Cajun Justice(80)

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.