Cajun Justice

by James Patterson

  “Good. You’re batting one for one,” Cain responded. “Two: I have everything to lose.” He grabbed the napkin from Champ and headed for the exit.

  “You’re welcome,” Champ shouted, and then, under his breath as he returned to his pachinko machine, “Unless they kill you tonight.”

  Chapter 66

  Cain left the pachinko parlor and marched toward the tattoo shop, Dragon’s Ink. He referenced Champ’s scribbled directions on the napkin. That’s convenient, he thought as he saw that he’d parked Umiko’s scooter right in front of the building before he had met with Chief Alvarez earlier that day.

  Cain looked skyward. The building appeared to be only about three stories high, and it wasn’t that wide. That type of construction was common in Japan because of the limited space. He pulled on the glass door and entered the tiny lobby. A directory was on the wall. Dragon’s Ink was listed as the business on the third floor.

  He ascended a narrow stairway. Each floor of the complex was occupied by only one door that led to the single business on that level.

  With each step, Cain’s legs moved faster and his heart beat harder. It felt as though an invisible magnet was pulling him. He reached the third floor and saw the only door. Elaborate stickers and artwork covered its entire surface. In the center was wording in both English and Japanese. The English said DRAGON’S INK, and below that was smaller text that said GI-FRIENDLY.

  “Good,” Cain muttered under his breath, “because I’m coming in.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. He used the crook of his elbow to wipe the sweat from his forehead. A popular Japanese-model doorbell, which also had a video camera and a two-way audio intercom system, was next to the doorknob.

  Cain tried the door but it was locked. He rang the buzzer and could hear its alert sounding from within the studio. A few moments later, a scantily clad Japanese woman in her early twenties opened the door. She wore a black silk dress that revealed her cleavage.

  “I’m here for a tattoo.”

  “Do you have appointment?” she asked.

  “No, but I have cash. Lots of it.”

  She nodded and gestured for him to come inside and follow her. When she turned forward he saw elaborate tattoos that started at the nape of her neck and went down her back and out of view because of the dress. His confidence grew. Yep, I’m at the right place. That style of tattoo looks a lot like Hayabusa’s.

  The woman escorted Cain to a nearby love seat and motioned for him to sit. He put his expeditionary bag down on the floor. She opened the clear door of a small fridge and took out a bottle of Kirin Lager. She used the ring on her finger to pop the top off the bottle in a single rehearsed move.

  Cain’s eyes widened. “Didn’t see that coming,” he told her. “That was impressive.”

  Gripping the bottle with one hand while resting its bottom on the palm of her other hand, she presented the beer to him.

  “Arigato,” Cain said as he grabbed the chilled drink. “I’ve only had Asahi before. This’ll be my first time with Kirin Lager.”

  She half smiled.

  He took a sip. “Aaah. That’s refreshing. Hits the spot.” He read the label aloud: “‘The legendary Kirin is a symbol of good luck.’” He took another swig. “Good, because I can use all the luck I can get.”

  The woman walked toward a rice-paper wall that divided the waiting room from the tattoo room. When she slid open the door for a few moments to leave, Cain saw a muscular customer sitting in the hydraulic chair. The black man had his shirt off, and the artist was inking a tribal pattern on his shoulder.

  Cain could see the man’s other tattoos and knew he had to be a sailor: he recognized the star tattoo on the man’s chest. The North Star was a popular tattoo in the navy. It was how a sailor found his way back home.

  Cain took another sip of his beer when he heard the low-pitched rumble of a car’s exhaust getting louder as it neared. That sounds just like the modified exhaust that Sabrina described. At that moment, he overheard the tattoo artist and the woman speaking in Japanese. He had no idea what they were saying, but he understood one word from their conversation: Hayabusa. He knew that the word falcon would not be spoken in casual conversation. And their conversation seemed hurried, almost panicky. The rice-paper door slid open, and the Japanese woman headed toward the mini fridge. She grabbed a bottle of beer and cracked it open. She poured it into a cold glass and placed it onto a tray.

  That’s not the same treatment I got, he thought. They’re afraid of whoever is coming in.

  He turned toward the artist, who had stopped inking and was now looking through the window at the ground below.

