“I’m counting on it.”
“Ganbatte!” Tanaka said to wish him good luck.
Cain hung up the phone and started dialing an American number. Right before the call connected, Umiko emerged from the elevator. He disconnected and shoved the phone into his pocket. He opened the lobby door for her and followed behind her, as she led the way through the parking garage. In the corner were a dozen scooters in each of several rows and twice as many bicycles.
Cain scanned the sea of black and silver scooters. “I don’t see any motorcycles,” he commented.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I think I used the wrong word. And I apologize about the color. It’s not very discreet.”
In the far corner was a scooter painted robin’s-egg blue. “Well”—he searched for the right words—“it certainly fits you perfectly.”
Umiko grinned. “It’s custom paint. It’s my way of being a rebel.”
“A rebel.” Cain smiled. “I love how having a greenish-blue scooter makes you look like a rebel in Japan.”
“Will it work for you?” she asked. “It’s more powerful than the forty-nine cc engines, so it’s legal on the highway.”
“It’s no Harley, but beggars can’t be choosy. It should do the job.”
“Great! I’m thankful to be useful.”
“I’m the thankful one.” Cain exhaled deeply. “You’ve helped me out so much tonight. I’d be lost without you.”
“I’m pleased to help you.” Umiko’s keys were secured on a small pink-and-gold cherry blossom key chain. “Here.” She held the keys in the air, dangling from her fingertips.
“Sakura.” Cain used the Japanese word for cherry blossom as he reached for the keys. When their hands touched, Umiko folded hers into his, and she blushed.
“Please let me know if you need anything else,” she said.
“You’ve done so much for me, Umi. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“Just find your sister, Cain-san.”
Cain felt butterflies in his stomach as he got caught up in the moment. He stepped closer to her, placed his hands on the outside of her arms, and leaned in. His solid body pressed against her tiny frame. He felt her heart beating fast—like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird.
His lips touched her soft, full lips. He held the kiss for only a second.
Umiko slowly opened her eyes and smiled.
“That felt wonderful,” he said. “It felt right. You felt right. I wish I could stay longer, but I’ve got to go.”
“I understand,” Umiko said. “Remember. Mushin. One mind.”
Cain turned toward the scooter and Umiko spoke up. “One more thing. I almost forgot.” She reached into the compartment underneath the seat and removed a helmet that matched the color of her scooter.
“No way!” he protested. “Ain’t gonna happen!”
“It is the law. You can’t afford to be stopped by the police,” she warned. “A traffic stop in Japan would delay you for at least thirty minutes—maybe even longer.”
Fuckin’ Japan and its stupid laws! he thought as he snapped on the helmet. They don’t give a damn about the yakuza kidnapping an American, but don’t be caught without a helmet! He swung his leg easily over the scooter and started the 125cc engine. It purred quietly.
“I’ll call you,” Umiko said, “if I hear from the police about Bonnie.”
He nodded to acknowledge her and said, “Sayonara.”
“Not sayonara,” she replied. “That word has a certain finality to it. Mata ne—see you soon.” She smiled.
Cain was on a mission—a mission that would have only one outcome, he promised himself. Mushin, he thought as he rolled the throttle and cruised off into the night to find Bonnie.
Chapter 60
The small Suzuki Address V125G scooter was not conducive to Cain’s six-foot frame. At least it’s quiet and reliable, he thought. He cruised the backstreets of Yokohama’s complicated maze of narrow streets and dark alleys. Driving on the opposite side of the road is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Thank God this thing doesn’t draw attention, he thought. He then laughed at himself for even thinking that a six-foot gaijin on a robin’s-egg-blue scooter with a helmet to match would go unnoticed. I must look like one of those bears that ride around on a unicycle in a Russian circus. But then he smiled, fondly remembering Frank Rogers. Even the Devil eats flies when he has to.
