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KUNG-FU FOR DHARMI
A Novel
By
Charles J. Lee
KUNG-FU FOR DHARMI/Epigraph
‘Kung-fu’ means ‘Skill’ or ‘Ability’.

It applies to all life experiences.
KUNG-FU FOR DHARMI 3
CHAPTER 1--PURSUERS
Somewhere in The Real World...
A vehicle sped between more leisurely moving ones, cutting
across multiple lanes on the moderately crowded highway without
signaling. The driver did not seem concerned with safety. As
long as there was a gap, he grabbed it, squeezing in abruptly
and forcing other drivers to jam their brakes.
The woman sitting in the front passenger seat pursed her
lips and gripped her knees tightly.
“Michael, do you know the difference between an Otto and a
Karl?” Cindy asked.
“I know that the internal consumption engine which powers
all Karls and Ottos was invented by Karl Otto Daimler. These
things are semi-living mechanical beasts...”
“Ugh! I’m not talking about engineering!” Cindy lifted both
hands upwards. “Men and their communication!”

“What’s this about men?” Michael asked.
“I’m talking about how you handle Ottos and Karls!” Cindy
replied, tapping a finger against an open palm like a
schoolteacher. “Look: an Otto is like a modern horse; it can
squeeze into tight spots. Since it is open, you can fall off if
you are not careful. When we were dating, you took me out for
spins in your Otto.”
“Of course,” Michael grinned mischievously.
“Hey, quit savoring your memories of Boco Congo!” Cindy
demanded. “You’re a bad boy, the worst...”
“How did you know I was thinking about that night...”
“I’m a woman! I can tell!” Cindy replied. Then she leaned
towards Michael and whispered. “You were licking your lips.”
“Oh.”
Cindy sat back and continued talking in a teacher-like
tone. “A Karl has a roof and is essentially a carriage without
horses. You never have to worry about falling off. A Karl can
also take many more passengers than an Otto.”
“What is the point of telling me all that?” Michael grunted
in manly fashion.
Cindy’s eyes opened wider and she put on a stern face.
“Because, my dear husband,” Cindy reached over and pulled
Michael’s ear. “Because we are no longer riding an Otto! We are
sitting in a rented Karl!”

“Isn’t that obvious?”
“It is... aah!” Cindy had turned back to look at the road.
She opened and shut her mouth in shock as Michael overtook
another Karl with hardly any room to spare.
After waiting several seconds for the blood to return to
her face, Cindy turned to Michael.
“You have been driving this Karl as though it was our Otto,
squeezing between other vehicles on the road, making sharp
turns, overtaking and doing all those dangerous stunts!” Cindy
exclaimed. “And have you forgotten our babies sleeping behind?
Have you forgotten that you have become a father?”
Michael sighed. “No. I haven’t forgotten. But we really
need to get out of here as soon as possible.”
There was a pause.
“You fought with some man in a bar, and now his gang is
after you?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“Creditors. Yours and mine.”
Cindy’s face paled.
“They sent a Collector to get the money I owe. I defeated
him within three moves and he fled. Then two Collectors came for
your debts. I drove them off in ten moves. But the Collectors
never give up. They’ll be back.”

“Why didn’t you sell our house? Or get a second mortgage?”
“Home prices fell. We now owe more than our house is worth.
The house has been foreclosed on.”
“How come I don’t know about this?” Cindy’s voice took on
an edge. “You only told me to pack for a long trip!”
“I didn’t say anything to you because you were in the
ward,” Michael replied.
“Oh dear... the Collectors...” Cindy squeezed her face
between both hands. “That is bad. I didn’t expect our
finances...”
“As you know,” Michael sighed, “We both owe money on our
student loans and credit cards. After I lost my job, we have
been falling behind on our interest payments.”
“So you’re driving like this because we are being chased,”
Cindy replied soberly.
“Dear, I may be a bad boy through and through. But I
wouldn’t endanger our babies for no reason,” Michael said as he
weaved between several Karls with the deftness of a racing
driver.
As Michael made a sharp turn at high speed, causing Cindy
to squeal with shock, the distant view of a mountain appeared.
A new light came into Michael’s eyes. “Wait a moment. That
unique shape and sign... isn’t that Mt. Beaver?”
“Where my sister lives,” Cindy replied without enthusiasm.

Michael tried to sound upbeat. “Why don’t we see your
sister? She might be able to do something for us.”
“My sister isn’t talking to me,” Cindy said in a tone that
suggested she did not want to explain.
“That’s fine then. I wasn’t counting on any support
anyway,” Michael shrugged and hunched over the controls.
Cindy looked back anxiously at her babies. Despite
Michael’s driving, the newborns were all sleeping peacefully.
“If you want to escape from the Collectors, shouldn’t we be
going South instead?”
“We’re heading for Pimento City,” Michael answered.
Cindy raised her eyebrows.
“Um... why are you seeking safety in that dangerous place?”
“Pimento City? It is the capital of this land.”
“They say that this land is ruled by criminals, led by a
former mercenary and mass-murderer called the Governator.”
“These people won’t bother us. And I need to meet one of my
oldest friends,” Michael said as he steered the Karl more
cautiously between two enormous trucks. “We played together as
children. He is now known as the Regulator.”
“The Regulator? But...” Cindy pursed her lips. “The
Regulator doesn’t do special favors for friends. He only helps
the righteous. Are you sure he will protect you?”

“Honey, I don’t do bad things,” Michael said with a wicked
grin. “Except with you.”
Cindy laughed, but her face showed that she was not
convinced.
“Why don’t you seek help from your brother first? Doesn’t
he have a training center near here?”
Michael sighed. “My brother doesn’t talk to me anymore.
Said I get drunk too often, get into fights, the like.”
“Doesn’t he get into plenty of fights too?”
“Well... we had a major falling out after he heard about my
nickname. Said I had spoiled the family name. Made him lose
face, stuff like that.”
“But you don’t drink anymore.”
“Exactly. That’s why I dare to meet the Regulator.”
“If you’ve stopped drinking, surely your brother will
forgive you also?”
Michael sighed. “I owe him money.”
“I don’t remember you ever borrowing money from him,” Cindy
commented. “If you had, you wouldn’t be owing all these
Creditors money, would you?”
Michael smiled ruefully. “Do you remember that party last
year at Jack’s house?”
“Oh yes!” Cindy laughed. “You were still quite the party
guy.”
“Exactly,” Michael said with a tinge of guilt in his voice.
“And remember what they said when I entered the house?”
“Enter The Drunkard!” Cindy shouted. She also jerked a fist
upwards in a gesture of cheerful excitement, but remembered just
in time that she was in a Karl. She stopped her fist a hair’s
breadth from the roof, which was very fortunate for the roof.
“My brother heard about that,” Michael sighed.
“Ooh,” Cindy said with a laugh.
“You’ve heard me say he’s big on the traditional stuff.
Honor, face, the like,” Michael replied. “Not irreverent like
me.”
“So he heard the news and went through the roof?” Cindy
grinned.
“He sent somebody – I don’t know who – flying through his
roof,” came the answer. “Homeowner’s insurance rejected his
claim since there was no ‘kung-fu mishap clause’. So my brother
sent me the roofing contractor’s bill. It was no small sum. You
know how contractors are like.”
Having paid plumbers, electricians and telephone workmen
before, Cindy nodded numbly. These traumatic experiences
remained indelibly fixed in her memory.
“I live a clean life now,” Michael said with conviction.
“The Regulator will protect us against sleazy Creditors and
their pet Collectors.”