  The American customer looked confused. “What’s going on? You gonna finish my tat or what? I got ship duty tonight.”

  “New appointment. So sorry,” the artist replied.

  Cain walked toward the window and peered outside, directing his gaze at the street below. He saw the orange Skyline parked curbside, near Umiko’s scooter. The exhaust was rumbling, and loud techno music boomed from the car speakers. Then everything went quiet. Hayabusa got out of the Skyline and walked toward the building. Cain looked at the beer in his hand. Maybe there is something to this Kirin luck.

  The sailor grew impatient. “I ain’t got all day. I gotta get back to base soon.”

  Cain turned toward the American. “Shit’s about to go down, sailor. I don’t want you involved in this.” He raised a handful of cash. “Here’s ten thousand yen for the inconvenience. Find another place to go.” Cain hoped that the intensity on his face conveyed the life-or-death seriousness of the situation. The sailor got up from the reclined chair, tossed on his T-shirt, and snatched the money out of Cain’s hand.

  “Good luck, bro,” the young sailor said as he headed to the exit.

  “Take that woman with you on your way out. It’s gonna get ugly in here.”

  “I gotcha,” he replied.

  “And leave that door open,” Cain instructed. “I’m going to welcome him Cajun-style.”

  Chapter 67

  The sound of rushed footsteps in the stairwell echoed louder as Hayabusa approached the third floor. The steps slowed and approached more cautiously, though, as they drew closer to the studio’s open door.

  Cain noticed that the tattooist stayed still behind the paper screen, where he couldn’t be seen.

  Hayabusa, wearing a snug black leather jacket and jeans, appeared at the doorway, obviously completely surprised that Cain was there.

  “Watanabe Hayabusa,” Cain said slowly and deliberately as they locked eyes. Hayabusa was wearing a new pair of rose-colored sunglasses. “I see you have a new pair of sunglasses,” Cain said with a smirk. “What do I owe you?”

  “Your sister,” he replied.

  Cain felt the adrenaline flooding his body and his sight becoming sharper. He instinctively looked at his opponent’s hands. The hands are what kill, he could hear his Secret Service instructors saying at the academy.

  “That must have hurt.” Cain nodded toward Hayabusa’s hand, where the pinky was supposed to be. “But it’s going to pale in comparison to the hurt I’m about to deliver.”

  “I would have killed you last time had your friend not intervened,” Hayabusa said.

  “This time’s gonna be a lot different than the last. I’m not drunk, and there aren’t three of you. I’m going to break more than your nose, you little piece of shit.”

  Hayabusa looked as though he could sense Cain’s determination and his menace. He turned quickly and eyed the exit. He darted toward the door, but Cain had anticipated this and raced across the room. He kicked the door shut with such force that the walls shook. Hayabusa reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a butterfly knife, and flipped it open. Without hesitation, Cain grabbed his wrist with both hands and pulled it down toward his hip to secure it. He used his own body to push Hayabusa against the wall and pin him. He headbutted Hayabusa, crushing the sunglasses and cracking his already busted nose again. Hayabusa screamed in p
ain and dropped the knife.

  “Where’s my sister?” Cain screamed into Hayabusa’s face.

  Hayabusa used his legs to kick off the wall and free himself. He tried to rush toward the exit again, but Cain grabbed the back of his shirt. Hayabusa squirmed out of it and Cain dropped the shirt on the floor. Hayabusa was at the door and twisted the knob as Cain pummeled him from behind, putting him in a bear hug. Cain lifted him a foot into the air and slammed him onto the coffee table, scattering tattoo magazines across the floor. Cain reached down to punch Hayabusa, but Hayabusa used his left arm to block the strike. He grabbed Cain’s hair, simultaneously putting his foot into his chest, and propelled Cain forward in a classic judo technique. Cain crashed into one of the waiting room chairs.

  Hayabusa grabbed the opened Kirin Lager bottle that was nearby and broke it on the floor. The sharp ragged edges now protruded. He slashed wildly at Cain. The glass tore into Cain’s flesh on the side of his neck, right below his ear.

