Cajun Justice(92)

“Hey, it’s a real thing,” Alvarez replied defensively. “You see how wired I am? Imagine how calm I’d be if I slept well.”

“You’re wired because you keep drinking those energy drinks.” Cain pointed to the sixteen-ounce aluminum can in Chief Alvarez’s hand. “Those things will kill you.”

“So will flying P-3s, but that never seemed to bother you.” The chief looked at Cain with concern. “Seriously, when was the last time you slept?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just take me to Sherlock Holmes. I’m getting angrier by the second thinking about him.”

“Aye, aye.” Chief Alvarez saluted.

The Stars and Stripes office was a single ten-by-ten-foot room next to the military’s vehicle licensing office. Cain and the chief had to walk through an industrial hallway full of newly arrived military members who were trying to take their driving tests, register their cars, and purchase Japanese insurance.

Champ’s office door had a small nameplate above an after-hours letter drop. Cain turned the knob and opened the door to a space with nondescript furnishings. He saw Champ sitting at his desk in the corner, blabbing on the telephone. A look of fear came over him when he saw Cain.

“Um, something’s come up rather unexpectedly. I’ll call you later.” He dropped the phone’s receiver on its cradle and stood.

Cain advanced toward the reporter and grabbed him by the collar. Cain slammed him against the wall, which was full of tacked newspaper articles with Champ’s byline. When the back of his head hit the wall, something fell out of Champ’s mouth.

“What was that?” Chief Alvarez asked, looking at the carpet by the reporter’s feet. “You lose a tooth?”

Champ coughed for air. “It was my throat lozenge.”

Cain turned to Chief Alvarez, who locked the door and guarded it with his back so nobody could enter.

“He’s all yours,” the chief said. “Show ’em why you were called Hurricane in the world’s finest navy.”

“Wh—wh—what do you mean by that?” Champ nervously stammered. “You can’t treat me like this.” His face was turning red from fear and embarrassment. “It’s an assault on a member of the press.”

“I saw you on television today—dramatizing the situation to get your ugly mug all over the news. You’re not going to get your Pulitzer on my case!” Cain shouted. “Bonnie’s not your pawn!”

“It’s not what it appears.” Champ’s voice cracked. “I was helping you. I swear to God.”

Cain loosened his grip slightly. “How in the hell is your reporting this all over the news helping me? I saw you taking pictures of me last night. What were you going to do? Sell them to the Japan Times?”

“Well, yes. But—”

Cain retightened his grip on Champ’s collar.

“But only after you find Bonnie. I swear. I can prove it to you. Let go and I’ll show you.”

Cain let go, and Champ took a deep breath. He stepped toward his desk and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out a license plate. “You see? I was protecting you. This is the plate off your scooter. I took it before the police could trace it back to you.”

“Wait—how did you know it was my scooter?”

“Let’s just say it was my journalistic instinct. Though quite frankly, I was surprised to see you on a scooter at all. But anyway, I took it to give you more time to find Bonnie. Nobody else is searching for her—they’re all searching for you!”

Cain’s heart sank. He felt the weight of guilt—his old familiar friend—once again. Oh, God. It’s not Champ. It’s me who has put Bonnie in more danger.

Champ’s next words gave Cain a little encouragement.

“The Japanese are afraid of the yakuza. They’ll never stand up against them, but you did! The more I publicize this in the news, the more of a hero you become.”

Cain squeezed his temples to ease the pressure. “I’m not a hero. I’m just trying to find my sister. But surely with all this publicity, they’ll kill her—or worse, ship her off to be a sex slave for the rest of her life.”

Chief Alvarez left the door and put his arm around Cain’s shoulders. “You can’t think like that. You’re her only chance right now. And you’re not alone. You have me to help you.”

“Even if you never find your sister—”

Chief Alvarez’s glare shot darts at Champ for his insensitive comment, but the reporter continued. “The very least you can do is punish those who kidnapped her in the first place. Not only for Bonnie, but for all the others we suspect that they’ve kidnapped.”

“I don’t know where they’re hiding,” Cain replied. “Or I would.”

Champ cleared his throat with a cough. “I know where you can find some more.”

Cain looked up, hopeful that he still had a chance.

“The man you killed last night—”

“I didn’t kill him. He jumped out the window,” Cain interjected.

“Regardless, he was no ordinary yakuza member. Hayabusa was the grandson of the yakuza leader.”

Cain’s eyes widened.

“His wake is tonight.” Champ seemed to get more excited every second he talked. “And I know where it’s at. Stars and Stripes’s leadership has tasked me with covering the story. After all, the yakuza in Yokosuka impacts the Seventh Fleet. The navy doesn’t want their sailors getting tangled up in this dark web of organized crime. We’re talking sex trafficking, blackmail, illegal gambling—”