A short distance from Mt. Beaver, Michael passed a battered
old Karl by the roadside. He assumed the Karl had broken down,
but it roared to life as Michael passed. The Karl speeded up
quickly and came straight at Michael and Cindy. There were three
unshaven men inside, and one held up a document with a grin that
resembled a yawning hippopotamus.
“Oh no, it’s the Collectors!” Cindy exclaimed.
For a moment, Michael wanted to speed up. He figured his
Karl could outrun the Collectors’ Karl. But then Michael looked
into his rearview mirror where his children were sleeping
peacefully. And he cast his eye at the Collectors’ battered Karl
again. No doubt the Collectors had engaged in many a chase
before. Michael could not risk a collision. He sighed and slowed
down, then pulled over to the side.
Michael emerged from the Karl as the three stout Collectors
swaggered down the road.
A Collector was carrying a burlap bag over his shoulder.
“Ho ho ho!” He sang out.
“It isn’t Christmas,” Michael said unenthusiastically.
“Every day is Christmas for us,” the Collector said as he
unslung the burlap bag. “Now, where’s the loot?”
“Say again?”
“The money you owe us, my dear Mister Lee.”

“It’ll be coming to you.”
“We want it now.”
“I said, it will be coming. Now quit following me. It’s
dangerous.”
Click-click-click-click-click.
A Collector cracked the knuckles on his right hand.
“Tut, tut,” the knuckle-cracking Collector said. “You’re on
our naughty list. It isn’t healthy to owe us.”
“Surely you know my reputation?” Michael asked casually.
“Michael ‘Booze’ Lee,” the Collector replied. “You did give
a couple of our boys some bruises.”
“Glad you know it.”
“That’s why it’s three of us now.”
Click-click-click-click-click.
The knuckle-cracking Collector now cracked the knuckles on
his left hand.
Michael stepped away from the Karl. “You really want to
challenge me? Your kung-fu cannot be a match for mine.”
The Collectors laughed. “We know that you have stopped
drinking for good. You won’t be able to employ your famous
Drunken Fists against us.”
Michael tried not to let his discomfort show. “You forgot
that I have a wife.”
“What can she do? Scream at us?” A Collector laughed.

The bag-carrying Collector put away his bag and produced a
rope. “You should know that when us Collectors are called on to
find a debtor, we will go to the ends of heaven and earth. We’ll
bring you back to the hospital to pay your debt.”
“Not if I can help it,” Cindy said coldly from inside the
Karl. “You don’t think that Michael Lee’s wife knows kung-fu?”
“I’ll be glad to trade blows with your wife,” a Collector
leered. “Part of our job.”
“A blows-job,” another man added in the kind of tone that
overly intelligent children used in class.
“Oh?” Cindy replied in a tone as sharp as a knife cutting
through sausage. “Do you really want to fight us?”
With that, Cindy stuck an arm out of the window. At first,
her arm looked no different from any other fair-skinned woman’s
arm. Then a strange gray tone began spreading all over the arm.
“What the...”
“She’s employing some kind of kung-fu...”
“That’s right,” Cindy said as her arm turned gray
completely. “The transmutation kung-fu, level four. I now have a
rock-hard fist.”
“Rock... oh no! You are Cindy Roth, ‘The Rock’!” The oldest
Collector exclaimed.
“Exactly. And how would you like to be punched with a fist
like this?”
“Um...”
“You’re lucky our head Collector isn’t here!” A Collector
cursed. “He’s tough! He can squeeze blood even out of a stone!”
“Try dueling with my sister then!”
But there was no one to listen. The men had fled.
“Good job,” Michael said as he got back into the Karl.
“They might have given me a tough time.”
Cindy leaned back in her seat and sighed. “I wish I learned
my kung-fu better. But that old dragon...”
“Your master?”
“Yeah. He wanted me to train in an ice chamber without
clothes on.”
“Sounds sleazy,” Michael said.
“No. That old dragon is no womanizer. I’m sure he had no
ill intentions. To learn this kung-fu we needed exposure to all
kinds of extremes – fire chambers, boiling oil, the like. We had
to eat hellishly horrible herbs....”
“Urp!” Michael Lee shuddered as he started the Karl. “I
remember the traditional herbal remedies my mother gave me when
I was sick. Drank more bowls of black and brown stuff than I
could count.”
“These tasted worse.”
“Oh, no!” Michael squeezed his eyes shut. “Did they taste
like boiled broccoli?”

“My master’s potion consisted of broiled broccoli, cultured
cauliflower, crabbed cabbage and spiced spinach,” Cindy replied.
“All in the same pot. Garlic garnished with alfalfa added.”
“I could throw up,” Michael said as he passed a street sign
that said Cauliflower Country. “I’m sick of the tofu and bean
sprouts on pizza that we get here.”
“We are living in a health-conscious realm,” Cindy smiled.
“It’s not called the Land of Fruits and Nuts for nothing.”
“Organic this, vegan that,” Michael growled. “The Land of
Fruit-heads and Nut-cases! Once I find the Regulator and he
defeats the Creditors for me, we can leave this horrible place,”
Michael said as he gestured backwards at the street sign. “I’m
making a beeline straight up northeast. For Windig City.”
“Windig City? Why?” Cindy’s smile disappeared.
“It’s big and we can start a new life there,” Michael’s
eyes gleamed with anticipation. “First thing I’m going to do
when I get there: order one of their extra-large pizzas with
five cheeses stuffed in the crust, generously topped with
sausage and pepperoni...”
The couple fell silent for a while as they quietly
contemplated the future. Finally Cindy spoke again.
“I’ve always been more health conscious than you, Michael.
The heat and horrible food were no problem for me. But when it
came to the ice, I just decided to give up. I hate being cold.”
“So you’re stuck at level 4 of the transmutation kung-fu.”
“That’s right. I can’t get more powerful than rock.” Cindy
inwardly sighed. She was trying to hint to Michael that she
didn’t want to go anyplace cold.
Like most men, Michael didn’t pick up female hints very
well. “A rock-hard fist is already good enough,” Michael said.
“They might come back,” Cindy warned. “And I can’t maintain
my transmutation for long, not after having just given birth.”
“Even if I stopped by a liquor store and got a few
bottles,” Michael sighed as he remembered his boozy days fondly,
“I can’t drink and drive. I can’t employ my Drunken Fists
either.”
“So we’ll have to keep fleeing then,” Cindy pursed her
lips. “Until we reach the Regulator.”
“The Regulator always protects the weak against evil
bullies,” Michael said with confidence. “He will protect us from
unreasonable Creditors.”
In the meantime, the Collectors were talking by the side of
the road.
“No, something isn’t right.”
“She just gave birth. And it was a tough delivery. She
can’t fight.”
“You saw the fist.”

“It could have been an illusion.”
“Nah. Their kung-fu types are physical. They don’t have the
ability to produce illusions.”
“A transmutation kung-fu,” the oldest Collector stated,
“takes effort and time to maintain. And Cindy just gave birth to
several children, so she can’t have much stamina. If we surround
them and keep attacking, they won’t be able to keep up.”
“So...”
“I’m going to contact headquarters. They have better
personnel and equipment,” the oldest Collector decided.
To break the tension, Michael and Cindy jabbered on about
their families.
“What was it about your sister?” Michael asked. “Did she
study under the same master?”
Cindy nodded. “Sharon attained a higher level. And her
kung-fu isn’t limited to her fists and feet like mine. Sharon
can make her face hard as stone, so she wins slapping contests
with other girls all the time.”
“She would have been a great help,” Michael said. “We
should have sought refuge with her on Mt. Beaver.”
“No... apart from some other problems with Sharon, my
entire family is also mad at me,” Cindy said.