  Cain growled in pain. He wiped the blood from his ear and neck with his hand and was relieved it was light red in color. He knew that meant there was no arterial bleeding, so he didn’t panic.

  With Cain bleeding, Hayabusa apparently felt more confident and began taunting him. “Fuck your sister! She’s on a boat heading to the Middle East. We will get a good price for her. You’ll never see her again.”

  Cain scanned the room, searching for an object to use against the bladed bottle. In movies, he’d seen Jason Bourne use a magazine and a Korean master use a T-shirt, but this was real life. He spotted a banquet chair against the wall.

  Cain opened both hands, palms facing skyward, and motioned to Hayabusa. “Come get me, you coward!”

  With the bottle held tightly in his hand, Hayabusa lunged toward Cain. At the same time, Cain sidestepped and quickly grabbed the chair and swung it like a baseball bat. It impacted Hayabusa’s midsection and thrust his body through the rice-paper wall and onto the floor.

  The difference was noticeable right away. The waiting room had been dimly lit, but the tattoo artist’s work space was brightly lit under a fluorescent bulb to provide him with the best illumination possible for his artwork. The suddenly exposed tattoo artist was frantic, trying to maneuver away from the violence.

  Cain jumped on top of Hayabusa, who then wrapped his legs around Cain’s torso and locked his ankles. He began jabbing his thumb into Cain’s neck wound. Blood splattered across Cain’s face and neck. It mixed with sweat and started to impair his vision.

  He was breathing harder every second. He was in the greatest fight of his life and there was still the threat of the tattoo artist and any others who might come to the yakuza member’s aid. Cain mustered all the strength he could and pushed himself up from the ground. Hayabusa’s legs were still wrapped around Cain’s body. Although Hayabusa weighed only about 130 pounds, it felt like two hundred pounds of dead weight. Cain’s legs burned as he grunted to his feet and pushed forward all the way across the room until Hayabusa’s head hit the wall, momentarily stunning him. Cain slammed him onto the hard floor and grabbed the tattoo pen from the table. He then sat on top of Hayabusa and screamed into his face, “Where is Bonnie? Where is my sister?”

  Cain flipped the switch on the pen and the tattoo machine started buzzing. He pressed the pen against Hayabusa’s face and started scribbling like a child with a coloring book.

  Hayabusa screamed in agony as the needle seared through his skin. He thrashed his body violently as he tried to escape the unbearable pain, but Cain’s full weight was on top of him.

  Cain caught movement out of the corner of his eye. There’s another threat! his mind shouted with alarm. He shifted his weight and quickly turned his attention to the tattoo artist, who immediately put his arms in the air in a gesture of submission.

  “No E-E-Engrish,” he stuttered nervously. “No p-p-probrem here.”

  In that brief moment of distraction, Hayabusa squirmed free and jumped to his feet. He sprinted toward the closed window and jumped right into the glass. The window broke and shards of glass shattered everywhere. Hayabusa screamed as his momentum propelled him into the night sky. Cain reached out to grab him, but it all happened way too fast. Hayabusa’s shouts ended only with the thud when he smashed into Umiko’s scooter below.

  Cain watched from the window as a crowd began to assemble around Hayabusa. The crowd looked up at Cain and started pointing at him. He stepped back from the window and sat in the tattoo client’s chair. He looked in the large mirror that was bolted to the wall. His face was pale and bloody. He looked like a wild animal. He grabbed a towel off the table. He brushed the broken glass out of his hair and off his shoulders. He cleaned the blood from his face and neck and tied the towel around his neck to serve as a makeshift tourniquet.

  Cain snatched the black address book off the counter and flipped through it. It was full of dates, addresses, names, and telephone numbers. He stuffed it in his expeditionary bag and raced down the stairs to Hayabusa.

  The glass had cut his head in multiple locations, and a broken rib protruded from his jacket. Hayabusa was suffocating on his own blood.

  Cain leaned in and stopped about four inches from his face. He could feel Hayabusa’s hot, laboring breath.

  “Where is Bonnie?”

  Hayabusa tried to say something, but Cain couldn’t understand it. All he could hear was blood gurgling. Hayabusa’s eyes rolled back, and he stopped breathing.

