yagyu's blow cut kageura, but not deep enough. Kageura charged at Yagyu, sword above his head.  Yagyu defelcted the oncoming blow, and in one motion, slcied horizontally against the stomach, and up across the neck. Kageura's head flew off and onto the floor."

I changed a word or two, but the above paragraph is an excerpt from the book, "Sword of the Undead," (lost in Sakamoto's world, but inour world, it is available on Amazon, and other online bookstores.)