"日本語 困惑"

“What do we know about this one?”
“Just the one Asian that needs to be taken out.”
“Do you anticipate a resistance?”
“The boss said not to, but I think we should be prepared anyway.”
“We should have shotguns for this shit,” Karen giggled as she got out of the car. After she shut the door, she checked her hair and dress in the reflection of the car’s window.
“How do I look?” Karen asked. Jack walked around to the other side of the beat up Cadillac that the company gave them for the job. Starting with her feet, he began a close inspection of Karen’s appearance.
“Let’s see…shoes, check. Clear pantyhose, check, but you know I’m a fan of bare legs.” Karen smiled at the compliment about her legs that almost happened. “And we continue, let’s see. Turn around for me?” Karen did a brief 360 degree turn with the grace of a grade school ballerina. “Hmm…that dress does not accentuate your posterior the way that your black business suit does.”
“Stop talking about my ass. We’re professionals!”
“Right, well you asked me how you look, and I’m giving you a fair answer. Having a nice butt is important in this line of work.”
“Jack, come on.”
“Fine,” Jack said with a devious grin. “You’ve been wearing your hair in that same early 90’s Demi Moore style for the past six months, so perhaps it’s time for a change there but other than that, I think you look great. Now can we get to work?”
Karen closed her eyes and handed a shit eating grin on a plate to Jack. “Absolutely.”
“Sun’s going down. Let’s do this.”

Grovewood Palms sounds like a tropical paradise in name, but in actuality, it’s known around Los Angeles as one of the nastier housing developments in the northeast district of town. It wasn’t uncommon to drive down a street and see each and every single window lined with metal bars as if the residents of the neighborhood felt so scared by the world outside that they would have to build their own private jail in order to feel any sense of safety and removal from the streets outside.
Karen and Jack approached their target house which was so decrepit that it’s hard to tell if the brownish stains adorning the outside walls were from rain water or urine. Patches of obviously dead grass polka-dotted the front lawn, and the driveway was more like two strips of dead grass instead of an actual paved driveway. Indistinct booms from neighbors‘ subwoofers and dog barks that sounded more like cries for help littered the silence of the neighborhood. “Get your game face on, little girl.” With those words, the girl-next-door shine in Karen’s face turned into the demeanor of a cold blooded killer. Jack smirked.
“I’m ready,” Karen said. Jack knocked on the door.
“Hello? Anyone home?” Jack’s second knock was done with the underside of his fist instead of his knuckles.
“Open up or we will open the door for you.”
“You can be such a prick, Jack” Karen whispered. Just when Jack was about to give a harder knock, they heard the sounds of chain locks being removed and the clicks of the normal locks unlocking. Opening the door was a unkempt man in his early fifties wearing nothing but a pair of ripped, striped boxers and a smile.
“Can I…” the man’s greeting was interrupted a belch that could wake the dead, “Can I help you?”
“Good morning Mr. Tucker. My name is Jack Marr and this is my associate Karen Foreman and we’re here on behalf of Los Angeles Social Services. Please step aside, sir.” Jack shouldered his way past Mr. Tucker and into the house.
“I…uh…what?” Tucker said as he nearly lost his balance.
“Mr. Tucker, we’ve received a fair number of complaints regarding the way that you have been raising your foster child, Ms. Puzaka Utsumi. Ever since Mrs. Tucker passed away, which we are very sorry about, your apathy toward not only your child but yourself have made you an unfit parent for this girl. We are here to remove her from your custody,” Karen said while inspecting the house cluttered with dirty laundry and empty fast food wrappers. Each step inside the house required Jack and Karen to move a random piece of garbage or clothing to the side with their feet.
“Fine. Take the little yellow bitch. I don’t know what the fuck to do with her anyway. She’s like a fucking Rubix Cube to me. All the kid does is shout random Chink words. She’s fucking retarded. Fuck her. I don‘t know what to do with her.”
“Precisely why we’re here, Mr. Tucker. The state of California has deemed you to be unfit for parenting this child especially one with special needs such as Puzaka,” Karen said. “Where is she?”
“She’s in front of the computer in the bedroom,” Mr. Tucker said nonchalantly and then walked to the kitchen for a beer. “Stupid autistic bitch. She does not do a damn thing I say, but she really knows how to work a computer.”

Coming from the bedroom was a loud shout of “Anaka! Wai tai!” Jack and Karen cleared a path to Puzaka’s room through the Burger King wrappers and dented Milwaukee’s Best cans. Puzaka’s room was similarly messy, but obviously due to no fault of her own. Her clothes and bed sheets were strewn across the floor as if the carpet was too ugly to see the light of day and boxes of toys sat on the floor still wrapped in plastic.
“Puzaka? Puzaka honey?” Karen said softly as she approached the young girl. Puzaka sat at her computer, hammering her fingertips on the keyboard. “Puzaka?” Karen said again. Then a couple of familiar notes started to emit from the computer speakers.
“Is she playing Super Mario World?” Jack nearly lost his tough guy mask. The smooth Caribbean feel of Mario’s map screen music was interrupted by a square wave synth that led into the type of rave song pink haired Japanese kids in leather shirts dance to. Punctuating the pulsing beat were the sounds of Mario and Yoshi breaking blocks, kicking turtle shells, and hopping on flying bullets all in perfect synch with the music.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Shh, Jack!”
“She made it do that?”
“How?”

Mr. Tucker entered the room with a belch that almost seemed like a proclamation of his arrival. “Yeah, I told ya. She can only do one thing and that’s fuck with a computer. She can’t even figure out how to turn the fucking machine on, but once you sit her down in front of the desktop, she pulls that shit out of her ass. I don‘t get it. A complete puzzle to me.”
“Sir, we must remove the child from your custody. If there’s anything you’d like to…”
“Fuck her. Do I need to sign anything?”
Karen rolled her eyes at the apathy , and squatted down to make eye contact with Puzaka. “Puzaka? Puzaka sweetie? It’s time to come with us.” Puzaka didn’t acknowledge Karen’s words.
Jack sighed, “C’mon Puzzles. Let’s go.”
Puzaka smiled and said, “Tadashii! Ai shiteiru!” She jumped out of the seat and grabbed hold of Jack’s leg.
“Yeah, whatever. I’m going to go pass out on the couch. Goodnight…heh…Puzzles.”
“Shiijei-dono!” Puzaka shouted to Tucker. Jack reached out and held Puzaka's hand as they left the room. Karen stayed to look around. On Puzaka's desk were an assorted array of Tucker's trash. Arranged in order were a hamburger wrapper from Hardee's, an empty bottle of Evian water, a plastic bag from Lowe's stained with paint, and a cardboard rice holder from Pollo Tropical.