Cajun Justice(99)

Cain let go of the doorknob and hid himself in the shadows as two guards sprinted to inspect the engines. Each carried an Uzi and had it pointed toward the stars. Cain studied how the guards held and moved with their machine guns. He knew that most Japanese were unfamiliar with guns, especially since the law in 1965 that prohibited civilians from owning small arms. But the yakuza didn’t fear the law. And they owned the seaports—importing and exporting whatever black-market goods they desired.

Cain put the flare gun down and quickly and quietly grabbed the yacht’s aluminum gaff pole, which was attached to the wall. Cain expanded the telescopic pole and tightened the fasteners. He held the gaff just like a shinai—the bamboo staff he’d trained with during his kendo classes. He lowered his center of gravity and shuffled toward the taller of his targets. Cain thrust the shinai into the man’s midsection with such force that the fasteners couldn’t sustain the impact. The gaff collapsed but not without first propelling the gangster off the yacht and into the abyss.

The other man, who had been inspecting the engine, glanced up and was shocked to come face-to-face with the gaijin. He pointed the Uzi’s ten-inch barrel at Cain’s head. Cain dropped the gaff and lunged toward the gunman with arms outstretched, attempting to grab the Uzi and redirect its aim. He arrived a millisecond too late. The yakuza pulled the trigger. Cain was sure he was dead. He had failed to save Bonnie, just as he had failed to save his wife and son.

In a surreal moment of recognition, Cain realized that he was not dead. The gangster had pulled the trigger, but the Uzi hadn’t fired. Cain wrestled the muzzle away with his left hand while simultaneously reaching down toward his calf with his other hand. He depressed the safety button and released the ten-inch knife from its protective case. He gripped the knife and thrust it upward with such force that the blade tore into the man’s solar plexus, stopping only when the hilt had struck his ribs. The mortally wounded yakuza went wide-eyed and dropped the Uzi onto the deck. He fell to his knees, clutching at his wound. Cain looked down at the dying yakuza without pity. He grabbed the handle of his knife, placed his foot against the man’s chest, and yanked out the knife as he kicked the man off the yacht and into the black water.

El Viento slowly approached in the darkness. The other yakuza member was treading water and swimming back toward the Minashigo. Alvarez stood on the sailboat, widened his stance for balance and strength, and swung a baseball bat. The knocked-out yakuza submerged slowly like a crocodile.

Cain gave Chief Alvarez the thumbs-up.

“Behind you, Hurricane!” Chief Alvarez shouted, and pointed from his sailboat. “Check your six!”

Cain turned his head and saw the brawny yakuza man running full speed toward him while firing his revolver like a cornered soldier. Cain fell to the deck, making his body the smallest target he could, and retrieved the Uzi that only moments before had almost blown his head off. He cycled the bolt, which ejected the dud round, and inserted a fresh bullet into the chamber. While still lying on his back, he pointed the Uzi at the advancing yakuza. He put his left hand over his right wrist to control the recoil and pulled the trigger. At a firing rate of six hundred rounds per minute, the Uzi sprayed thirty-two bullets in three seconds. The slide locked to the rear when it ran out of bullets to spit out. The barrel and chamber were smoking, but all the bullets had hit the muscle-bound kidnapper. He fell flat on his face and his revolver slid across the deck. Cain grabbed it and opened the cylinder. All the bullets except one had been fired. I better make this one count, he told himself. He took the revolver and ran toward the cabin where Bonnie was tied up.





Chapter 79



Cain had only one bullet left in the revolver, and it was reserved for Yamamoto—he was going to personally take care of Sato with his bare hands. The betrayal he felt seethed through his body as he envisioned tearing Sato apart limb from limb.

Cain’s elbow was bent at waist level, his pistol leading the way. He opened the door and entered the grand room unnoticed. He was confused to see Sato and Yamamoto sword fighting.

Although both men were in their sixties, they were strong and agile, and it was apparent that they were in a fight to the death as they swung their katanas with raw power and technique. With each potentially deadly swing, the air made a swooshing sound. With each contact, the swords’ forged steel clanged loudly—a constant reminder of imminent death. Yamamoto gripped his sword tightly, brought it to his waist, and lunged toward Sato with a straight-in strike.

Sato stepped to the side, raised his arms in a clockwise direction, and swung his sword down like a lumberjack chopping wood. The downward swing was so powerful that the sword fell out of Yamamoto’s hands and bounced on the floor. Sato swung his body 360 degrees, like a tornado. His outstretched sword trailed him like a shadow. He stopped precisely below Yamamoto’s head, the blade nicking his neck.

“You are defeated,” Sato said between panting breaths. “You tried to take my life, yet I have spared yours. Leave me and my company alone.”

Yamamoto touched his neck and looked at his hand. Fresh blood was on the tips of his fingers. He lowered his head in shame, a gesture ceremoniously acknowledging his defeat.

“Watashi wa haiboku o mitomemasu.” Yamamoto had admitted defeat.

“Hai,” Sato acknowledged, and turned toward Bonnie, his sword still in his hand.

Cain aimed his snub-nosed revolver at Sato and placed his finger on the trigger.