Soup Style Bk. 03 - Need a Deputy

Chapter One: Protecting The Unprotectable

Ashley's grandfather walked out the side gate from his home, passing the home of his nearest neighbor but not stopping. He looked, wistfully, to see if she was home. She was not. He was disappointed, again. She had not been outside her house the last several times he had passed.

He wasn't entirely worried by her absence, as she was probably away for business. Perizat was now a caterer. In becoming one, she had called on Ashley and her grandfather for some of the oddball of her occasional needs. She deserved all the credit for Ashley's interest and tutoring in preparation of large batches of soup. Originally from Central Asia, here two decades earlier because of graduate studies (from which she had dropped out) in chemical engineering, Perizat's business was called Cauldron Catering. She truly had cauldrons! Cauldrons for food.

The secret to Perizat's success was no secret at all. Large, generous, serving portions of inexpensive ethnic comfort food that could be easily and in bulk prepared and sold as served at events. Her most popular sale was at events where, similar to how a food truck might operate, she and some local teenaged temporary employees would sell directly from cauldrons. Soup? Not the best seller but soups were what won her initial favor if not outright fame. Stews? She had cornered the market with what ought to have been award-winning of a range of exotic to humdrum ethnic and seasonal stew presentation.

Cauldron Catering was a known go-to provider for those fragmented markets. Yet, a single menu item as a cauldron meal kept her business afloat; repeat sales of rice with vegetables. Having a large picnic event? Having a concert, sporting or festival event? Having a retreat event? Even birthday parties had sometimes hired her catering service. Typically, though, she was hired for events that were outdoors and ran across multiple meals. Accordingly, her being absent for days was a good thing, as it meant she likely was making more cauldrons than typical gigs would require.

For an Asian, Perizat was unusually tall. Though slender in almost all other respects, she was big-boobed. Shockingly so, as seeing her from any perspective other than obviously showcasing her large breasts, one would have assumed her to be small breasted. There was a curve to her ass, yet her firm checks, together, could be held in a single palm. She was slender, spectacularly so.

She was also submissive. Shy, too. And could while away hours, even entire days or nights, engaged in masturbation. She didn't date. She was both overly shy and overly sexed. If someone boldly guided her to positions, yes, she engaged in the sex sought with her. A few arrogant men had learned that if she gave what they saw as a Mona Lisa, a hint of a smile, but was otherwise quite passive at that moment, then she was available and they could convince themselves that they were not rapists because she had secretly hungered to be taken.

Guide her head for a blowjob, she was compliant as well as what a rapist could interpret as her being enthusiastic. Turn her back towards you and expose her buttocks for brutal totally unlubricated entry, she was compliant as well as uncomplaining. Her preferences? Never expressed! If someone could have read her mind, if someone had even wanted to respect her wishes, she truly desired gentle, romantic love-making that lingered through many phases.

After learning she would not complain during or after being taken brutally, one of her conquerors had tried inserting different carbonated beverages. The bubbling evacuation from her holes gave him a lot of laughs. She did not even attempt to leave speedily enough when she had the opportunity while he went to get the next bottle to shake before inserting into her.

More than once, in neighborhood scandals, someone who knew of her reputed compliance had broken down her door to take out frustrations on her that a spouse or girlfriend had failed to satisfy. Late on a particular evening, just as Sara was returning from her shift to witness the activities, Perizat had been dragged out of her house where guys were arriving to join in a "flash gangbang" that was to have been crowned by someone who was bringing dogs to mount her after the demonic men would have finished their turns at her. As the crowd grew, Sara pondered whether to call for back up. The thought, with some deviant interest, came to her that maybe she would have fun joining in herself, but, then the sudden appearance of floodlighting from Ashley's rooftop gave a moment of realization for some. Some, too few, of them chose to leave. Most, however, became reanimated at the idea that the floodlighting would make it easier to watch their gang having its fun.

From where Sara could not tell because of the blinding contrast of the floodlights powered through the darkness of the night, but suddenly arrows, each in quick succession, flew to pierce the clothing and pin down the targeted among those leading the assault in attacking Perizat.