Cain navigated the roadways as best he could. His eyes darted from sign to sign. Traffic advisories, distances in kilometers, and directions were on the left, right, and above him. Eighty percent of the signs were written in a mixture of Japan’s three alphabet systems: hiragana, katakana, and kanji. The other 20 percent were thankfully in English.
“Oh, there’s Chinatown!” he said aloud. Yokohama’s Chinatown had one of the world’s largest concentrations of Chinese shops and culture outside Beijing, and the neighborhood was a popular tourist destination. During the day, it was a grand area to be experienced with the senses—bright colors of red and yellow to stimulate the sight, and a variety of aromas to awaken the nose. Some smells were pleasant and inviting, others hideous and foul. The last time Cain had visited was at lunchtime on a weekday. Raw chickens had been hung upside down by sidewalk vendors who were eager to advertise their lunch specials consisting of kung pao chicken, chow mein, and Peking roasted duck. But at this witching hour, Chinatown reminded Cain of an abandoned town that had once been a thriving civilization. The bright-red columns and elongated fire-breathing-dragon murals offered a stark cultural difference from Japan’s more subdued culture of bonsai trees, geishas, and the samurai warrior class. The black Chinese characters that were painted on the building made it look as though someone had just thrown black confetti against the brick and it had stuck. Cain didn’t know what the writing meant—only that it was made up of Chinese characters.
The putrid odor of rotting trash in overstuffed bins followed Cain like a shadow as he rode through the heart of Chinatown. The only discernible activity was two rats scurrying along the dark alley, one chewing on a piece of what looked like the remains of a sliced carrot. The foul smells were replaced with the familiar odor of Tokyo Bay. There’s the sea! I’ve got my bearings now.
Cain saw the large green sign that let him know the toll road was up ahead. He merged onto the toll road and saw the lighted booth. He stopped a couple of feet before the wooden barrier, and the uniformed toll employee greeted him with the kindness of a man who hadn’t seen a friend in weeks. The elderly employee bowed and then extended both his hands, which were holding a plastic tray to collect the fare. The exact amount was displayed on a large screen in Cain’s direct line of sight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the yennies and placed them on the tray. The barricade arm lifted and Cain rolled the throttle.
The engine whined louder before the scooter started moving. The multilane toll road was well lit under the dark sky, but the cloud layer prevented any stars from shining through. The cool, humid air blew against Cain’s face. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the air rushing past his ears. This is eerie, he thought. Where are all the other cars? How can everybody in a city of nine million be sleeping? What is Bonnie doing? Is she being tortured or sexually abused? He couldn’t stomach the thought.
Cain pushed those awful thoughts away and remembered his Zen retreat. Mushin. Live in the moment.
He rolled the throttle as much as he could, but the scooter wouldn’t budge past eighty kilometers per hour. The big city was behind him—far behind him now. He passed the marina and gazed at all the sailboats and private yachts that were docked. Most displayed Japanese flags high on the bow, but there were a few luxury yachts with foreign flags. There’s an American, a New Zealand…Huh. That’s some type of Middle Eastern flag. Wonder what they’re doing all the way out here.
Cain rode the last stretch of the road that led to Sato’s company. He pulled up to the closed gate and the security guard cautiously approached. The guard’s left
hand gripped the Maglite flashlight that rested on his left shoulder, just as Cain had taught him. Before Cain had arrived, none of the security guards had been shown how to use their four-cell D-battery Maglite as a baton against a burglar if necessary.
“Konnichiwa,” Cain said in greeting, squinting his eyes to protect them from the flashlight’s blinding beam.
“Cain-san,” the guard replied with a big grin, and exhaled a sigh of relief. He bowed several times. “You surprise me at this hour.”
“I like how prepared you were, though. Well done! Yoku yattane!”
“Hai.”
“How are you tonight?”
“Very good. It is very quiet.”
“Quiet is good, especially in this business,” Cain said. “I need to go to my office for a bit.”
“Hai!” The guard rushed back to his shack and pushed the button to open the gate.
