Cajun Justice

by James Patterson

  “No, I would like to have dinner with you.”

  “Great! An old navy buddy told me about a place in Yokosuka called Nawlins. They have barbecue and other Louisiana foods.”

  “Louisiana foods?” Her eyes widened. “I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans for that famous festival. Um. Um.” She put her hand to her forehead as she thought. “What is it called?”

  “Mardi Gras.”

  “Oui. Le mardi gras. It looks like so much fun.”

  Cain laughed. “It’s a hoot! That’s for sure. This restaurant should be a mild introduction for you.”

  “Do I look okay to go to this restaurant?”

  “You look perfect, Umi,” Cain said with a warm smile, using her nickname. She always looks perfect, he thought. He wasn’t sure if she considered this a date, but he did.

  Chapter 52

  The train ride from Yokohama Station to Yokosuka was about forty-five minutes. Talking on public transportation was frowned upon in Japanese culture, but Cain couldn’t help it. They whispered back and forth to each other during the ride.

  “Thank you for translating the kendo class for me,” Cain said.

  “There were some words the sensei said that I will need to look up in the dictionary. I don’t know the English word for some of the kendo techniques.”

  “Nah,” Cain replied. “Your English is remarkable. You learned in Canada, right?”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “I gotta ask. Why did you choose to study in Canada instead of the United States?”

  “I wanted to study in California, but my parents are very traditional, and I’m an only child. The Japanese news says America has lots of problems with racism and gun violence. My parents were afraid to let me go to the United States. They thought I might get shot.”

  Cain knew from personal experience how the media could overdramatize a situation. “I was raised with guns and have carried one professionally for years. I’ve never shot anyone, and I’ve never been shot.”

  “Thank goodness,” Umiko replied.

  Nawlins BBQ was situated in a back alley, near the military base. Its storefront had a large window where customers walking by could see people inside enjoying Southern cuisine and drinking craft beer on tap at the tall wooden bar.

  The restaurant’s walls were lined with Mardi Gras masks and beads and pictures of the New Orleans Saints football team.

  “I’ve never been to the United States,” Umiko began. “I really only know what I’ve seen in movies.”

  “Well, what kind of movies have you been watching?”

  Umiko placed her finger on her chin as she thought. “One of my favorite American movies is Pretty Woman. I also like Rocky.”

  Cain’s jaw dropped. “Rocky?”

  “Why is that so shocking?”

  Cain closed his mouth and smiled. “That’s one of my favorite movies, too. It’s an American classic. I just didn’t picture you as a Rocky fan.”

  “Yes. I like boxing. I like the music in the movie. And I like cheering for—um, I think you call it the below dog.”

  Cain smiled even bigger. “Yes, Americans love an underdog! But I’ll have to show you some good Louisiana movies. Maybe something like The Big Easy, The Green Mile, or my mom’s favorite, Steel Magnolias.”

  The waitress stopped by their table. “Good evening, folks. What can I get y’all to drink?”

  Cain looked to Umiko to answer first.

  “I would like an American beer.”

  “Bottle or tap, sweetie?”

  “Bottle.”

  The waitress committed the order to memory and then turned to Cain.

  “I’ll have some house wine of the South.”

  “You wanna lemon in that?”

  “Ain’t no other way to enjoy it.” Cain smiled. The waitress left the table.

  “I could not understand what you and she were talking about,” Umiko said.

  “We were just jabbering—speaking a little Southern. I asked for a sweet tea with lemon.”

  “Tanaka-san is right. You use a lot of slang.”

  Cain laughed. “It’s good for him. He told me he’s a banana.”

  Umiko wrinkled her face in confusion.

  “Japanese on the outside and American on the inside,” Cain explained.

  Umiko smiled. “I can see that.”

  “What about you?” Cain asked.

  “I’m 100 percent Japanese. But”—she stretched out the word—“I’m a little more progressive. I moved out of my parents’ home in Osaka and took a job in Yokohama.”

  “That’s not common, is it?”

