The Return of the Banshee

Woi! Wooi!
Apa Woi!

Feeling just slightly stronger than Hercules, chest muscle expanded and fist clenched in a perfect unknown old hybrid ninja + kung fu stance, I ... I thought I saw the banshee again.

Well.. It was the banshee alright with slight physical difference or a more literal dpeiction of brute men with iron rods, you got it right, IRON RODS, the type that will make you cry like the sweetest banshee if they touched any part of your body.

Muscle reducing its size and stature at a ridiculous rate. What would Rambo had done. I looked aroung in a flash, and the thought formulated in my mind. Rambo, well more like the Mambo Kings, exit strategy. There were two exits, I will kick the Bear nearest to me slightly to the left of the cowering gentle giant, throw my helmets to the 2 brutes on my right and run over them with the gentle giant in tow. What would then happen to my other mates, a thin but clear thought formed in my mind, they've got their helmets and I need to move now.

Faster than the fastest of Jacky Chan's moves, two helmets, one red and one black, both pretty shiny, were flying in the general direction of our over advantaged, iron rod holding, trouble maker by birth, pagoda single wearing, would be assailants or possibly angel of death. Brilliant, I guess my telephatic powers must have described the same strategy to my mates.

This would be more than tricky as men and iron rods started coming towards my well scupted head.

The situation

I felt cool, I walked, I talked and I was gently told to peeees off. I felt stupid, I flexed my muscle in my mind, flexed them in reality and reality talked back to me. "There, there and there" reality pointed to my reducing mucsle and courage of the other even cooler looking guys who were starting to give me the look. The look that I have seen before, the kind of look that would warrant you to look around for other people to be behind you giving the other guys the look.

Being beaten up especially here alone with the gentle giant was sure not going to be fun and all smiles but there's something about being labelled a coward that made me shout my "I'm not a coward neither am I afraid of you shout' at them. Strangely though, my Bahasa Melayu sounded a little bit too formal and the intonation too much kindergardenlike.

Yabu! Turning around, Yep. Reinforcement. Not all able bodied men but they have with them with shiny looking head busting helmets. I shouted the same shout, intonation perfect, the lanugage foul and nauseating.

Epicentre Continues

There was something in the voice that was both annoying and funny. Obligated due ton instant recognition with a new wallet in my back pocket, I turned.

My gentle giant mate was frantically waving and making unclear Latin statements. I got 'wallet', 'money', 'lost' and 'dad' with a word lacking a consonant with 'ill' or 'eel'.

'My dad is going to kill me' he blurted. Finally, I was able to calm him down and due to his size I had to put 3 and 3 together in quite a difficult fashion. The explanation was seemingly innocent. he was looking at a few innocent looking men doing some innocent gambling when he innocently joined and somehow innocently a man reach for the money in his wallet and innocently placed an innocent bet that was innocently declared the losing bet. Simple. It was innocent. The dad would definitely understand.

My foot you spoiled squirt. I actually slapped him. Well a brotherly and concern like slap. Our eyes met and if she were a girl, the meeting of the eyes would be enough to build a marriage on. 'I'll get your money back. Just don't cry'. Well, what now?

The Epicentre

As I stared at the strange looking woman with a hedious sexy outfit, a recognizable odour came to me. It was rather layered but instantly understood. People must have done a lot after consumption business at this 'longkang'.

The woman purred but purred ugly so ugly that the sexy outfit image was lost in a flash and I wanted to just leave. Wow! Cheap wallets and cheap whatever. I focused on the inspiring scene of cheap stuff from a trader with a beautiful sidekick.

The communicative art of the bargain needed studious mind as the price would go up and down in minutes and you need to offer at the right time to get the right item or items with the right price. The other communicative soothing posture was the beautiful girl who would wrap the stuff bought and purposely hold the hand of the buyer for a fraction of a second and a fraction longer if the items were not really kind in price as in function or usability.

I timed my offer to perfection and got me a nice wallet for RM 4. The skin connection between me and the girl could not even be considered a fraction I guess.

Yabu!Yabu! ...

The Banshee

Woi! Cilakak.

Haven't heard that phrase in years and to think, this is dead centre in KL, well it is dead and centre. I must have or maybe one of my mates had commited something to the decidedly veteran lady of the night.

My mates were focused to the task at hand. They needed to find a table with six holes to put coloured and numbered balls in them. Me, realizing seemingly extra late was in for my bike and of course paper money that the Gov. had injected in my account at the most imporatnt time in my life. When I had no more of those gold replacement in my wallet, pockets and drawers. Now, a bit angry but more so bemused that I was directed into this particular channel of decision, I smirked and hissed to myself, "sometimes shit happens". That it happened on top of me was the most bemusing factor. The guys were aiming to play snooker in Lorong Haji Taib as it was the cheapest place in town. dangerous ugly place and even more so when I do not even play the game but I was ...

I was not going to let them have all the fun at my expense. 'Woi! Cilakak.

Twice in a day after years of not hearing it could even wake up a comatose dude. "Lu apa mau?"

The plot Thickens or may even be chickens

I woke up. Happy, assignments done, birds were singing, paper notes in my wallet and the memory of the words by a beautiful girl, "you have the sweetest eyes" and the sight of my three mates. Happy but less as their paln unfolded with happy things which involved me losing some of my paper treasure.

On two bikes, braving the dark sky and I swear I heard a banshee cried, we went to the heart of the city, the sin part of town where religion had left and the devil reigned supreme. We stopped, eying the place, teeing up in our minds a stupendous plan while drowning ourselves in cancer stimulants and diabetes enhancers. We saw our fate and we went for it for the jungular I suppossed. There was a hissed a for a moment I thought I saw a banshee.

The alley was well lighted suprisingly but the smell was instantly recognizable, of greed and wantoness. I turned and saw the lights that we were creeping away from.

The Pow Wow in the South of Heaven

I do not even allow my son to watch people playing snooker or billiard what more to play those develish nonsensical game. I played those games once and I was scarred for life. Well, i admit there were some other mitigating circumstances surrounding the scaring of my soul and skin and some dents on my helmet and motorbike but at the epicentre was snooker... snook..er.

It was a dark but not so lonely afternoon. I was about to do something important when my unholly mates woke me up. Then, the plot thickens...