Cajun Justice(87)

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 pain 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?”