“Let me guess. They’re not too happy at you marrying
outside your community,” Michael Lee answered.
“Exactly. And Grandpa’s reaction was even more
nightmarish,” Cindy shrugged. “Mother says he went up to the
attic to sulk and play on his horrible out-of-tune violin.”
“Sounds like a Sherlock Holmes fan,” Michael quipped.
A shadow passed over Cindy’s face as the Karl passed under
a tree, “Grandpa was ranting and the whole house could hear him.
He said we were cursed.”
“Sounds scary,” Michael said with the tone of a man who had
grown up hearing his grandmother tell him all kinds of myths
that never came true. Especially stories about cannibalistic
ghouls that kidnap children who don’t eat their broccoli...
Cindy did not share Michael’s sanguinity. “Grandpa
prophesized that we won’t stay together half as long as the
average celebrity couple.”
“The average celebrity couple stays together for six
months.” Michel grinned. “Cheer up,” He said with pleasure.
“We’ve been married a year, and haven’t even had a quarrel.”
“Because I let you win all the time,” Cindy leaned her head
against Michael’s shoulder. “You’re such a naughty boy...” and
with that Cindy poked Michael in the ribs, “but I can’t say no
to anything you ask.” And she squeezed Michael a little lower.

Michael put on an evil smile. “I’m going to introduce you
to the pleasures of pork... pork stew, pork chops, sweet and
sour pork...”
Cindy laughed indulgently. “Have you ever seen me eat
anything that isn’t vegetarian?”
“All right, so I’ll go for vegetarian pork. Made from
soybean protein...” Michael Lee replied. “Good enough for you?”
The two laughed.
Two convoys met somewhere along the highway leading to
Pimento City. Both consisted of an ambulance and two cars each.
“All right, boys! Deploy!” Someone called out.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Someone in the other convoy
demanded.
“We’re here to collect a debt,” the first man answered.
“Oh no, we’re here to collect a debt,” the second man
insisted.
“Go elsewhere.”
“No way. We like it here.”
“This is a good location for an ambush.”
“Well, we feel the same. So get out.”
As neither side was willing to yield, it seemed a fight was
likely.
“We’re the most powerful collection agency in this land.
You want to test our kung-fu?”
“No, WE’re the Most Powerful,” another collector retorted.
“Do you think we fear you?”
The two groups almost came to blows, but the tall man who
led one side raised a hand.
“We haven’t introduced ourselves. Debt Recovery Associates,
HQ Division.” The tall Collector intended to intimidate the
rival group with the name of his agency.
“Hey, we’re DRA too,” a collector said as he produced an
ID. “Venice Beach Sub-division.”
Seeing that both parties were actually from the same
agency, the Collectors relaxed and came forward to discuss
strategy.
“So you’re here for Cindy Roth?”
“And you’re here for Michael Lee?”
“I’m from HQ and the highest ranking here. I’ll take charge
of this operation. We’ll take them down together,” the tall
Collector said.
Oblivious to the ambush being planned, Michael and Cindy
continued their aimless chatter.
“My father also had some choice words about our marriage,”
Michael said.
“Like?”
“Don’t get mad. It’s kind of a backhanded praise.”
“Go ahead.”
“You know the Jackie guy who makes these kung-fu
instruction videos for the mass market?”
“Of course,” Cindy replied. “They’re quite a joke.”
“Well, do you like them?”
“Can’t say I hate them.”
“What do you think of Jackie? His looks, I mean?”
“Cute,” Cindy fluttered her eyelashes. That was her way of
saying Ugly but Adorable.
Michael touched his nose thoughtfully. “Well, my father
said that if our kids take after you, they’ll all have noses
like Jackie.”
“Ugh!” Cindy responded. But she laughed.
Then Michael turned around a bend and Cindy stopped
laughing. There appeared to be an accident scene down the road.
“Oh no, people are hurt!”
“Let’s ignore them. They have ambulances to help them,”
Michael said, slowing down.
“Both ambulances are blocking the way.”
“Ugh! Idiots!” Michael cursed.
“With the way these cars crashed, the ambulances didn’t
have much room,” Cindy said understandingly.

“We can take a detour,” Michael had almost slowed to a stop.
“No. Let’s just see if there’s anything we can do for these
people,” Cindy said.
“Always the kind person.” Michael said. “My sweet wife,” he
added and exchanged kisses with Cindy.
“Let’s see what we can do for them,” Cindy said as she got
out of the Karl.
As Michael and Cindy approached the accident site, a number
of the bystanders fanned out quietly. Without exchanging any
words, they surrounded the Karl that Michael had rented.
“This is not good,” Michael muttered. Even though Michael
and Cindy could fight their way out from this encirclement,
their children were in the Karl.
“What do you want?” Cindy demanded.
“You owe the Creditors. We are here to collect on their
behalf,” the tall Head Collector said.
“The Regulator has told me that your contract is
unconscionable!” Michael responded. “And unconscionable
contracts cannot be enforced!”
“Arne Konsion Abel? That’s not the name of your Creditor...”
“It’s not a who, it’s a word!” Michael snapped. “It means:
so terrible that it goes against good conscience!”

“Good con she earns?” A Collector asked in surprise.
“What’s...”
“That’s something we don’t have, so it doesn’t matter.” A
more educated Collector said.
“It’s probably a foreign word anyway,” a third Collector
said. “Maybe French...”
“Conscience isn’t a foreign word, but I’m not surprised it
sounds French to you,” Cindy added snappishly.
“Too bad the Regulator isn’t around,” grinned another
Collector.
“Enough time wasted. Get them!” The head Collector
commanded.
The Collectors charged forward with a battle cry, most of
them going for Michael as he was considered more dangerous.
Michael Lee stood firm with legs apart and knees slightly
bent, and went to work with his fists.
Pow!
Bish!
Wham!
None of the Collectors were able to score any hits on
Michael. Despite having knocked three Collectors about like
ninepins, Michael hardly moved from his position.
“He relies on his fists! Go for his feet!” The head
Collector called out.

Tunk!
A Collector slammed a wooden plank against Michael’s left
shin. But it turned out that Michael knew more than just Drunken
Fists. He had plenty of practice doing kicks, and could endure
being beaten about the legs.
Several Collectors tried to trip Michael by attacking his
legs and feet, but none succeeded. Michael took sure, firm steps
that left no opening for anyone. Anyone who came too close was
kicked or swept aside by Michael’s feet.
In the meantime, Cindy was defending Michael’s back.
“Ow!” A Collector screamed in pain as Cindy punched him
away.
Another Collector came at Cindy with a stick, but she
blocked it with her arm. There was a tremendous Blam! and the
stick broke.
“What the hell is that?” The Collector gasped. “You have an
arm of rock!”
“That’s my transmutation kung-fu for you!” Cindy said. She
then went on the attack against another Collector, knocking him
flying with a well-aimed punch.
As little as a year ago, Michael and Cindy would have
defeated these Collectors easily. But Michael had since stopped
drinking. That prevented him from using his most powerful skill,
Drunken Fists. Cindy was recovering after her pregnancy, so she
lacked stamina. And furthermore, they were heavily outnumbered.
Cindy collapsed after five minutes and was immediately
strapped down in a stretcher. Without anyone to guard his back,
Michael succumbed after ten minutes. He was pinned down by six
Collectors and strapped firmly into another stretcher.
“Where are you taking us?” Cindy cried out when she noticed
Michael was about to be carried into a different ambulance.
“You are going to different hospitals,” the head Collector
said.
“Why...” Cindy began.
“We have scheduled you for different operations.” The
Collector intoned solemnly.
“I’m not giving you an arm and a leg!” Michael cursed,
struggling helplessly.
“Who wants an arm and a leg from you?” A Collector
responded. “Thanks to all those chain smokers and binge drinkers
who don’t quit, our queue for organ recipients is pretty long.
No, we’ll just take a kidney and a lung.”
“And as for you, lovely lady,” a Collector said to Cindy as
he stroked her cheek. “You have a very nice face...”
“Quit treating me like a piece of meat!” Cindy cursed.
“You seem to have forgotten, young lady,” the Collector
said blandly. “When you checked into the hospital without