“Arigato,” Cain said. “Head on a swivel,” he reminded the guard as he lifted his legs. Cain was about to throttle the scooter when he noticed that the guard looked confused. Cain instantly realized that the guard had interpreted his instruction literally. He immediately rephrased. “Be alert. Ki o tsukete.”
“Hai,” the guard said with visible relief.
Cain smiled at the visual the guard must have seen when Cain told him “Head on a swivel.” He rolled through the gate and up to the main building.
Inside his office, Cain forwent the overhead fluorescent and instead opted for the small desk lamp he had purchased from IKEA. He yanked on its chain and collapsed into his black faux-leather roller chair. He exhaled deeply. Bonnie, how in the hell did we get ourselves into this shit? He leaned back into his chair and stared at the ceiling. Where are you, Bonnie? Talk to me. Send me a message.
He heard a familiar voice answer, but it wasn’t Bonnie’s. It was the calm, reassuring voice of his father. No matter what’s going on around you, son, always fly the airplane. Cain had been only twelve years old when his father said it. This is the most important thing in flying and in life: Take the controls.
Cain straightened his legs to make it easier to retrieve his cell phone and money clip from his front pockets. He tossed all the contents on his desk. He saw the red-and-gold Old Ebbitt Grill matchbook staring at him. Cain was about to do what he never thought he would do. Even considering it ate at his core. There was nothing left; he was simply out of options. Bonnie, you know how much anger I have toward the Service now, for ruining my career and reputation. But for you I’ll make this call.
He picked up the landline, momentarily stared at the phone, and started dialing the number.
Chapter 61
“Hayes speaking,” the familiar voice answered. The line was remarkably clear for an international call.
“LeRoy the King Hayes,” Cain said slowly and methodically.
“I never thought I’d hear from you again, Cain,” LeRoy said. “I thought the swamps had swallowed you up, but I guess you called to get the scoop, huh?”
“Sure did,” Cain replied without having any idea what “scoop” LeRoy was talking about.
“Yep, it’s true,” the King offered.
“Okay,” Cain replied. “I confess. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Afraid not. Seriously. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“What rock have you been hiding under?” LeRoy asked.
“I’m in Japan. Been working here for a while now.”
“Oh, shit! I thought you were calling because of the news.”
Cain’s patience was wearing thin. “What news are you talking about? The only news I have is bad news.”
“Your old partner was fired.”
“Tomcat?”
“Well, it wasn’t Jill,” LeRoy replied.
“It was about time Jackson’s actions caught up to him.”
“That idiot got drunk at the Hinckley Hotel and put his hands on the wrong woman. She was the daughter of a congressman. The hotel provided the surveillance video. Needless to say, it was no secret that his services were no longer needed, and I perp walked him off the premises myself.”
Cain smiled, but for only a second. He didn’t have time to revel in that satisfying news.
LeRoy continued. “I imagine he’s fretting that the congressman will push for sexual-assault charges against him. If convicted, he’ll be a registered sex offender and never get a job again.”
The more Cain thought about it, the sadder he felt for Tom’s wife and daughters and about the embarrassment suffered by the family.
“I thought you’d love hearing that,” LeRoy said when Cain didn’t respond.
“Under different circumstances, probably. How’s Beth taking it?”
“She’s already filed for divorce and hired the most ruthless divorce attorney. They’ll go after Jackson’s retirement. She’ll probably be rich when all this is over.”
“She was never interested in the money,” Cain replied. “She just wanted a loving family. Jackson ruined his own life. But I’ve got more important fish to fry right now. I need your help, LeRoy. And you owe me one.”
“I owe you? How do you figure that? I gave you your options and you chose, not me. Now, I admit the Service served you a shit sandwich. Matter of fact, you got yours without the bread, but that ain’t my fault.”
“Dammit, LeRoy! You know I wouldn’t have called you unless I really needed your help.”
LeRoy seemed unsettled by the unusual urgency and desperation in Cain’s voice. “I will help you if I can. What do you need?”
