The courier, bruised, bloodied, and limping, knocked on Wahshi-san’s hotel room door. He bowed politely when the great old man opened the door–or at least an attempt at bowing was made.

“Your package, Wahshi-san,” the courier said. “I apologize for my tardiness.”

Wahshi-san glanced at his watch: 2:02pm. “Your apology is accepted,” he said, stonefaced. He took the package from the courier and unwrapped it, revealing a leopard-spotted negligee, size 44, custom-made.

Wahshi-san’s expression did not change. He pressed a cashier’s check into the courier’s hand and closed the door, leaving the poor roughed-up man looking at the featureless wood of the door in astonishment.