Cajun Justice

by James Patterson

  With his large arm, Tom motioned for them to come toward the back. “Welcome, men!”

  “Don’t call ’em over here,” Cain urged. “We still have business to discuss.”

  “Plenty of time for that. We got a long flight tomorrow.” Tom turned his attention to his colleagues who had just poured in. “I was just about to challenge Cain to a game of darts. Right, Cain?”

  “I’m not playing darts with you,” he said flatly. He then looked straight into Tom’s eyes. “This conversation ain’t over.”

  The five agents gathered around a dartboard, but Cain didn’t play. He was too ticked off to enjoy the pastime. The other agents tossed darts and continued discussing the injustices of being recalled from their mission.

  “Recalled?” Cain said. “That’s a nice way of saying kicked out, or booted.”

  One of the agents was an old-timer nearing retirement. “I’m divorced, thanks to the Service. They can’t do squat to me. And they’re seriously mistaken if they think my enjoying the warmth of a lady is going to stop my retirement.”

  A sudden bright flash lit up the dim and smoky establishment. Cain turned toward the cause: a woman clutching a professional-looking camera with an expensive zoom lens.

  “Get that bitch!” one of the agents shouted.

  Tom bolted from the dartboard and rushed toward the woman as she tried to exit the bar, grabbing her sleeve and preventing her escape.

  “Soy reportera para El Tiempo,” the startled camerawoman shouted. “Dejame ir.”

  “Give me that camera!” Tom demanded.

  Mac intervened, placing himself between Tom and the frightened woman. “It’s okay. She’s just a local reporter.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” Cain said, having rushed toward the altercation. “Jackson’s right. She’s got a picture of us drinking in a bar. We want that film.”

  “Or she’ll have trouble sitting down when I shove that camera up her ass!” Tom said.

  “Knock that shit off!” Mac said, siding with the reporter. “She’s welcome in here just like you fellas. And if you blokes don’t calm down, I’m going to ring the police. This is my bar!”

  Tom gripped the camera and yanked it out of the reporter’s hands.

  “Dame la cámara!” the reporter yelled.

  “Fuck you!” Tom shouted back.

  With one quick movement, Mac struck Tom’s throat with an open palm. Tom fell backward and dropped the camera. It crashed onto the floor and smashed into several pieces.

  The other agents rushed to Tom’s aid as he gasped for air. They were about to fight Mac when Cain shielded the bar owner and pulled him aside. “Naval intelligence my ass! That strike looked more like a technique taught to the British SAS.”

  The camerawoman quickly recovered her broken camera and fled. The inebriated agents attempted to chase her, but gave up after a few seconds because she was too quick.

  “I understand this is your business,” Cain said, “but please understand our concern. We’re United States Secret Service agents. We don’t need this reporter posting our photos all over the place. You know what I mean—OPSEC. We try to fly under the radar. The word secret is in our name.”

  “Really?” Mac belly-laughed. “If you boys are trying to stay secret, you’ve done a bang-up job since you arrived in this country. Besides, it’s just one photo. What can it hurt?”

  Chapter 10

  The agents returned to the hotel that morning with just enough time to pack their bags, check out, and catch their ride to the airport. They used their diplomatic passports and a courier bag to bring their weapons on board.

  “I’m in seat 14A. What seat are you in?” Tom asked Cain.

  “Thankfully, not one near you.”

  “Ah, man, don’t be like that.”

  “Enjoy the flight, Jackson,” Cain answered with a sarcastic tone. “We’re on it because of you.”

  “At least it’s a free flight back home,” Tom said. “You’ll be sleeping in your own bed tonight.”

  “On that note, I’m gonna catch some z’s. So, don’t bother me on this flight.”

  Cain settled into his seat and peered out the window. They departed northbound and he could see farmland off to the right. When the pilot banked left, Cain marveled at the sea and the sailboats until they vanished in the distance. The sea was no stranger to him, yet it always seemed mysterious—a duality of giving life and taking it.

  He took a sip of his black coffee. He always thought the beverage tasted better at higher altitudes. Plus, it forever reminded him of his navy days, when he had depended on coffee to stay awake for the thousands of hours he spent flying his P-3 over the oceans, searching for Russian submarines or South American drug runners.

  Next to him sat an elegantly dressed woman who appeared to be in her early forties. She seemed interested in what Cain was busy scribbling in his black Moleskine journal.

  “Are you writing a book?” she asked.

  He looked up. “Maybe someday, but not today. This is just a collection of my notes—work things, restaurants, names of people and hotels.”

  “I get motion sickness easily,” she said. “So I try to disconnect from the world when I’m on a flight.”

  “Normally, I’d try to watch one of the new releases, but I’m collecting some thoughts for an important interview tomorrow.”

  “Job interview?”

  “Something like that. I have a boss who’s gonna ask me a lot of questions about my trip down here.”

  “How did you like your visit?”

  “Wish I could’ve stayed longer.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean,” she said.

