Cajun Justice Page 25

  “My twin sister. She said she knows you. I’m hoping that means you’re her friend.”

  “Ha!” Champ snickered. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. My friends help me.”

  “Look! I’m sleep-deprived, angry, and in an emergency situation. I’m not in the mood for your riddles.”

  “I know your sister, but she wasn’t any help to me. She dated a navy lieutenant—a supply officer—who was embezzling ship funds and fabricating false contracts. I interviewed her in hopes that she could help me break the story.”

  “She never told me that.”

  “Yet you make it sound like you’re not surprised.”

  “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “I like to think I am,” Champ quipped. “My wife would probably disagree, though.” He chuckled. “It’s hard—perhaps impossible—to live up to the expectations of Japanese in-laws.”

  “Bonnie’s had bad luck with boyfriends, to say the least.”

  “Sounds like it—going from naval officers to yakuza members.”

  “Look, I don’t want to talk about this over the phone. Can we—”

  “Amen!” Champ exclaimed. “Neither do I. Damn NSA’s been bugging my phone. I’ve always known it, but WikiLeaks has proven it. Reporters are not protected from espionage anymore. Even the damn CIA is now infiltrating nonprofit organizations. It’s a different era we live in.”

  Oh, God, Cain thought. A conspiracy nut.

  “I’m on a stakeout right now, but I’d be willing to meet up with you at four thirty p.m. Meet me at—”

  “We gotta meet up earlier,” Cain insisted. “I’ll buy you breakfast. A good old-fashioned American breakfast, not fish and salad.”

  “No can do,” Champ responded. “I’m tied up until then. Meet me at the pachinko club next to the Yokosuka Chuo Station.”

  “What’s the name of it?”

  “You read Japanese?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Champ said with mild annoyance. “It’s in Yokosuka—by the navy base. If you can’t find it, you’ll never find your sister. Oh, and one last thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Come alone,” Champ instructed.

  “I am alone,” Cain replied.

  Chapter 63

  Cain’s fatigue had caught up with him. He hadn’t slept since Saturday night. He strained to keep his eyes open, and when they were, his vision blurred more and more. He folded his arms on top of his desk and rested his head on them. He fell into a deep sleep.

  Cain shot awake when Tanaka shook his shoulders. It took Cain a few seconds to recall where he was. “I can’t believe you were able to sneak up on me like that, Tanaka. I must be slipping.”

  “Cain-san, you look exhausted. Let me get you something to drink.”

  Cain’s heart raced and his breathing matched that rapid pace.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s five o’clock,” Tanaka answered as he headed to the break room, presumably to buy Cain a coffee from the vending machine.

  Cain had been asleep for only a few hours, but it felt like half the day. He stood. “I’m late. I’ve gotta go.”

  Tanaka handed him the hot can of Suntory Boss coffee as Cain was leaving the office.

  Cain popped the top and guzzled the coffee while Tanaka looked on with wide eyes.

  “Thank you,” Cain said, and tossed the can into the recycle bin. “Call me if you need anything.” He left the office and sprinted across the empty parking lot toward Umiko’s scooter. It dawned on him that it was five in the morning, not in the evening. When he stopped at Umiko’s robin’s-egg-blue scooter, which looked more pronounced when sparkling in the sunrays, he heard her voice in his head telling him to take care of himself first, that he can’t help Bonnie if he’s not healthy. He thought, She’s right. The wind picked up and he suddenly caught a musty whiff of himself. I need to shower and get a fresh pair of clothes. I smell like sweat, BO, Zen retreat, Chinatown, and Tokyo Bay all bottled up.

  Cain rode to his apartment, showered, shaved his several days of stubble, and threw on a pair of cargo pants and a button-up short-sleeve shirt. He stood at his balcony door and overlooked Yokohama Bay. He could see the iconic Ferris wheel and tons of commuters starting their workday. The conversation with Champ Albright kept replaying itself in his mind. I am alone, he’d told Champ. But now Cain realized that while it was his fight, he still had a shipmate who could help. He grabbed his phone and called Chief Alvarez.