insurance, you signed a contract. In exchange for cash payment,
we have gained options to one pound of flesh from your body, to
be taken from whichever place we deem suitable...”
“I’ve already surrendered the infant placenta cord. Use
that for your stem-cells-whatever experiments!” Cindy cried out.
“No, no,” the Collector said with the gentle smile of a mad
surgeon about to perform an operation without anesthesia. “Do
you remember the pregnancy complications?”
“Uh...” Cindy had a bad feeling.
“A multiple birth event is rather difficult on the
mother... and requires more services from the doctors... money
that an uninsured mother could not afford to pay in cash...” the
Collector smiled his insane smile again.
“Uh... I don’t remember making any agreements...” Cindy
searched her memory, but she had been woozy from various drugs
given to her during her difficult labor.
The Collector gave Cindy a radiant smile. “You signed
something.”
“I... did write on something,” Cindy admitted reluctantly
after a long pause. She vaguely recalled being asked to
autograph what appeared to be a telephone directory.
The Collector looked positively delighted. “That’s right!
So you remember!”
“Huh?”
“It was an agreement for another pound of flesh if you
should default. And that’s what we’re here to get from you.”
Cindy and Michael stared at the Collectors for five full
seconds, mouths open in shock.
“And your filthy doctors are going to cut her open?”
Michael demanded. “That’ll spill blood and result in her losing
more than a pound...”
“How much she loses doesn’t matter. It’s how much we take
that counts, according to the contract,” a Collector produced a
thick stack of papers bound together. Flipping open the stack,
the Collector pointed to something amidst the sea of fine print
within. “Check out page 259.”
“Then...” Cindy was searching for a response. “Wait a
moment; Michael’s right! I’ll bleed. And blood isn’t flesh. If
you take my flesh with blood inside...”
“Good try,” the head Collector smiled. “But we’re not some
cheapskate moneylenders who use shysters incompetent in the
kung-fu of law. We are represented by the world-famous law firm
of Prait, Gridde and Villarst. They made sure to define, for the
purposes of this contract, ‘Flesh’ as all parts of your body
except artificial implants (if any), or the brain, or bone, or
cartilage. They specified that ‘Flesh’ includes blood, hair,
skin, muscle, fat and nerves...”

“This is ridiculous!” Michael roared. “You people are
fooling around with words!”
“No, no, that’s what’s written on page 677,” the Collector
responded coolly. “You received an exact same copy.”
“Uh...” Cindy and Michael were both at a loss. They only
remembered putting a stack of telephone directories in the
recycle bin outside their now-foreclosed home.
“Furthermore,” a Collector said while rubbing his hands in
delight. “Our lawyers have kindly added a clause that permits an
error margin of fifty percent. So we can take up to a pound and
a half ‘by accident’ if need be!”
“This is outrageous!” Cindy and Michael cried out together.
“Look on the bright side. We’re not bone collectors,” the
first Collector said in a helpful tone.
“You... you expect her to be glad that you’re not taking
any bone marrow?” Michael asked at last.
“Oh, no bones. We’re not even thinking of taking any
internal organs.”
Cindy exhaled in relief. “DNA samples for conducting
experiments, forced blood donation, hair for making artificial
wigs – I can put up with all that.”
A Collector leered. “You’re good looking. Do you think we
want just your hair?”
Cindy frowned. The Collector’s face gave her bad vibes.

“I remember this businessman who set up an auction house
selling eggs from models,” Michael said with disgust. “So you
want the eggs from Cindy’s ovaries?”
The very notion of this drastic privacy invasion filled the
couple with horror. They would have joined hands for mutual
reassurance, but were strapped down and unable to move.
The Collectors laughed.
“No, no... it’s not so bad…” A Collector piped up. “It
doesn’t involve invasive surgery.”
Cindy relaxed slightly.
The leering Collector spoke again: “You have a pretty face.
Somebody with a less-pretty face wants a facial graft...”
“No! Not my face!”
“What’s wrong, Cindy ‘The Rock’?” A Collector sneered.
“Someone who practices thick-skinned kung-fu shouldn’t worry
about losing her face!”
“And better still,” another Collector leered as he nursed
the injuries that Michael had given him, “Your husband can’t
protect you. So he loses face. Two faces lost for the price of
one, hahaha!”
Cindy and Michael loudly cursed the Collectors for their
unethical ways, their greed and their bad jokes. But they were
unable to resist the Collectors as they were pulled apart and
placed in separate ambulances.

“Michael!” Cindy cried out. “No matter what, I love you!”
“Cindy, we’ll…” Michael’s response was silenced by the
slamming of an ambulance door.
“What about these brats?” A Collector asked, pointing to
the babies in the Karl.
Another Collector examined a list. “Let me check... oh yes,
Dr. Walan’s network has received an adoption order for a boy.
The order states: not too dark, preferably racially
indeterminate or racially mixed. Must be cute and healthy.”
“That’s these kids.”
“All right. So Walan wants one boy?”
“Only one.”
“So take one.”
The Collector reached into the back of the Karl and took
one of the babies out of the car seat. The other Collectors were
busy removing Cindy and Michael’s luggage. These might have some
value at a second-hand shop.
As the Collectors were preparing to leave, a Collector
looked at the huge contract he had been carrying.
“I’m tired of carting this around,” the Collector said.
“We have no more use for it anyway,” said another
Collector. “Toss it.”
“Fine,” the first Collector said. He tossed the contract
into the Karl and left.

It was an hour later. A man and a woman came by in an
ancient Karl that grunted and groaned and creaked as it
staggered along the highway.
The woman’s shifty eyes quickly lit on the abandoned Karl.
“Hey, there’s an abandoned Karl over there!”
“You want to take it?” The man asked as he slowed his Karl
down. The Karl responded by squealing and squeaking and
squalling.
“Hell, no!” The woman turned around and glared at the man.
“The last time you tried picking up a stolen Karl, you got
chased for miles.”
“Ah, but I got away, didn’t I?” The man grinned, showing
teeth that resembled a collection of bombed out buildings.
“You get away with everything,” the woman replied darkly.
It was her reason for marrying the man in the first place, and
the same reason she had spent half her life regretting.
“Then why mention…”
“We shouldn’t try to make off with the Karl itself. It’s
too obvious. But there could be things inside that we could
take,” the woman explained.
“Probably nothing but a bunch of parking tickets and old
beer cans,” the man responded. But he stepped on the brake. The
Karl produced a series of angry sounding farts before it came to
a shuddering halt.
The couple climbed out and examined the rental Karl.
“Nothing here of value,” the man observed.
“You forgot them,” the woman pointed to the remaining
babies.
“What are you thinking?” The man asked in a cautious tone.
“Looks pretty healthy,” the woman replied.
“I’m sick of our brats at home,” the man grouched. “They’re
more troublesome than profitable.”
“They just raised the fees paid to foster parents,” the
woman looked at the man. “By twenty percent, no less.”
“Six hundred now?” The man asked after tediously counting
for a while.
The woman was accustomed to her husband’s speed of
thinking. “For his age, six hundred. When he reaches three,
seven hundred twenty.”
“That’s good,” the man grinned after he figured out that
seven hundred twenty was more than six hundred. “Good
investment.”
“Then let’s do it,” the woman responded as she took the
infant out.
“Hey, there’s another!” The man exclaimed. “More money for
us?”
“Forget him. One baby is enough annoyance,” the woman
responded tersely.
“Oh yes, I forgot. You are the one doing most of the work…”
“I am the one doing ALL of the work,” the woman retorted.
“You forget that I am the one taking most of the risks…”
the man began, but the woman gave him a contemptuous look that
shut him up. The man began walking back to his Karl.
“Consider yourself lucky that the welfare agencies value
you at six hundred a month for us,” the woman crackled as she
touched the baby’s nose. “Or we would have left you here to
starve too.”
Laughing in a way that only they could have found amusing,
the couple climbed back into their Karl. After a series of
alternating roars and whimpers, the Karl started up and went
careening down the highway.