Arrows? Odd, she thought, that anyone could be thus effective, stealthy and awe inspiring. Without waiting to figure it out, though, Sara made her call for backup, then loudly announced her presence and displayed her shield of authority. Guys in the unruly gang began leaving in earnest as those pinned by arrows begged for assistance to be released. Had their friends not pulled and broken the arrows to free them, they would have been held tightly as if bound ready for arrest.

In the many cycles that include times of trouble, not always, but especially when nobody can be comforted, nobody can be secure, nobody might know who to turn to, there might be more of a reason to fantasize a hero able to come to our rescue.

Heroes need not apply, right? When a hero has not appeared, when trouble has only worsened, when despair and desperation are all that are left on our plates, most of us do find comfort. Some of us will relocate, maybe return to distant family or uproot to somewhere entirely new for a chance to have a better life.

Uprooting might be least difficult for those who are younger, stronger, flexible.

Preparations in place for disaster might even invite reactions ranging from scorn through derision all the way to maybe violent confrontation. If a violent confrontation, that could be from bullies. Bullies. There are bullies who are outside of the norms of civilization, yes, and, also, there are bullies who are well paid to be the officials of a civilization. Some people have to get along no matter how badly they might feel about going along with the bullies. Some people might even be attacked by those all too easily converted to being a lynch mob from otherwise normal citizens who have delusionally redirected their frustrations in ways that enable and defend the worst of the bullies.

Even someone theoretically well able to protect themselves can be vulnerable to defeat, directly or indirectly, from bullies.

What about someone who is unlikely to be able to protect themselves? Law enforcement ought to reliably be able to help, and, with some exceptions, can be counted on, right? Those exceptions, though, are awfully painful for victims who again are victimized.

When leaving her cauldrons, freshly washed, on stands upside down, drying, Perizat had first met Ashley's grandfather. He was on his way to the neighbor living one house past hers. Demonstrating his mastery of social skills, he teased her about the cauldrons without being offensive. Later, returning towards his home after visiting with the neighbor, on a booty call from Sara and Elsebet, who lived one house farther away than the caterer, Ashley's grandfather was just in time to stop vandalism of her cauldrons merely by showing up to the dismay of the vandals. He helped her with clean up. Cleaning could not repair the intentional damaging of her equipment. The effort was not entirely successful, so, yet again, she would suffer. He suggested fencing-in of her front yard for an added protective screen, for example, when the cauldrons were out drying from being washed. She made an almost silent sigh in response to his suggestion. That would require an okay from her landlord, as she was a tenant renting this house. She didn't then have the money for the materials, nor the skills to erect the fencing.

She didn't even know her neighbors on her other side, the far side from Ashley's grandfather, Elsebet and Sara.

With completely charming and casual conversation, Ashley's grandfather told Perizat that he knew her landlord well enough to get the permission for the fencing, and, that he would introduce her to her neighbors who had the skills, tools and wherewithal to help with what Perizat herself lacked.

Sara, Japanese American, worked in law enforcement and sometimes, as side jobs, had provided security that on more than one occasion had her installing fences. Elsebet, Swedish on her dad's side and Polish on her mom's side, had a fully equipped hobby woodworking shop and the willingness to help out everyone. With such help, and her own hard work and marketing, Perizat's business would likely succeed and her assets get some protection in her own house.

Shortly before Elsebet, Sara and Perizat built the fencing, Ashely's grandfather had earned an honorary title or a nickname: Dick, in part. Three words. When the women wanted someone for a booty call, they often spoke of needing another dick. He was single, available, and passable. He didn't answer to their nicknaming him, but, among themselves, the nickname was most often stated as if it were a noun to say "need another dick."

The neighborhood had a richly endowed legacy of such a need. In one of the endless cycles of the neighborhood population changes, the ethnic families would have generations of girls who needed a dick from a different culture, school and religion for safely satisfying their early experimentation with their forbidden appetites. The lucky boys (as well as girls) who tasted the pleasures knew it was for them to be a forgettable moment in the timeline of their predators.