  You have no idea what I mean, he thought. He had a dull headache forming, a combination of lack of sleep, alcohol, cabin pressure, and the stress of being recalled from a mission, which had never happened to him before. He retrieved a bottle of Tylenol PM from the bag resting at his feet and swallowed two pills.

  “You can always come back,” the woman said.

  He nodded in agreement.

  She continued. “I was there to meet with the CEO of a large jewelry company. My business is in diamonds.”

  “And where are you from?”

  “I’m from Thailand. Have you ever been? We call it the Land of a Thousand Smiles.”

  Cain lowered his head. Before he could respond, the flight attendant approached. “Sir, the gentleman in seat 14A ordered this for you.” She presented him with a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.

  “You’re too kind,” Cain said.

  “It’s my job,” she said, and smiled.

  Cain winked playfully. “I meant calling him a gentleman.”

  She grinned even wider.

  “Thank you, but please take it back to him. Tell him I’m already asleep.”

  Cain looked at the passenger next to him. “It’s been nice talking with you. I’ve got a long travel day ahead of me, so I’m gonna close my eyes for a bit. I hope you find a good movie to watch.”

  “Do you have any recommendations?”

  “You’ve Got Mail.”

  She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “You like You’ve Got Mail?”

  “What can I say?” He smiled. “I’m a sucker for romantic comedies. And Tom Hanks is a great actor.”

  “I agree with you. It’s one of my favorites. That and When Harry Met Sally…”

  “You’ll find ’em under the Classics category. Enjoy the movie.” He jotted a few last-minute notes in his journal before nodding off.

  After landing in DC, Cain collected his luggage and walked out of the airport. The sun’s rays aggravated his migraine. He rummaged through his backpack for a pair of aviators to shield him from the brightness. He found his government car, parked at long-term parking. Had I known this mission was going to be cut short, I would have splurged for short-term parking. He cranked the sedan, rolled the window down, and hit I-66 eastbound.

  Most people complained about DC’s traffic, but not him. He
recognized the trade-off: being able to experience the history and museums. He saw a road sign advertising the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum at the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, one of his favorite places to visit when he wasn’t working. It always brought back good childhood memories of his dad, Claude, teaching him and Bonnie how to fly. Claude still owned and operated a small crop-dusting business near Lafayette, Louisiana.

  Cain pulled curbside in front of his two-bedroom town house. The American flag above his porch blew lightly in the wind. He noticed two packages by his door. He grabbed them on his way inside the house. Although he had moved to DC two years prior, most of his belongings were still packed in cardboard boxes. He weaved through the maze of unopened boxes and headed straight to the kitchen.

  He was parched. He grabbed a bottle of water and looked at his packages. One had a customs form and Japanese characters. He found himself feeling cheerful for the first time in days at the sight of her handwriting. It was a gift, and he knew who had sent it. He ripped open the parcel.

  Chapter 11

  Cain’s nightmare engulfed him. He twitched in his sleep and was relieved when his cell phone buzzed on his hip, waking him. He saw that he was still sitting in the recliner, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. I must have been more tired than I thought.

  “Hello?” he answered groggily.

  There was no reply. He cleared his throat. “Hello?”

  “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to the best twin brother in the world.”

  Cain smiled and joined in on the last line of the chorus: “Happy birthday to you!”

  They both laughed a similar chuckle.

  “How’s my favorite brother?” Bonnie asked.

  “Better now that I’m talking to you. How’s life in Tokyo?”

  “It’s busy! It’s five thirty in the afternoon and I’m still at work. Picking up another shift. But I couldn’t not call my favorite brother on our birthday.”

  “Well, I’m glad you called. Even if it is three thirty in the morning here.”

  “The time difference is horrible!”

  “Half the time my body doesn’t even know what time zone it’s in. But I was so excited to see your gift yesterday. The Japanese instrumental CD is perfect. It worked as advertised. I listened to it for a bit and it helped me fall asleep.”

  “You’re home? I thought you were in South America.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I always have time for your long stories.”

  “Well, I was, but a bunch of us got recalled. Some colleagues enjoyed the company of some local women, and one agent in particular kicked his date out in the morning without paying her. She—”

  “Without paying her? So, you mean a prostitute?”

  “Anyway,” Cain continued. “She started a scene, so I paid her what I had before the police got involved.”

  “Ooh, this sounds good. Who was it?”

  “I’ll give you three guesses, but you’re probably only going to need one.”

  “If I get it right on the first try, will you come out to Japan?”

  “Ha!”

  “I bet it was Tomcat. He’s such a cochon.”

  “Bingo!” Cochon means “pig” in French. “We got back yesterday. We have to answer to management later on today.”

  “What’s the worst that can happen to you?”

  “They could fire me.”

  “Fire you?” She scoffed. “Nobody is going to fire you.”

  “I’m probably being a little dramatic, but it’s a possibility.”

  “Well, you have always had a little flair for the dramatic. You’ll be fine, brother. You’re a dedicated agent. They’re lucky to have you. With your experience, you could easily be a private investigator or a pilot. You could make so much more money in the private sector.”

  “Maybe. But you know how I feel about money as a motivating factor. I’m more interested in service to country.”