“I need the Service files on a CEO named Koichi Sato and his company, and—”
“Say what?” LeRoy interrupted.
“And a yakuza member who goes by the moniker Hayabusa.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? Jason Bourne? There ain’t no way in hell I can give you that information! Jesus Christ, Cain! They would fire my ass just like they did that chickenshit Jackson.”
“They won’t fire you. They can’t fire you. You have a discrimination lawsuit against them. It would look like retaliation.”
“Boy, you better lay off the sake because you ain’t thinking clear. This kind of shit is exactly what they’re looking for. This could be the nail in my coffin they’ve been looking for. I’m sorry, Cain. I would help you if I could, but I’ve got way too much to lose.”
“Like your sister?” Cain quietly replied.
“What are you talking about?”
“The yakuza kidnapped Bonnie. I’ve got nowhere else to turn,” Cain said without emotion.
LeRoy knew and liked Bonnie. He had met her at the Secret Service’s annual Christmas party at the White House and had told Cain he thought she was feisty.
“Bonnie is good people, and it sickens me to think she is in danger. Are you sure it was yakuza?” LeRoy asked.
“Beyond a shadow of a doubt,” Cain replied. “But if you ain’t gonna help Bonnie, I gotta go now.”
“Just hold on a sec,” LeRoy said. “You know I can’t help you like that. You know the rules and regulations almost better than anyone. It’s illegal. Worse than getting fired, it could land my ass up in the pokey. But let’s just say, hypothetically, of course, I wanted to mail you a Christmas card. Where would I send it?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be long gone before Christmas.”
“Okay, then.” LeRoy coughed to clear his throat. He seemed to place his mouth closer to the phone’s receiver. “Let’s say I wanted to mail you a”—he paused for a moment—“an early Christmas gift. Something for you and Bonnie both. What’s the address I’d use?”
Cain rummaged through his money clip, looking for Tanaka’s business card. “Here, use this address.” He read it over the phone.
“Got it,” LeRoy said. “Happy fishing.”
Cain disconnected from LeRoy and was putting Tanaka’s pristine business card back into his money clip when he saw the business card
that Rose from the embassy had given him for the Stars and Stripes reporter. CHAMP ALBRIGHT THE THIRD, it read. INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALIST FOR THE FAR EAST DIVISION.
Oh, God, I hate the press. Never thought in a million years there’d be a scenario where I’d need the help of your kind. But this must be a sign, because you keep turning up.
Chapter 62
“This is Cat,” the man answered with a Southern twang.
“Um.” Cain was caught off guard by the nickname and twang. He was used to Southern accents, but this one had a rushed cadence to it. “I was looking for Champ Albright.”
“You got the Cat—Champ Albright the Third. What can I do for ya?”
“Your business card was given to me at the American embassy.”
“Who at the American embassy?”
“Mr. Rose.”
“It’s about time that old bureaucrat passed out my card. You must be in some kind of trouble, then. I’ve been working him for years, and he’s never given my card to anyone.”
“Well, I am—”
“In a bit of trouble?” Champ interjected. “Look, I’m really busy covering a story for the navy’s Seventh Fleet. If you’ve got something worthwhile, just spit it out.”
“My sister was kidnapped by the yakuza.”
Champ cleared his throat. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.”
“I’m an investigative journalist, not a mind reader. So, if this is some kind of joke—”
“I don’t joke about this kind of stuff.”
“Me, either. So we got that in common.”
“My name is Cain Lemaire.”
“The only Cain Lemaire I know is the one who the Secret Service fired, and he found himself on the front page of the Japan Times bleeding all over one of the most important CEOs in this country.”
“I figured this was a waste of my time, but I did it for Bonnie.” Cain sighed.
“Bonnie Lemaire? Of course. Dammit. This case has me so busy I wasn’t thinking straight. Who’s Bonnie to you?”
Cajun Justice Page 24
