Cajun Justice(82)

“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?”

“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.”