  “Hurricane! It’s great to hear from you. What’s cooking?”

  Cain skipped the pleasantries. “My sister, Bonnie, has been kidnapped by some Japanese criminals,” he said. “They don’t want ransom. They want to punish her for what I did.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I’m meeting a reporter with the Stars and Stripes this afternoon.”

  “Who is it?” Chief Alvarez asked. “I might know ’em.”

  “Champ Albright. You know him?”

  “Yeah, I know him. He’s a weasel, but he’s well connected. He’s got a Japanese wife and he speaks the language. He’s a strange cat, though.”

  “That’s ironic,” Cain said. “He goes by the nickname Cat. Look, I don’t know how else to say this…”

  “Just shoot it straight and level, Hurricane, like you always have.”

  “I don’t want to involve you. That’s the last thing I wanna do. You still have your career ahead of you, and you’re drawing closer to either getting promoted to senior chief or retirement. But you remember those expeditionary bags the navy used to give us when we were flying on deployments?”

  “Affirm.”

  “Where could I procure one of those?”

  “Um, hmm. I think I’m smelling what you’re stepping in. Meet me at the bar on the southwest corner of Shiyakushomae Park in Yokosuka. I’ll have one for you.”

  “I see the chiefs still run the navy,” Cain said.

  Alvarez shouted the navy’s battle cry: “Hooyah!”

  Chapter 64

  Cain recognized Yokosuka from a distance. As he crossed the bridge that merged the toll road with Highway 16, he could see both the Japanese and American navy bases off to the left. In the water were several military ships. There were a few submarines with submariners walking on top of them. The officers appeared to be inspecting something. Behind them were the destroyer battleships, and in the greater distance was the lone USS George Washington aircraft carrier. It looked more like a skyscraper than a ship. Although aircraft carriers had been based in Yokosuka for several decades, this was the first nuclear-powered one. Many Japanese citizens had protested its arrival out of fear of nuclear contamination.

  Cain continued into the heart of Yokosuka, passing the multilevel Daiei shopping mall. The heavily fortified entrance to the American Navy base was on his left. Outside the gates, standing alone on the sidewalk, was a lone uniformed Japanese police officer. He stood watch, holding his keijo alongside him. Umiko had previously told Cain that the keijo—a police stick—was used to fend off potential attackers. She said that the police often trained in kendo.

  Cain parked Umiko’s scooter at the foot of a three-story building on the opposite side of the military base. A nearby elementary school was dismissing students for the day. A flock of joyful kids, wearing stiff leather backpacks over their black-and-white school uniforms, flooded the congested area. Cain recalled a conversation he’d had with Umiko about children’s backpacks.

  “Back in Louisiana,” Cain had explained, “they’re called book bags. For obvious reasons, you store your textbooks in ’em.”

  “Here they are called randoseru,” Umiko had replied. “They are very expensive. They can cost as much as sixty thousand yen!”

  Cain did the math in his head. “That’s a little more than seven hundred bucks!”

  “Hai. That’s why many times grandparents will buy them. But the child will keep the same one from first to sixth grade. It used to be that boys would get
black and girls would get red, but Japan is changing a little bit. You’ll see some girls get pink now, and some boys will choose brown or blue.”

  Thinking of Umiko warmed Cain’s heart. I need to call her soon, he reminded himself.

  Cain didn’t know the name of the street, only that Chief Alvarez had said all the Americans referred to it as Blue Street since all the signs were in blue. When Cain crossed the side street where the Nawlins restaurant was, fond memories of his date with Umiko flashed in his memory. He felt lucky that she had come into his life when she did.

  He approached the bar that Chief Alvarez had suggested. The front entrance and wall were completely made of glass, and a dim red light from within illuminated the small place. Through the glass Cain could see a large wooden bar that formed an L shape and a familiar face sitting in the corner of the empty room.

  Cain opened the door and joined Chief Alvarez at a back table. Alvarez handed him a heavy backpack. Cain unzipped it and carefully explored its contents without taking any of the items out.

