Cajun Justice(85)

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 felt 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?”