CHAPTER 2--THE REGULATOR
A compact, unassuming man entered a quiet bar in Pimento
City. It was late in the day, but his clothes looked as though
they were freshly ironed. Not one hair was out of place on the
man’s head, although there were no signs of hair gel or oil.
There were no memorable features on this man. No scars, no
pimples, no birthmarks, no creases, no furrows, no wrinkles, no
moles – nothing at all. He was formally, but not fashionably
dressed. He carried no scent with him. He reminded an onlooker
of perfection without looking like an advertising billboard.
“Good afternoon, Mister Barkeep,” the compact man said.
“I’ll have a plate of peanuts, please.”
“Peanuts?” The bartender stared at the man. “Just peanuts?”
The compact man nodded. “Low sodium and low fat, if
possible. I prefer plain, but I’ll understand if you only serve
roasted here.”
“No... nothing to drink with that?” The bartender’s voice
carried a low rumble, like that of distant thunder.
“Oh, I’ll also have a lemonade, please.”
“A-le-mo-na-de,” the bartender repeated, his eyebrows
rising like dark puffs of smoke.
The compact man had seated himself at a stool. He looked
into the bartender’s eyes and smiled. “That’s right. A lemonade,
please.”
The bartender would normally ask more questions, but
something in the way the compact man looked made him hold back.
A lemonade it would be. Not spiked. Not watered down. Without an
unreasonably large amount of ice that reduced the real lemonade
in the glass. Just a lemonade as lemonades should be made.
The bartender tried to make his voice sound as normal as
possible. As though men normally ordered lemonade and peanuts in
bars.
“Lemonade and peanuts, coming right up.”
“Thank you,” the compact man replied.
The compact man had not introduced himself. The bartender
was not even thinking that this small man could be anyone famous
or important or powerful. But something told the bartender that
when this nondescript man asked for peanuts and a lemonade,
these items had to be served without fail.
#
The compact man produced a slim, narrow and longish package
from his pocket. It almost appeared to be a parody of a box of
cigarettes, or even a cigar case. The man opened the case, but
there seemed to be nothing within that could be smoked. What was
inside was shiny and long and metallic.
The bartender was at the end of the bar, but the flash of
silver caught his eye. In his job he was accustomed to reacting
to flashes like that. The bartender moved quickly behind some
furniture, reaching for a heavy club. Then he realized that the
flash came from a pair of silver chopsticks with a monogram
embossed on them.
The bartender put down his weapon, but his heart rate
speeded up considerably. Even though he could not see the
monogram from where he was standing, the bartender now knew who
this compact man was.
An unassuming man who never raised his voice, never used
foul language, was always neatly dressed, who never drank let
alone throw up after drinking. A man who said his pleases and
thank yous. Every bartender, every casino manager, every bail
bondsman, every collection agent, every slum landlord, every
bounty hunter, every mortgage specialist and every fund manager
shook with fear when he saw this man.
The man that Michael ‘Booze’ Lee was trying to meet.

This compact man was Frederick Estes Delano, but no one
ever called him Fred. His enemies were many, and they called him
all kinds of vulgar names. His disciples referred to him in
respectful terms. Everybody else addressed him by his title: The
Regulator.
The Regulator continued eating his peanuts, picking them
delicately from the plate with his chopsticks. He sipped at his
lemonade by moving the glass with just the tips of his fingers.
More men had begun entering the bar. These were tough,
powerful men, some so tall that they had to stoop to enter and
others so broad-shouldered that they had to turn to get in. They
did not hesitate or break their stride when they saw a small man
seated in the middle of the bar counter with empty chairs beside
him. When they came near and noticed the silver chopsticks with
the monogram, however, they changed their minds about sitting at
the bar.
Not one of the men made a u-turn and a hasty exit, though.
Every single man steeled himself, and walked cautiously at a
normal pace towards a seat far from The Regulator. Showing fear
and making a hasty departure would have been out of place. The
Regulator was known to notice things that were out of place.
The Regulator once said: “Anything that is out of place may
provoke a reaction from me.”

It was not wise to provoke any reaction from The Regulator.
The Regulator had spent years training his kung-fu. He
remembered his master’s advice well.
“Delano, I have taught you how to fight. And to attack
quickly if need be. But always remember to be patient. The
essence of our kung-fu lies in our ability to regulate
ourselves. No matter how dangerous the situation is, we remain
calm. And wait. When an opponent makes a mistake, only then do
we make our move…”
Be patient.
Wait for the right moment.
Wait for your enemy to slip up.
I have a long way to go before I can fill Master’s shoes,
The Regulator thought as he caught himself looking at his watch.
I am still too impetuous.
Five-thirty in the afternoon.
They are taking too long, the Regulator thought. Have
they... have they been intercepted along the way?
The Regulator’s silver chopsticks clinked against each
other. He looked down at his plate and found that the peanuts
were finished. He glanced forward and saw that his lemonade was
finished. And he made up his mind.

Raising a modestly-sized, smooth-skinned hand, the
Regulator called for the bill. The bartender did not raise an
eyebrow when The Regulator paid exactly what was on the bill.
The bartender understood this quite well:
Asking for any undocumented payment from The Regulator was
asking for trouble.
After he left the bar, the Regulator got onto his Otto and
traveled down the highway that he expected Michael to come by.
When the Regulator saw an abandoned Karl by the roadside, a
bad feeling chilled his bones. But being the Regulator, he did
not show his feelings. He parked his Otto and got off, warily
scanning the surrounding area in case of ambushes.
Having detected no one in hiding, the Regulator approached
the Karl cautiously.
At first he was not sure about this Karl. It looked like a
rental. But he saw the empty baby seats inside the Karl – all
empty except for one baby who looked a lot like a boy from the
Regulator’s childhood memories. And he knew this had to be
Michael Lee’s Karl.
The Regulator’s face remained impassive, but his lower lip
twitched slightly.
My childhood friend, Michael. And wife Cindy. They would
never have abandoned a baby just like this! They must have been
forcibly dragged off by bad people... leaving one… this must
have broken their hearts...
“No!”
The Regulator fell to his knees. He burst into tears. And
he howled to heaven and earth, vowing to find and rescue his old
friend. He beat his chest and cursed whoever was cruel enough to
separate a newborn from its parents.
The Regulator permitted these emotions to run wild for a
grand total of ten seconds. True to his well-regulated nature,
he stopped being emotional and started looking for clues.
Now, how did Michael and Cindy vanish? Who took them, and
how?
The Regulator carefully examined the surrounding area,
looking for signs of fighting.
Nothing. Michael and Cindy must have been subdued fairly
easily. These cannot be common criminals. Hmm...
The Regulator went through a mental list of the people who
might be responsible.
Not much of a fight. Legal attacks often leave no physical
marks. Did Michael do anything to incur the wrath of a lawyer?
What did he say over the phone again?
And then the Regulator realized.
The Collectors!
Michael Lee had talked about fearing pursuit for his debts.
There was some mention of these debts being unfairly calculated.
Misleading documentation, mysteriously changing interest rates,
bizarrely confusing bills, unexpected supplementary fees and
more. The Regulator had given his tentative opinion, but had yet
to see the paperwork for himself.
His attention redirected towards the Karl, the Regulator
looked and saw the thick stack of papers a Collector had tossed
inside earlier. He climbed onto the front passenger seat and
picked up the enormous document.
While learning kung-fu, The Regulator’s master had ordered
him to read dense manuals and sacred tomes filled with abstract
text and secret jargon. So the Regulator had developed the
ability to speed-read. He employed this kung-fu and flipped
through the document at a tremendous pace, stopping only at
several pages to re-read the contents to make sure he had made
no mistake.
Although his face betrayed an increasingly stern
displeasure, the Regulator did not stop until he had finished
flipping through to the last page and read every single Final
Clause and Supplementary Final Clause and Appended Supplementary
Final Clause and Exception and Exception to Exceptions and
Exception to Exceptions to Exceptions.