  Cain yanked him off Umiko’s scooter and tossed him aside. The headlight and turn signals were busted, and the handlebar was bent. The scooter was too badly damaged to ride.

  “Shit!” Cain muttered under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  A police whistle pierced the air. It sounded again. Cain looked up and could see a Japanese police officer running straight toward him from the military base. Several military guards were trailing behind. They would be on top of Cain in less than twenty seconds.

  Chapter 68

  Cain reached into Hayabusa’s jean pocket and found a set of keys. He ran toward the orange Skyline and opened the door. He fumbled with the keys until he found the right one. The car’s exhaust rumbled to life, along with the techno music blaring through the speakers.

  The Japanese police officer appeared at the driver’s side window. He was yelling something in Japanese when the American military police arrived. They tried to open the door, but Cain had locked it. One of the guards drew his expandable baton and raised it in the air. He was about to break the driver’s side window.

  Cain pressed the clutch and shifted the stick into drive. His boot heel pushed the pedal to the floorboard. The tires squealed as they struggled to gain traction. The Skyline fishtailed as it fled the crime scene.

  Cain’s eyes darted wildly in every direction as he escaped capture. His heart thumped against his chest like a drum and his thoughts rambled, but his eye caught someone familiar. I can’t believe what I just saw. It can’t be. Down one of the alleys, Cain saw a man in the shadows wearing a fedora and smoking a pipe. He was leaning against a building and snapping photos. That son of a bitch! Champ’s reporting my murder!

  His rageful thoughts toward Champ were broken by the cawing of a bird in the back seat. The car swerved on the roadway as Cain twisted the steering wheel at the same time he turned his aching body to see behind him. What the—? A brown-and-gray hawk with yellow claws and matching eyes stared back at him. It flapped its wings from inside a custom-made wooden cage. Of course, Cain thought, Hayabusa would have a live falcon as his mascot.

  Cain ditched the Skyline about a half mile from Umiko’s apartment. I can’t leave this bird in here. The owner might be a piece of shit, but this is a helpless animal. He grabbed the cage, along with his backpack, and walked the ten minutes to the high-rise apartment.

  “Shh. Be quiet,” he instructed the bird. “You’re drawing too much attention.” And I’m not? An American with blood on his shirt, walking with a Japanese sparrow hawk and using a towel
for a bandage?

  Cain took the stairs, hoping to avoid any residents who would have likely used the elevator. He reached the seventh floor and tapped on the door with his middle knuckle.

  “Nande ya nen!” Umiko shrieked as she opened the door. “What happened to you?”

  Cain quickly invited himself in and shut the door behind him.

  “Why are you bloody?” She continued her rapid-fire questions. “Why do you have a falcon? What happened?”

  He placed the birdcage on the floor and looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m in a lot of trouble, Umi. I found Hayabusa, the man who took Bonnie.”

  “Seiza kudesei,” she replied. “Sit. I will get a towel.”

  Cain moaned from pain as he sat on the floor and propped his back against the sofa.

  Umiko returned from the kitchen with a towel and a bowl of warm water. She soaked the towel in the water and wrung it out. She gently applied it to Cain’s neck and face. She cared for him with tenderness as she cleaned away all the blood that had caked to his neck, face, and ear.

  “You need to go to a doctor,” she insisted as she looked into his eyes.

  “Grab the expeditionary bag. There’ll be emergency aid equipment inside.”

  She grabbed the bag and pulled out various types of medical equipment. “Your shirt is full of—” Umiko paused, clearly distressed by what she saw.

  “Blood,” Cain answered for her. “This shirt is ruined beyond repair.” He looked at his hands, which were still bloody.

  “What happened?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Hayabusa’s dead now.”

  Umiko gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand.

  “It was suicide. But it might as well have been murder.”

  “We have to go to the police,” she said with conviction.

  “No! No police.”

  “They will know what to do.”

  Her sense of morality and ability to see the best in people were two of the traits Cain found attractive about her. But he recognized the stakes. The danger of never seeing Bonnie again was increasing every second, and Japanese bureaucracy would tie him up for weeks—possibly even leading to his arrest for manslaughter. “I’m so sorry, Umiko.” Cain teared up. “You are now in danger.”