Ninja Rent
by: EAB

Why to Sign a Lease with a Ninja
by Ed McLane-Haraz

Next Tuesday will mark the anniversary of the all-too tragic death of Jose, my old roommate. I knew I should have helped him with the gardening that day; but in a way, I’m glad I didn’t, or else it might have been me buried at Shallow Plots Sod Cemetery. Sure, we got along fine while it lasted, but the shared ownership of the apartment was nothing exciting in those days.
Not in retrospect. Not compared to what’s happened since then.
So I put out this advertisement, the usual “roommate wanted” with all the usual qualities I expected: clean but not OCD; smoking fine but not in the apartment; no pets, no bad habits, pays rent on time. Yeah, the rent was due soon. I was willing to take anyone.
I don’t know if he could read English, but I assume that’s how he got to my place. One day I came home and the television was turned on to the Discovery Channel; the usual pandas eating bamboo and if they could be saved. I never watch the Discovery Channel. I went to the TV and turned it off, and when I turned around, there he was. Short, defiant, and with gleaming eyes, he silently waited for my response.
“So um, you moving in right away?”
He blinked, and handed me the contract I had drawn up, with some kind of Japanese symbol stained with blood. Hopefully his. I don’t need another homocide investigation.
Yeah, okay, I know it sounds like a bad idea. I know what you’re thinking. He’s a ninja. He’s a trained assassin. He kills for a living. But let me tell you, he was really easy to get along with. Sure, we had to get used to each other and work out the kinks, but that’s normal.
I came home once and, as I opened the door, a flying CD barely missed my head and sliced into the wall behind me. Radiohead, Amnesiac. My Amnesiac. I closed the door, and stuck in the other side was my Zeppelin and Floyd collections on a bull’s-eye.
“Ninny, man, not my CDs.” I gave him my collection of AOL discs. Whatever keeps the riff-raff out and the apartment safe.
Breakfast. I slowly shuffle into the kitchen. I don’t know if it was my crusted, squinting morning eyes or if he was really that slick, but I blinked and he was there. At the table, with his pancake stack, he was meditating I think. “What, none for me?”
He didn’t budge. Not his style of humor, fair enough. So I sat down with my whole grapefruit. “Oh, forgot a knife.” Before I could move my chair two inches back, it was in two crisply cut halves. I looked over and all I heard was the slight click of the blade locking into its sheath, as he started on his newly bite-sized pancake pieces.
One time I brought my girlfriend over, you know, we were just hanging out in the living room, when she noticed something over in the hallway by the bathroom. She went over and picked up the black ninja outfit. “Haha, what’s this? Aren’t you too old for a Halloween costume?” My heart skipped a beat as I heard the bathroom door creak open.
Ninny walked out in a towel rubbing his eyes sluggishly. Suddenly, he looked up. Still for one wide-eyed second, and then, gone, my girlfriend’s hair swaying from the wind. Ninja suit and all. I’m just glad she survived. I don’t think he really trusted her for a while. Every time she was around, he would be clinging up in the corner of the ceiling, tense and staring like a defensive wildebeest.
But I think they’ve reconciled a little since then. He feels safe enough to simply lurk in the shadows (like any other day) when she’s around.
I have to say, I highly recommend a ninja for a roommate. They are loyal, and if ever you’re in a bind with paying rent, they can make a quick couple hundred with an assassination. Just be sure your ninja doesn’t have any price on his head; that could lead to untimely death.
Like the other night.
I came home late from work and walked in the apartment. I had no clue at all. Ninny was sprawled out on the kitchen floor like a dead spider legend, and I didn’t even know yet. Until I saw what I like to call the New Ninny, decked in white ninja garb. I guess they were from warring clans or something.
Well, that’s how the dice tumble. Double-N apparently won Ninny’s property through some ancient honor code, so he’s paying half my rent now.
Can’t go wrong with ninjas.
They’re always there for you.