After spending only fifteen minutes going through this
massive tome, The Regulator slammed the document down on the
driver’s seat.
“What in the...!” The Regulator declared; incensed at what
he had read.
The baby started crying. The Regulator quickly became
gentle and comforting. But his anger remained.
“Michael was right,” the Regulator said to himself as he
rocked the baby back to sleep. “These Creditors and their
Collectors are no good. Now where can I find…”
Quite conveniently, the Collectors had kindly listed the
address of their head office in one appendix to the contract.
“That’s their lair? I’ll deal with them!” The Regulator
vowed. After carefully strapping the baby seat into his Otto,
the Regulator went looking for the Collectors.
The Collectors’ head office was a massive building taken
straight from some Gothic fantasy. It was ornate beyond ornate
and more baroque than baroque. The walls were covered with
poison ivy and thorny plants. Gargoyles and similarly
nightmarish creatures guarded the exterior at regular intervals.
Whatever weathered stone exterior that showed through the
ivy was falling apart. Some of the windows were boarded up with
thin, partially rotting plywood. It looked vaguely like a

crumbling film set for a haunted house or an abandoned mansion
taken over by squatters.
Punctilious as always, The Regulator read the sign that was
displayed on a piece of stonework outside the Collectors’ lair:
“National Headquarters for Debt Recovery Assured
Collectors, Underwriters, Liquidators and Agents,”
The Regulator read. “Formerly the Headquarters for the
National Association of Opera House Assistants, it was
colloquially called the House of Ushers. Due to falling
attendance, the building fell into disrepair until its purchase
by Debt Recovery Assured, which refurbished and restored this
architectural landmark to its former glory…”
The Regulator stopped reading at this point. “Refurbished
and restored, indeed!” He said coldly and marched past the rusty
gates into the compound.
“Hoi! You are not allowed to enter!” A voice called out.
“Says who?” The Regulator turned around to find a portly
armed guard approaching him from the left. This man looked as
though he had been stuffed with offal drowned in tequila. There
was another armed guard approaching from the Regulator’s right,
a thin man with greasy hair, greasy skin and a couple of mean
streaks in his eyes.
“No one enters our grounds without permission!” The thin
guard snarled. “What do you want?”

“To speak to your Collectors,” the Regulator answered.
“Many people like to talk to our Collectors,” sneered the
thin guard.
“They are always asking for the same things. More time,
mercy, special considerations…” the portly guard guffawed. “As
if these losers can get any from our mighty Collectors!”
The Regulator did not move, but his eyes swept swiftly from
one man to the other.
“I must speak to your Collectors. I suspect they have taken
away a friend of mine,” the Regulator stated.
The portly guard sized up the Regulator. Here was a small
man in a suit and tie and seemingly without any weapons. “Oho!”
The portly guard roared. “Then you have to speak to me first!”
“I have no time for that!” The Regulator responded.
“Then fight with me!” The thin guard grinned. He was nearly
a head taller than the Regulator, and thought it would be an
easy fight.
“Stand aside!” The Regulator waved his arm. “Or face the
consequences!”
“You’re not getting in!” The portly guard bellowed.
“Get him!” The thin guard cried out.
The two armed guards came at the Regulator, waving heavy
truncheons and batons. The Regulator let the guards make their
attacks, thereby opening themselves up to his countering moves.

With a swift wave of one arm, the Regulator grabbed the
portly guard and slammed him face first against a tree trunk.
The guard crumpled onto the ground, out colder than leftover
turkey after the holiday season. The tall, thin guard charged
forward, but the Regulator moved to one side, sweeping one foot
along the ground. The tall, thin guard tripped violently and was
flipped over like a piece of bacon on a frying pan.
The Regulator now marched unopposed into the building.
There was a secretary sitting at the front desk. She was
probably forty years old but looked fifty, and she was
practicing her specialized kung-fu of nail-painting and
manicure. Her eyes looked as vacant as a cardboard house on an
ice floe in the middle of the Arctic.
“Where are Michael Lee and Cindy Roth?” The Regulator
demanded.
“Uh... I don’t know...”
Anticipating this answer the minute he saw the secretary’s
eyes, The Regulator had marched off already. He strode straight
into the nearest office, where he grabbed a clerk and lifted him
into the air.
“Where are your Collectors?”
“Hall... end... I show...” the clerk stammered.

The Regulator marched out into the hallway with the clerk
still on his arm. The clerk pointed to a huge set of doors at
the extreme end of the hallway with a trembling finger.
“Thank you,” the Regulator said and let go of the clerk.
“No…!” The clerk gasped as he slammed face first onto the
carpet. A little cloud of dust rose all around the hapless man.
The Regulator marched swiftly down the hallway towards the
set of twin doors. He tried the handles, and when he found them
locked, he simply let out a roar and slammed his palms against
the doors.
Hot Pursuit Entry!
There was no way an ordinary barrier could stand against
the Regulator’s Hot Pursuit Entry kung-fu. The great-grandmaster
who had founded the Regulator’s school developed this kung-fu so
that heroes could smash their way past barriers when pursuing
criminals. Although these doors were extraordinarily heavy and
locked fast by a thick metal bolt, they simply fell off their
hinges when the Regulator struck them.
A group of Collectors were watching TV inside the room. The
program involved various forms of wrestling and punching and
leaping on fallen opponents, and the Collectors evidently
enjoyed it. They were cheering so loudly that they did not even
hear the doors crash onto the stained linoleum floors.