  “No. I don’t know for sure, but I imagine Tanaka-san still lives with his parents.”

  “He told me he did,” Cain said.

  The waitress returned with their drinks. “Y’all ready to order?”

  Cain looked at Umiko. “Have you decided what you’d like?”

  Umiko quickly studied the menu. “What do you recommend?”

  “Would you like for me to order a bunch of different stuff and we can share?”

  “That sounds fun,” she replied.

  Cain ordered the chicken and sausage gumbo, the fried catfish, red beans and rice, and jalapeño corn bread.

  When the food arrived, Umiko was shocked. “Wow! Look how big these plates are.”

  Cain nodded. “Yep, these are American sizes. That’s why we have a little bit of a weight problem back home.”

  “It smells so good, though,” Umiko said as she inhaled slowly. She then placed her hands together with a light clap and gave a quick blessing: “Itadakimasu.”

  Cain knew that it was a ritual for Japanese to express thanks for the food they were about to eat, just as in his family.

  “Bon appétit,” Cain replied.

  They enjoyed eating and talking about everything from Zen to the cultural differences between the United States and Japan. Cain felt comfortable with Umiko. She was funny and respectful at the same time. He could tell she had a fiery spirit but a gentleness.

  “You have an inner peace that I would like to find for myself,” Cain said.

  “Kendo helped me, and it will help you. The retreat will be good for you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, and to getting outside the city and back into the countryside for a bit,” he said.

  After some time, the waitress returned to the table. “Looks like you guys didn’t leave any room for dessert. Would you like the check now?”

  “Why, we’d love some dessert,” Cain said. “How’s your bread pudding with bourbon sauce?”

  “It’s the best west of the Mississippi River,” the lady replied, “and we make it fresh every day.”

  “Please bring us some.”

  “One plate?”

  “One plate, two spoons.”

  The waitress left, then returned with the bread pudding.

  Cain turned to Umiko. “This is my sister’s favorite dessert. We’re twins, so it’s actually my favorite dessert, too.”

  “Twins?”

  Cain nodded.

  “That is very cool. I knew you had a sister, but I did not know you were twins. I only know one twins. When I was in school, two boys in my class were twins. They could read each other’s minds.”

  “I can’t really read Bonnie’s mind, and I probably wouldn’t want to. But we certainly have a unique connection. One that I don’t have with anyone else in my family.”

  “I’d like to meet her.”

  “I’d like for you to meet her,” Cain said.

  Cain grabbed some yen from his wallet and paid for the meal. He and Umiko walked to a nearby park, where the main attraction was the imperial Japanese battleship Mikasa.

  Cain sensed that Umiko’s mood had changed a bit.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “My grandfather was in World War II,” Umiko said.

  “Is he still alive?”

  “No. I never knew him. Most Japanese do not talk about the war, b
ut my father is still very angry.”

  Cain listened patiently.

  “My grandfather was killed by the Americans during the war. My father was not born yet. My grandmother was pregnant with my father during the war. So my father blames the Americans for his growing up without a father. He would be so mad if he knew I was having dinner with you.”

  Cain sighed. “The war was a long time ago, but I know some people who have a hard time letting go of the past.”

  “You would certainly be the first American I introduced to my parents.”

  “Would you ever do that?”

  Umiko turned her glance elsewhere. “I’m the only child. It’s my duty to take care of my parents. My father would never approve. My mother? Maybe. But it would break her heart if I married an American. She’d be afraid I’d move away from Japan.”

  “Well, it’s just our first date. So, no reason for anyone to get their heart broken. I’m just glad you came out with me tonight. I always enjoy spending time with you.”

  Umiko smiled. “Me, too.” Cain saw her glance at the gold band he still wore on his ring finger. “You wear a wedding ring, but Tanaka-san told me you are not married.”

  “You were asking about me?” Cain’s stomach fluttered for a second.

  “Maybe,” she replied, concealing her true feelings.

  “I’m not married, Umi. Not anymore.” Cain changed the subject. “Look right there. That’s the navy base. There’s the sailboat my friend and I rented a while back. It’s bobbing up against the dock.”

