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The Lima Bean Revue	By : radatrix Category: +S through Z > Xiaolin Showdown Views: 2820 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Jack flew around with his heli-pack for hours, sobbing, not caring which direction he was flying in. He really had nowhere to go and he decided that he would just live wherever his heli-pack ran out of fuel. Unfortunately, this was over the tough streets of Portland, Oregon. Jack had once read an article in the Evil Times about how Portland was a haven for teenage runaways. He stuffed his newly useless heli-pack in the nearest trash receptacle and walked into a park.

"Hey there, fire-crotch," said a voice behind him.

"Are you talking to me?” Jack asked the man. He was in his late fifties, by the looks of him.

"The name's Dr. Formeldehyde," Dr. Formeldehyde said, "but you can call me Chuck."

"OK, Chuck. What do you want?"

"Looking to make some dough?"

"I guess I'll be needing money. An evil boy genius can't live on Shen Gong Wu alone."

"I run a little establishment called the Fish Tail over on Crotching Way."

"Yeah? You need a waiter or something?" Jack asked stupidly.

"Of a sort. Come with me, little boy," Dr. Formeldehyde said creepily.

"Um, that's OK," Jack grumbled. "I'm going to wait for a pimp with a less creepy name to try and pick me up. If one doesn't come along, I'll be in touch." Fortunately, this was the seedy side of Portland and one came along shortly. That's how Jack began his career at the Hurley House Nightclub, owned by a Mr. Hempstead Hurley. He had a large curled mustache and he really took a liking to Jack.

Jack wasn't a prostitute, per se. He never actually had intercourse with any of the clients. He was more of an exotic dancer. The clients really got a kick out of his milky white skin and bright red hair. He'd dance around for a few hours, get a few bucks stuffed in his briefs and spend the rest of the night hanging out with the other boys who worked there. Like him they were all runaways. Well, Jack wasn't really a runaway; he didn't really run away from anyone. Nobody wanted him. One of the boys, who Jack spent most of his time with, had also been kicked out by his parents. His name was Todd. He was very tall, almost 6'4" and extremely skinny. He had shockingly black hair. He had also been kicked out of his home by his parents and somehow ended up in Portland. Mr. Hurley kept the backstage area (or as he called it, the "green" room) stocked with lots of marijuana, which Jack started to use regularly. Being high made it much easier to go out there and shake his stuff in front of a bunch of lecherous old dudes. Often, Jack and Todd would spend all night giggling and stuffing themselves with Cheetos. Backstage he was good old Jack Spicer, but onstage his exotic dancing alter-ego, Spice Jacker, took over. He was a hit.

Jack shared a room with all of the boys upstairs. It was kind of cramped, but it was also fun. Mr. Hurley charged them each $200 a week to live there, which was really a rip off, but that also included all of the drugs they could smoke. Sometimes Jack would have to do private "dances" for clients. The clients really liked him and often requested private "dances," but Jack usually refused. By the end of the week he was usually pretty desperate for cash though, and he would succumb.

The private "dances" usually consisted of Jack, scantily clad of course, awkwardly rubbing himself against the gleeful client's wrinkled flesh. It was one Sunday night at the end of February when Jack was asked by Mr. Hurley to do a private "dance" for a client. Jack asked who it was for and Mr. Hurley just pointed to a group of Japanese businessmen on the other side of the bar ogling a blonde teenager named Rick. "One of them," Mr. Hurley answered. "They all look the same to me."

"That is so not politically correct," Jack shot back.

"Look, Spice, I run an underage gay brothel. I don't need to be politically correct," Mr. Hurley responded.

"I guess that's..."

"Now go show Mr. Tohomiko a good time," Mr. Hurley interrupted, slapping Jack on the right butt cheek. "Room 8."

Jack trudged up to Room 8. Once there he took off everything but his underwear. It was kind of drafty in the room, so he put on a Chinese-style silk robe. 'Why did that name, Tohomiko, sound so familiar?' Jack thought to himself, 'Oh shit! Wasn't that Kimiko's last name? Could this be her father? No. There are probably thousands of Tohomiko's in Japan.’ Still the thought gave him the shivers.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" Jack said in the sultriest tone he could muster.

In walked Toshiro Tohomiko, Kimiko's father.

"Mr. Tohomiko!" Jack shouted in surprise.

"Yes, that is my name."

"Don't you recognize me?" Jack asked.

"Recognize you? Why would I have ever seen you before?" Mr. Tohomiko looked confused.

"You're Kimiko's father; we've met."

"Oh shit. You're one of her little friends."

"Well, not exactly. What are you doing in Portland? And most importantly, what are you doing in this gay brothel?"

"I'm in town for a video game convention. And more importantly, why are you in a gay brothel in Portland?"

"Please don't tell Kimiko!" Jack pleaded.

"Only if you promise to not tell her I was here."

"OK."

"And give me a free dance."

"You are a shrewd businessman, Mr. Tokohomo, or whatever your name is." And with that the deal was sealed.
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