The Regulator wasted no time marching between the
Collectors and their precious television.
“What have you people done with Michael Lee and Cindy Roth?”
“Who do you think…” A Collector began. But he stopped when
he recognized The Regulator. “The Regu…” The Collector could not
bring himself to finish the word.
“Wah...” Several shifty pairs of eyes fastened on the
Regulator momentarily, then slid away as quickly as rats
scampering from cats.
A silence followed.
“Well? I’m waiting for an answer,” the Regulator stood with
hands clasped behind his back.
“We don’t...”
Crash!
The Regulator had made only the slightest of gestures with
his hands, but the television shattered.
“I know you took them,” the Regulator spoke in the silence
that followed.
“How can you be so sure...”
“I am the Regulator,” came the answer. “Of course I know.”
An uncomfortable silence followed. All the Collectors were
clearly wishing to scuttle away and find places to hide, but no
one dared to move in the presence of an opponent as formidable
as the Regulator.
“Where are they?” The Regulator demanded.
“We don’t know...”
“You took them.”
“Well... yes...” a man admitted. “They owed money.”
“I’ll decide if they really owed you money,” the Regulator
said, unclasping his hands from behind.
“No,” the man answered hastily. “We originally wanted to
take them in. But they were taken away from us in turn.”
“Do you think I believe you?” The Regulator demanded. “You
are the Collectors. You people are famous for your Grab and Hold
kung-fu. You don’t let go of anything!”
“No, it’s true,” a second man spoke up. “You’ve got to
believe us!”
“I’m a monkey’s uncle, aunt and son all at the same time if
I believe you,” snarled the Regulator. “You Collectors are so
greedy, you will dig up dead bodies and strip them of body parts
to sell!”
“No! You don’t understand, Mister Regulator!” A third
Collector came forward towards the Regulator, an imploring
looking on his face. The Regulator waved his hand, striking the
man with his fingertips. The Collector was sent flying backwards
where he slammed heavily into a wall.
“Why must I believe you?” The Regulator advanced on the
second man. This Collector looked afraid, but stood his ground.
“They have been kidnapped,” explained the second man. “By
some of the Eleven Evil Entities.”
“What? Is this true?” The Regulator demanded.
“Yes... yes... they took the couple South of the Border...”
“South of the Border...” The Regulator’s face darkened. It
was evident that he was close to believing this man, but nobody
dared suggest that the Regulator was a monkey’s uncle, aunt and
son all at the same time.
“Yes, yes, South of the Border,” the man said. He could not
resist a slight delight entering his voice.
“You smile at this? You like this?” The Regulator demanded.
“Uh...” taken by surprise, the man stumbled on his words.
“Let me guess. You think I don’t dare to cross the Border?”
“No, no...”
“You want me to take you across the Border with me? To
visit the Eleven Evil Entities?”
“No!” The man gasped. He fell on his knees. “Please don’t
take me across the Border!”
“You will pursue people to the ends of the earth. What’s so
scary about crossing the Border?”
“The ends of the Real World only, Mister Regulator, sir!”
The man begged. “We dare not cross the Border!”
“Call yourself a Collector,” the Regulator sneered. “You
only dare bully the weak!”

The man lowered his head. He was a member of the Collectors
and was accustomed to using all kinds of ways to collect debts.
But the Eleven... no way he was going to have contact with them.
They were called the Eleven Evil Entities, not the Eleven Evil
People, for a good reason. They took pleasure in doing things
that no normal human beings did. It was said that they were
demons or aliens, not regular Human Beings.
The Regulator folded his arms. “Before you send me on a
wild goose chase, I want to know why the Eleven Evil Entities
took Michael Lee.”
“Uh...”
“Go on. I’m listening!” The Regulator roared.
“We... sir... Mister Regulator... I... we... have no
explanation...” The man stammered at last.
The Collector would normally come back with a slick
response that sounded perfectly logical. This time, he was so
frightened of the Regulator that he couldn’t think. So he
answered that he had no explanation. Ironically, the Regulator
was willing to trust this response precisely because it was not
a slick answer.
“The Eleven...”
The Regulator was used to dealing with fiendish plots and
complicated schemes. So he quickly thought up a dozen reasons
why the Evil Entities would want Michael Lee and his wife. And
he convinced himself of these reasons, without any further input
from the Collector.
“I’ll have to take back my friend from these Eleven oxygen-
wasting pieces of garbage,” the Regulator decided aloud. “I’ll
deal with you people when I come back.”
The Regulator turned around and strode off. Normally
careful, he was in too much of a hurry to save his childhood
friend. He did not notice the look on the Collector’s face.
The Regulator was disciplined enough to keep going even if
he was hungry, but the baby was not. Less than an hour out of
town, the baby began crying. At first the Regulator wanted to
hold off until he could find a proper hospital to drop off the
baby. But he did not pass any hospital, and the baby’s cries
grew louder.
Since his kung-fu master had always told the Regulator to
be vigilant, the Regulator had never learned the kung-fu of
turning his ears deaf. Unable to shut off the crying sounds, he
was eventually forced to stop at a roadside diner to buy some
milk for the baby.
While he was feeding the baby from a bottle, the Regulator
started feeling hungry.
“Lady, can I have the menu, please?” The Regulator asked in
his usual courteous tone.

Surprised at being called a lady, the waitress raised an
eyebrow. But since the Regulator did not seem to be sarcastic,
she smiled and took out the cleanest, least creased menu and
handed it to him with both hands.
The Regulator looked at the menu with increasing dismay:
Veggies: Justice Leek.
Bread: Judge Bread, Submariner Sandwich.
Burgers: The Whizzer.
Noodles: Fantastic Pho, Soup Ramen, Wonder Ramen.
Meats: The Flesh with Daredevilled Eggs, Ziggy Pork Chops, Super Rabbit
Stew with Power Basil, Incredible Hunk of Pepper Steak.
Desert: Gingerbread Man, Battered Man, Peacher Pie.
Garnishers...
“Mister, do you want anything to eat?” The waitress asked
eagerly.
“This menu reads like something produced by a semi-literate
teenager,” the Regulator pronounced sternly.
“I wrote it,” the cook turned around. He looked younger
than the average Karl and sported a face that reminded the
Regulator of a volcanic landscape.
“You...” the Regulator looked sternly at the cook. “You
should be studying in Li Hai’s School.”
“Quit Hai’s School in my first year,” came the reply.
“You quit? No wonder you don’t even have the basics.”

“Like?” The cook sounded as though he had heard this a
thousand times before.
“You can barely read and write,” the Regulator tapped the
menu.
“Is that important?”
The Regulator gestured with his fingers in the cook’s
direction. “Without the basic kung-fu of reading and writing and
math, you can’t understand the more advanced kung-fu tomes and
manuals. So you can never go to a more advanced Kung-fu academy
and learn higher level kung-fus. You’ll always be at the bottom
of society.”
“Higher level kung-fus?” The cook sneered. “With the
outrageous fees they demand, do you think I can afford to attend
an advanced academy?”
The Regulator was not accustomed to responses like this,
and racked his mind for an answer. At last he said: “At least Li
Hai’s School is free.”
“After which?” The cook sneered again, jerking his chin
defiantly at the Regulator. “I graduate from Hai’s School, get a
minimum-wage job, then save for a thousand years to pay for my
first year in an advanced academy?”
“You could try for loans,” the Regulator suggested. Then he
cursed himself inwardly. After what he had seen happen to
Michael Lee...
“Ya, ya!” The cook sneered, twisting his volcanic landscape
of a face like an earthquake. “Are you suggesting that I borrow
from the Creditors? And hope to pay back before they send their
Collectors after me?”
At a loss on how to reply, the Regulator simply repeated
himself. “You could still have completed basic schooling at Li
Hai’s School first.”
The waitress looked at the cook. “I told you, you should at
least stay long enough to get a diploma from Hai’s School. The
basic kung-fus they impart to you are valuable.”
“Worthless in the Real World,” the cook replied.
“Worthless?” The Regulator raised a hand.
“They teach nothing but book stuff,” the cook replied. “And
their book stuff – all that fee-sicks, care-mystery and buy-all-
logic and meth-the-matics rubbish – these don’t help me in the
Real World.”
“The Real World is dominated by people who have mastered
high levels of kung-fu. Doctors, lawyers, bankers, the like,”
the Regulator said sternly. “They have powerful kung-fus because
they went to advanced kung-fu academies. They were able to go to
these advanced academies, because they mastered the kung-fu
basics in Li Hai’s School.”
“My Real World is not the same as your Real World,” the
cook shrugged.
The waitress jerked her head towards the cook while
addressing the Regulator. “To him, the Real World is filled with
tough teenage boys. Hai’s School doesn’t teach the right kung-fu
to deal with these boys.”
“Exactly,” the cook said. While talking, he waved his
spatula in the Regulator’s direction dramatically. This caused
specks of grease and food bits to fly out. The Regulator swiftly
picked up a napkin and blocked the specks of grease and food
before they could hit his perfectly pressed suit.
“Wow. I’m impressed,” the cook’s eyes opened wide. The
Regulator had not even wrinkled the suit while making his move.
“That wasn’t intended,” the waitress said hastily. “Boy,
put down the spatula when you talk to customers.”
“No problem,” the Regulator replied. “See here, boy,” he
addressed the cook. “When you learn such high levels of kung-fu,
you can do almost anything. You can lead a company. You can head
an organization. You can manage a corporation. Everyone will bow
to you and pay you respect...”
The cook did not respond, so the Regulator decided to try a
different approach.
“Well, I hate to admit this,” the Regulator sighed as he
lifted his napkin. “But with the right kung-fu, dirt won’t even
stick to you.” And the Regulator twitched his wrist. It was the
slightest, almost imperceptible movement – but the specks of