  The bartender, who wore a black vest over a white long-sleeve dress shirt, took their order.

  “Two old-fashioneds,” Chief Alvarez said before turning to Cain. “You gotta try these. You’ll love ’em.”

  “That’s fine,” Cain replied.

  After the bartender brought them the drinks, Cain leaned in and asked, “What do you know about the yakuza?”

  “We had one sailor—naive kid from Kansas or Kentucky. Maybe even Iowa. I can’t remember exactly where. But we called him Big Country. He got into a fight with one of them yakuza jokers at a bar in Tokyo. It was one of those places that was not friendly to the round eye, if you know what I mean. But Big Country thought nobody was going to tell him where he could and could not buy a drink.”

  “Well?” Cain asked, eager to hear the rest of the story.

  “The yakuza slashed him up real bad. It was horrible. NCIS got involved and tried to work with the Tokyo police, but they could never make any headway without the assistance of the Japanese police.”

  “That seems to be a recurring theme,” Cain said. “The American embassy told me practically the same thing. I just don’t understand it. How can the yakuza operate with such impunity?”

  “How in the hell would I know? I’m just a chief. That yakuza realm is a whole separate world, and I’m not part of it.”

  “What happened to Big Country?”

  “He wanted to cooperate with the investigation, but he was too afraid. They had stolen his ID and said they knew who he was, and that they’d come looking for him. They even said they had people in America that could find him.”

  “Yakuza in America?” Alvarez nodded.

  Cain looked at the time on his phone. “Thank you for the bag and the drink, but I gotta go. I’m meeting with Champ.”

  “You want me to go with you?” Alvarez asked.

  Cain shook his head. “He was adamant about me going alone. If I can’t handle a Stars and Stripes reporter, then going against the yakuza will be a disaster.”

  “Oh, it’s gonna be a disaster. I promise you that.”

  Cain tilted his head and squinted his eyes, not quite sure how to take the chief’s comment.

  “For them, that is,” Chief Alvarez remarked with confidence.

  Chapter 65

  Cain walked toward the white multilevel building with a huge red banner that went from one side of the structure to the other advertising PACHINKO. The motion-sensored double doors slid open. The sound inside was deafening, a stark contrast to Japan’s normal adherence to tranquility. Well, this is certainly different! Cain thought. This is like a mini Vegas. Japanese men sat in endless rows of chairs that were arranged in front of brightly lit and multicolored machines. Through the heavy fog of cigarette smoke, Cain observed men furiously slapping the flippers and watching the metal balls flinging around inside the machine’s glassed chamber.

  It should be easy to spot Champ in here, he reckoned. Yup, that’s gotta be the Cat. Cain walked toward the only non-Japanese in the place. Even if the man wasn’t American, he would have stood out. He wasn’t wearing a dark suit like the other patrons. Champ wore a fedora that matched the brown tweed waistcoat that he had on over his long-sleeve white button-up. Instead of a cigarette, a wooden pipe hung lazily from his mouth. Cain couldn’t help but smirk as he thought, The New York Times called and they’d like their star reporter from the 1930s back.

  Cain sat in the empty chair next to Champ, put down his expeditionary bag, and started playing the machine in front of him. “What gives? You got a gambling addiction?”

  “Every man has his vice.” Champ spoke quickly, as if he was in a rush. “For some, it’s alcohol and prostitutes.” He turned to look at Cain; perhaps he was alluding to how Cain had gotten fired from the Secret Service. “Maybe even religion. My vices are simple. I call them the trifecta.”

  Cain leaned in toward Champ, straining to hear him over the tremendous noise of the metal balls bouncing around inside all the machines in the establishment.

  “Pachinko, America, and—”

  “America?” Cain interrupted. “America is a vice nowadays?”

  “I’m a flag-waving American who serves my country—perhaps not in the military like you did, but I serve by keeping people in powerful positions honest to those they serve. I hate having to air out dirty laundry, but somebody’s gotta take out the trash. It’s a responsibility I shoulder. I don’t expect you to understand. You took an oath of secrecy. I took mine to expose the secrets of corruption.”