A different kind of predator, a bullying, drug-dealing, sex-trafficking, law-breaking taxpayer-funded, government official had made Perizat an offer she could not handle. She freaked out. Whom could she turn to? Perizat first took it up with Sara. Sara could not help, as the police powers for her shield did not allow her to protect citizens from such criminals. The government official was to be compelling Perizat, as a cost of staying in her business as Cauldron Catering, to be available as a front for his expanding markets in drug-dealing and sexual-trafficking.

Perizat said to Sara that she needed a ninja, a Robin Hood, a gymnast martial artist archer to protect her. Sara, being Japanese American, could have been understandably responsive to the suggestion for a ninja. Instead, the most American of answers was the one she offered. "Yep," drawled Sara speaking as if she were a character in old Westerns, "we do. We need a deputy. A deputy with skills of an injun, ingenuity of a beaver, calmness of a buffalo, and the kind of strength the shaman can provide. Yep, we need ourselves a deputy."

Chapter Two: Who Are You, Remo Williams or Charlie Chan?

Curiosity about the archer didn't get resolved. Who was the archer? How did the archer know to act? Sara had the crime scene investigators gather evidence at the scene, but without any good outcome. Her supervisor had the investigation focus on the vigilante, focus on finding the archer, rather than on the perpetrators of the crimes against Perizat that brought her rescue by the archer.

Perizat was born from a long line that descended on both sides from the nomads of Central Asia. Among these nomads there are two stories that sort of tell all that is known of them. One, that the men played a sport that is thought to be the source of modern day polo. A sport on horseback with a small animal, perhaps a goat or lamb, taken back and forth in competition among the riders on the field. The other, that the women, no, that the girls, girls as young as three, were expert marksmen, no, markswomen, who could shot arrows to their target from horseback, who could use the muscles of their legs to launch arrows in poses that would inspire competitive athletes.

Was her rescuer a ghost from the tribes that populated the armies for Genghis Khan?

Sara didn't know much about the Golden Horde, but, she did know pop culture, at least well enough to ask if the mystery archer was more like Remo Williams or one of the martial arts action movie heroes. Arrows? Who could possibly be that proficient as a stealth archer?

Chapter Three: Who Are You, Nancy Drew?

Perizat became increasingly convinced that the mystery archer was likely a young girl. It fit. It was consistent with all that was in her ancestry. Also, her business would have naturally been noticed by anyone who shared her ancestry, as the nomads had gathered to meals prepared in cauldrons. She tried to think back to anyone who had commented or questioned with some obvious knowledge of the people of the cauldron meals. She could not plausibly point out anyone who could have done what her rescuer had done.

She wasn't able to talk about it with anyone.

A mystery? Yes, a mystery. Who ARE you, Nancy Drew?

Chapter Four: Who Are You, Charlie's Angels?

The crime scene investigators told all that they learned to the detectives. The detectives asked around at archery ranges, few as they were, and especially asked if there were any martial arts programs that included a component in archery.

While Perizat had come to believe her mystery rescuer, or rescuers, were likely young girls who had been raised in traditional Central Asian nomad culture, that did not get on the radar for the detectives. As Sara was a law enforcement officer, even if off duty, when on the scene, the detectives added her as a suspect. They also had a corrupt desire to take advantage of Sara in any way possible. She had the shiniest blackest hair that outshone polished dress boots. She had a physical strength and a confident attitude that challenged them, attracted them, had them fantasizing as much about her as thinking about their cases.

When the detectives did work the case, which was rarely, they did so as an excuse to be with Sara.

Pretending that misbehavior was part of the job, things turned ugly enough that, again, just as in the first instance, the floodlights from two houses farther down came on with an almost immediate landing of arrows that pierced clothing in a way that held the errant detectives pinned to surfaces awaiting rescue or arrest. Sara freed them, sent them on their way, but on her own, investigated why those floodlights had come on?

Another mystery? Yes. But, also, the arrows, reaching their targets in sequence that was tightly timed, had launched to fly different trajectories. More than one archer?

Who ARE you, Charlie's Angels?