  “I know. I’m just saying there are other options out there besides the government. But you’ll be just fine once you explain that you were trying to avoid embarrassing the Service.”

  “They might give me a few days’ suspension without pay.”

  “Then you can come visit me in Japan! We can hang out together on the beach in Zushi. We’ll spend my money. I can also introduce you to some of my cute Japanese coworkers. I’ve told them all about you. They’d love to meet an American gentleman like you.”

  Cain laughed. “I’d love to visit you, but that flight would be brutal. What’s it—about fourteen hours?”

  “I’ll use my family perks and get you upgraded to business class.”

  “That sounds nice, but like you said, I’m sure everything will work out once I explain what happened. Then I’ll be back on the president’s schedule soon.”

  “Sucks for me. I was looking forward to hosting you on this side of the world, especially before summertime. Vacation season picks up and all our flights are booked. I’m already having to cover extra routes.”

  “That must be why Pops said he couldn’t reach you last week.”

  “Yeah, probably. I was flying to either Seoul, Guam, Hong Kong, or Singapore. We’re trying to compete with the Asian airlines. It’s tough! They’re paying their flight attendants peanuts.”

  He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, really. What was so funny?”

  “When you serve your customers peanuts, expect to be paid in peanuts.”

  “That’s domestic! Not international.”

  “Just don’t fly yourself to death,” Cain said. “I read an article that the Japanese are dealing with a crisis: employees are working themselves to death. There was a photo of Japanese men sleeping at their cubicles.”

  “Sometimes I get the impression that Japan’s national motto is Work Harder, Not Smarter. But I like my job as a flight attendant, and I like it here in Tokyo. I feel really safe.” Bonnie changed the subject. “Have you talked to Mom and Pops lately?”

  “Not since before I left. You?”

  “It’s been about two weeks. It was so funny watching them try to use Skype. Pops can fly an airplane but can’t operate a smartphone.”

  Cain and Bonnie laughed together.

  “Well, in all fairness,” he said, “his airplane is older than us!”

  “And with the way he cares for it, it’ll probably outlive us all.” She laughed. “Did he send you the usual birthday present?”

  “Yup, a box of Community Coffee’s dark roast with chicory.”

  “I don’t know how the Lemaire men can drink that nasty crap. Way too strong for me.”

  “It’ll certainly put some hair on your chest.”

  She laughed. “That’s not the look I’m going for. Just make sure not to drink too much of it, or you’ll never get any sleep.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  “Hey! I’m just concerned. You told me you were still having nightmares.”

  “You can’t have nightmares if you aren’t sleeping.”

  “That’s why I sent you the CD! Have you talked to the Secret Service psychologist?”

  “God, no! They claim to be confidential, but if the Service is paying their salary, that’s who they’re loyal to.”

  “Have you considered talking to a priest?”

  He paused before responding. “I haven’t been to a church in years. You know that.”

  “Well, I’m here for you, brother. I know this sounds bad, but I hope they suspend you.”

  “What?”

  “You need a vacation, and I’d love to see you in Japan.”

  “I don’t need a vacation.”

  “You’re just like Pops. You’ll work till the day you’re dead.”

  “Sounds like you, too. Hey, keep your eyes open. I sent your birthday gift with some extra things, too, so you can share it with your colleagues.”

  “I can’t wait!
You’re always so thoughtful.”

  “You, too, sis. Well, I better sign off. Gotta get ready for my meeting.”

  “You have a meeting on a Saturday?”

  “This investigation is kicking into overdrive. LeRoy wants to know my side of what happened, and nobody cares whether it’s Saturday or Sunday.”

  “Good luck with the King!” she said. “Call to update me right after. Love you.”

  Chapter 12

  Cain enjoyed cooking, but he hadn’t shopped since his trip. He opened the refrigerator and saw it was empty, except for leftover Chinese, a bottle of mustard, some salsa, eggs, and a few bottles of Coke—the ones made in Mexico with the real sugarcane instead of the fructose corn syrup. He grabbed two eggs and placed them in a pot of water. While they boiled, he brewed a batch of Community Coffee. He flipped through a stack of mail while he sipped the chicory coffee his dad had sent him. Mm. This is good. Feel the life coming back to me.

  During the commute to the office, his mind naturally went to his interview. What should I say? Should I be forthcoming about Tomcat? He eventually settled on a plan to discuss only things he had firsthand knowledge about. He wouldn’t speculate about rumors or side conversations he’d had with Tom Jackson and the other agents.

  Cain was so deep in thought that he was surprised at how quickly he arrived at the White House. He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and flashed the uniformed Secret Service officer his credentials, which displayed his official photograph and the US code that delineated his authority and jurisdiction.

  “Welcome back, Agent Lemaire,” the officer said. “I heard it was quite the party trip.” The cocky officer smirked.

  What a jerk! Cain thought. But he understood the conflict between the uniformed division and the agent corps. The agents knew that the officers wanted to be agents, and the officers complained that agents were egotistical prima donnas who thought they were God’s gift to federal law enforcement.