  The sailboat was illuminated beyond the navy’s chain-link fence. “It looks very small,” Umiko said. “I’d be scared to take that into Tokyo Bay.”

  “Ah, it was just fine for the chief and me.” He pointed to a small island in the distance. “We sailed right past that island with all the monkeys.”

  Umiko laughed and laughed until her eyes watered. “No monkeys live there.”

  “What? My friend told me it was called Monkey Island.”

  Umiko continued laughing. “There are no monkeys there. Its nickname is Monkey Island, but its real name is Sarushima.”

  Cain changed the subject again. “Since you are my unofficial Japanese cultural expert,” he joked, “what can you tell me about kyabakura?”

  “Kyabakura?” Umiko repeated. “Hostess bar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did Tanaka-san take you to one?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “It was okay. Had a drink, a cigar, sang a little karaoke, and mingled with the locals.”

  “They are very popular with Japanese men. Girlfriends and wives accept the fact that their men will most likely go to kyabakura.”

  “Wives don’t care?” Cain asked.

  “They probably care about their men wasting money on it, but it’s understood that Japanese men will visit kyabakura.”

  “Is it a brothel?”

  Umiko shook her head. “No. Prostitution is illegal in Japan. A hostess bar is like a modern-day geisha who laughs at your jokes, lights your cigarette, and refills your glass. It’s like a fake relationship.”

  “That sounds like typical Japanese duality,” Cain said, and winked. “The expense of a relationship without the rewards. In America, we would call it friends without benefits.”

  Chapter 53

  Cain wasn’t sure what to expect on the Zen retreat. He had never been to anything like it before, but he figured if Umiko was going to be there, then he’d also want to be there. Umiko had an innocence and cautious optimism about her. She was rooted in Japan’s centuries-old traditions, but she was curious and open to the outside world.

  All the kendo students met at the dojo in Yokohama at 5:00 a.m. It was still dark outside. Everyone arrived on time, if not early. All the students were cheerful, smiled a lot, and bowed to one another as their customary greeting.

  “Umi,” Cain said, “I’m always in awe at how polite the Japanese are.”

  “Arigato gozaimasu,” she said with a bow.

  “We Americans have to have our coffee first, and even then, it would be fifty-fifty.”

  Umiko nodded as she listened. “I’m excited about today. Are you?”

  “I am,” Cain replied. “A little nervous, though. Not sure what to expect.”

  “Mushin,” Umiko said. “Go with an empty cup, so sensei can fill it with Zen.”

  The students loaded their kendo gear and luggage into the tour bus’s baggage compartment. They climbed on the bus in an orderly fashion, and the uniformed bus driver, wearing white gloves and a chauffeur’s hat, drove them the several hours it took to reach the foot of Mount Fuji. Cain sat next to Umiko, but like most of the other Japanese on the bus, she slept during the road trip. Instead, Cain enjoyed sightseeing. He snapped a few pictures through the window, but the early-morning sunrays created a glare and distorted most of his pictures.

  When Cain exited the bus, he took a deep breath. The cool, crisp mountain air felt good in his lungs. He looked around and took notice of the sights and sounds. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees, and birds chirped nearby. Nature is better experienced in the now anyway, he thought, instead of trying to capture it on film. He turned to Umiko, but she spoke first.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” she whispered, emitting steam with her breath.

  “Amen,” Cain said, getting into the spiritual mood. “Far from the distractions of city life.”

  She pointed. “That’s Mount Fuji.”

  “Where’s it at?” he asked.

  She pointed again. “Over there. You can see people in the distance hiking.”

  He snickered. “That was a joke. You normally get my humor.”

  She smiled and looked relieved for a second.

  “We ain’t hiking, are we?” he asked. “I didn’t bring my hiking boots.”

  “Not this trip. This retreat is for intense kendo training and meditation.”

  “I’ve never meditated before. Not sure how to,” Cain confessed.

  “This whole trip has been prepared to create the perfect environment for meditation. It will help us see things as they are, and not how we wish.”