  “My oath was to defend the Constitution,” Cain said as he considered Champ’s words. “Finish the third so we can move on with this story.”

  “I was telling you what my third vice was when you rudely cut me off.”

  “Gomen nosai,” Cain said flatly.

  “Ah, very good. Saying you’re sorry might be the most important phrase for foreigners to learn here in Japan. Who taught you that? Japanese girlfriend? They love Americans, you know. Mine tricked me years ago with foot massages and green tea served when I’d get off work. Then, before you know it, you’ve been married for seven years. If seven is lucky, I’d hate to see what year eight brings.”

  “I don’t know how you endure it,” Cain said with dry sarcasm.

  “Ha!” Champ chuckled. “Don’t let the stereotype fool you. You wanna know the difference between an American wife and a Japanese wife?”

  “Look, I don’t have time for all your damn games,” Cain said.

  Completely unfazed and without skipping a beat, Champ answered his own question. “An American wife will call you an asshole in public. A Japanese wife will wait till you’re home.” Champ let out a belly laugh.

  “There are more serious issues at hand. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

  “The noise is safety. Keeps the NSA from hearing my conversations.”

  Oh, God. Not this conspiracy nonsense again. Cain’s head fell backward and he looked at the billow of cigarette smoke that clouded the ceiling.

  “My grandfather was a great reporter,” Champ began. “I’m actually named after him. He earned a Pulitzer for his coverage of the Kennedy assassination in Dallas. Per your inquiry, that’s my third vice: the relentless pursuit of getting a Pulitzer.”

  “You ain’t gonna earn one in this broke-ass casino. The battlefield is a better place.”

  “Been there, done that.” Champ grabbed his pipe from his mouth. He looked around the parlor and leaned in toward Cain. “What I’m about to expose out here is going to make international headlines. Heads will roll! All the way to PACFLEET in Hawaii, and maybe even into the halls of the Pentagon.” Champ leaned back toward his machine and slapped the lever.

  “Mr. Rose believed you’d be able to help me find Bonnie,” said Cain. “He obviously overexaggerated your abilities.”

  That struck a nerve with the high-energy reporter. “You government functionaries are pretty dense at times.”

  Cain fel
t the blood rush to his head as he clenched his hand and hammer-fisted Champ’s pachinko machine, cracking the glass and scaring Champ in the process.

  The noisy casino went silent for a moment while all the patrons stared at Cain.

  “They’re going to make you pay for that,” Champ said nervously.

  “My family already has,” Cain replied. He stood and yelled, “You’re a waste of my time. I’m outta here.”

  “Wait!” Champ grabbed Cain’s arm and tried to pull him to sit back down, but Cain was too strong to be budged by Champ. “I’ll help you.”

  “So far I’ve gotten riddles and a history of your family tree, but no help.”

  “You wanna find the animals who kidnapped your sister? I know where to look.”

  Cain’s ears perked up. “Where?”

  “What makes the yakuza different from the everyday Japanese person?”

  Cain rolled his eyes in frustration and then thought for just a second. “They commit crimes.”

  “Physically, I mean.”

  Cain thought again. “They have tattoos.”

  “Exactly! Tattoos are taboo here in Japanese culture. You don’t see any advertised around here. But who does get tattoos on the island?”

  “The American military,” Cain replied. It was as if a light bulb had turned on.

  “You’re batting two for two!” Champ removed his cocktail from the napkin it had been resting on. He pulled a pen from his vest’s inner pocket and started scribbling something on the napkin. “This is the name of a tattoo place I’d check out if I were you. It’s here in Yokosuka. It’s”—he lifted his hands and used air quotes—“‘rumored to be frequented by yakuza members.’” Champ put his drink down. “A rogue American, with nothing to lose and disrupting the wa in the process, will get the heat off my investigation into the Seventh Fleet. I’ll use that to my advantage.”

  “Let’s get two things straight,” Cain fired back. “One: I’m not interested in your Seventh Fleet investigation. And riddle me this: what’s thicker than water?”

  “Blood?” Champ answered hesitantly.