grease and food were tossed off the napkin instantly. The
Regulator now showed both the cook and the waitress his
perfectly clean napkin. Some of the food bits which landed on
the napkin had been very greasy, but no stains were visible on
the napkin anymore.
“Oh my goodness! That is just the perfect kung-fu for me!”
The waitress was wide-eyed with excitement. “How did you make it
so clean?”
“It’s the kung-fu of Accountancy,” the Regulator said as he
folded up the napkin. “That move is called Cleaning The Books.
Allows you to move dirty items off any surface. You won’t soil
yourself or leave any traces behind.”
Now he looked directly at the cook: “How do you like that?”
“I like that,” the cook licked his lips.
“So why do you not want to hang on in Hai’s School?” The
Regulator turned a hand over, palm upwards, and stretched it out
rhetorically at the cook. “Learn the theory, then go on and find
some way to get into an advanced kung-fu academy. There are such
things as loans and scholarships and financial aid programs.”
And now the Regulator closed his hand and raised a finger like a
teacher. “Once in an advanced academy, you could learn more
powerful kung-fu. It’s just a matter of enduring the tough
times.”
“I wasn’t sure I could live that long,” the boy shrugged.

“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you heard of the phrase, ‘Survive Hai’s School’?”
The waitress asked.
“Of course. That isn’t that hard, is it?”
“What do you mean?” The cook’s expression showed that he
saw the Regulator as a typical adult. One who did not understand
school life in the Real World. “Every day is a battle for
survival! We had impromptu kung-fu tournaments in school every
day!”
The cook’s eyes rolled upwards as he reminisced: “Punch
here, kick there, shove here, poke there; slam this, smash that,
hit this, box that...” The cook’s hands started moving about
menacingly.
“Sounds rough,” the Regulator broke in to stop the cook
from waving his spatula around. “When I went through Li Hai’s
School, things were a lot better. Students just sat at their
desks and learned the theory. There wasn’t a whole lot of
fighting.”
“You’re kidding!” The cook stared at the Regulator. “No
fighting in Hai’s School?”
“Except between classes and after school,” the Regulator
admitted after a short pause. “But well, we did have plenty of
energy. And you need to practice what you just learned. But,
ahem, well, it was just a bit of rough play. Nothing life-
threatening.”
“Times have changed, old man,” the cook replied as he put
down the spatula. “When I got in Hai’s School, they had just
gotten metal detectors to stop people bringing in weapons. Then
people started carrying bokken – that’s wooden swords, wooden
clubs, shuriken made of tough plastic, ceramic ninja claws,
nunchakus... and then the authorities hired turkey bacon to
conduct strip searches...”
“Their own private security guards,” the waitress added, in
case the Regulator did not understand the slang the cook was
using.
“... and there were still duels and gang fights all the
time. Practically everyone was carrying some lethal weapon,
hidden inside an innocent-looking daily object,” the cook
concluded.
“You don’t know how Hai’s School is like nowadays,” the
waitress sighed. “Youngsters risk their lives by going.”
“It’s tough in The Real World,” the Regulator commented
mildly.
There was a pause during which nobody talked. The cook
turned back to his stove.
“Well, what do you want to eat?” The waitress asked.

“Give me some salad, please,” the Regulator said. “Without
dressing or cheeses. Olive oil is acceptable. Thank you.”
Once both the Regulator and the infant had finished their
meals, the Regulator paid and left.
“Hang on, mister,” the waitress called out. “You’re heading
in the wrong direction. That way is South.”
“I am heading for the Border,” the Regulator replied.
The waitress watched the Regulator and his Otto disappear
over the horizon. Her pleasant and caring face was clouded over.
“I hope nothing happens to him.”
The cook picked up the napkin that the Regulator had used
to block his grease bits. He turned over the napkin several
times to make sure there was no trick or illusion involved.
“This is quite amazing,” the cook commented. “Hack-Count-
Ten-See, he said?”
The waitress did not answer. She wiped her hands
uncomfortably over her apron. Having worked at this roadside
diner for years, she knew that not everyone who crossed the
Border came back. And some took many years to return.

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php 120,000 words

KUNG-FU FOR DHARMI

‘Kung-fu’ means ‘Skill’ or ‘Ability’.

Somewhere in The Real World...

A vehicle sped between more leisurely moving ones, cutting

across multiple lanes on the moderately crowded highway without

signaling. The driver did not seem concerned with safety. As

long as there was a gap, he grabbed it, squeezing in abruptly

and forcing other drivers to jam their brakes.

The woman sitting in the front passenger seat pursed her

lips and gripped her knees tightly.

“Michael, do you know the difference between an Otto and a

Karl?” Cindy asked.

“I know that the internal consumption engine which powers

things are semi-living mechanical beasts...”

“Ugh! I’m not talking about engineering!” Cindy lifted both

hands upwards. “Men and their communication!”

“What’s this about men?” Michael asked.

replied, tapping a finger against an open palm like a

schoolteacher. “Look: an Otto is like a modern horse; it can

spins in your Otto.”

“Of course,” Michael grinned mischievously.

“Hey, quit savoring your memories of Boco Congo!” Cindy

demanded. “You’re a bad boy, the worst...”

“How did you know I was thinking about that night...”

“I’m a woman! I can tell!” Cindy replied. Then she leaned

towards Michael and whispered. “You were licking your lips.”

Cindy sat back and continued talking in a teacher-like

tone. “A Karl has a roof and is essentially a carriage without

also take many more passengers than an Otto.”

“What is the point of telling me all that?” Michael grunted

Cindy’s eyes opened wider and she put on a stern face.

“Because, my dear husband,” Cindy reached over and pulled

Michael’s ear. “Because we are no longer riding an Otto! We are

sitting in a rented Karl!”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

She opened and shut her mouth in shock as Michael overtook

another Karl with hardly any room to spare.

After waiting several seconds for the blood to return to

her face, Cindy turned to Michael.

squeezing between other vehicles on the road, making sharp

turns, overtaking and doing all those dangerous stunts!” Cindy

exclaimed. “And have you forgotten our babies sleeping behind?

Have you forgotten that you have become a father?”

Michael sighed. “No. I haven’t forgotten. But we really

need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

There was a pause.

“Then what is it?”

“Creditors. Yours and mine.”

Cindy’s face paled.

“They sent a Collector to get the money I owe. I defeated

never give up. They’ll be back.”

“Why didn’t you sell our house? Or get a second mortgage?”

The house has been foreclosed on.”

“How come I don’t know about this?” Cindy’s voice took on

an edge. “You only told me to pack for a long trip!”

“I didn’t say anything to you because you were in the

ward,” Michael replied.

“Oh dear... the Collectors...” Cindy squeezed her face

between both hands. “That is bad. I didn’t expect our

student loans and credit cards. After I lost my job, we have

been falling behind on our interest payments.”

“So you’re driving like this because we are being chased,”