  A large bell that hung in the center of the Zen retreat rang as two monks hit it with a large mallet. The sound echoed throughout the wilderness, and for a moment all the birds quit chirping. It’s as if even the birds respect the importance of this event, Cain thought.

  “It begins,” Umiko said as if she was expecting a life-changing event at the retreat. “The monks are scaring away evil spirits with the bell.”

  The students took off their shoes and lined up on tatami mats, which would “make kneeling more comfortable during meditation,” Umiko told Cain.

  The monks walked down the line of students while holding a large bag. Students were directed to put their cell phones in the bag.

  “When do we get our phones back?” Cain asked.

  “When we leave,” Umiko answered.

  “Hopefully Sato-san won’t need me,” Cain said.

  “You have trained Tanaka-san well,” Umiko said. “Your confidence in him is important.”

  Cain dropped his phone in the bag, and one of the monks provided him with a white uniform that resembled pajamas. The monks also handed each student a pair of flip-flops.

  “Thank you,” Cain said, “but I brought my own. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a size twelve in this country.”

  Some of the students laughed at Cain’s joke, especially Hiroko.

  “I almost forgot,” Umiko said as she faced Cain. “I brought something to help you. I have jinko incense candles. They will help your meditation.”

  Cain took the candles and sniffed them. “They smell like wood.”

  “We’ll use them later, during meditation. But they are going to exercise us for a few hours first.”

  “For a few hours?” Cain asked, hoping he had misunderstood. “I thought this was a Zen retreat. A place to relax.”

&
nbsp; “The monks will make us tired first. It’s easier for the mind to meditate when the body is tired.”

  The sensei called the class to attention, then announced rei—the command to bow. He led the group through a series of stretches for about twenty minutes. Then they did jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, and forward rolls similar to somersaults, and they jogged in place to increase their heart rate and breathing.

  The sensei said something in Japanese and then looked at Cain. “Ready for kendo now,” he said in English.

  “Hai,” Cain replied between labored breaths, and bowed.

  The students picked up their shinai, and for the next two hours practiced their kendo footwork, strikes, and thrusts. Cain’s cotton uniform felt heavy from his sweat. When he started to think that the grueling training would never end, the sensei finally yelled, “Matte,” indicating for them to stop.

  Thank God, Cain thought. I couldn’t go anymore. He looked over at Umiko and was impressed by her stamina. Well, she’s younger, he reasoned. And she’s been training in kendo much longer than me.

  The sensei looked at Cain and spoke in Japanese. Umiko translated. “He said you are very good—that you must have trained in some type of martial art before in order to have kept up with us.”

  Cain smiled. “I had a lot of baton training in the Secret Service. Some of the techniques are similar, just with a shorter weapon.”

  The sensei continued speaking, and Umiko translated again. “Now we will put the shinai away and work on holding our positions and strengthening our concentration.”

  The sensei ordered the students to squat into a kiba dachi stance, which made them look as if they were riding a horse.

  Cain closed his eyes and felt his thighs burn as if they were on fire. The pain, intermixed with Japan’s natural humidity, caused him to continue sweating profusely.

  Whap! The sound of the bamboo training sword hitting the back of a nearby student’s knee broke the silence.

  Everybody but the sensei had stowed their shinais, Cain observed.

  The sensei continued walking behind the students, analyzing their kiba dachi stance and ensuring that they were squatting as low as they could.

  Cain’s muscular thighs began to quiver and swell. He felt the lactic acid building up in his quadriceps. He was exhausted physically and mentally. Sweat dripped into his eyes and the salt burned. Why the hell did I agree to this abuse? he cried out internally. With the whack of each bamboo strike, a flashback popped into his thoughts. The sensei swung his forty-two-inch bamboo training sword at another student, and the flashback popped up again. Cain had depleted his sweat reserves. No more sweat dripped from his body. He was mentally exhausted, and he started to feel nauseous. His mind wandered in slow motion, as if he was seeing an old film clip on an eight-millimeter tape.