Ryu was shocked when the fat woman spoke to him in Japanese. She was a very unpleasant creature. It was not that she was large. In fact, he noted with some pleasure, that this woman would have made quite a sumo wrestler. She was gargantuan, the dark flesh pleating so thickly around her neck that it looked as though she had no neck at all. Her shoulders were as big as a lesser human’s buttocks and, being female, she was gifted with a pair of breasts big enough, in Ryu’s mind, to subsume a nation. The rest of her shape was mere conjecture, as Ryu could not distinguish what was what beneath the folds of her red tent-sized shift, though he found himself engaged in lurid speculation.
No, it wasn’t her size he found so appalling. And it wasn’t the face pimpled with moles or the missing teeth. It was her smell. At first he’d thought it was the pig’s head, crowned in flies, upon the table before her, its snout thrust ceilingward. But soon enough his nose, that sensitive and judgmental Japanese member, determined that the smell was emanating not from the pig’s head, but from the woman and from a certain spot just to the left of the stove. Every time she spoke a foul wind wafted toward him, a foul Creole wind that he had trouble understanding. Determined, he caught his breath and held his ground. He had a job to do. He must bring back the microchip that Miura had stolen, and he was certain that this woman was the latest link to that valuable asset. He would get to the bottom of things.
—DEAD LOVE/Chapter 7.1/Arnotine Ferucand is Dead