painted robin’s-egg blue. “Well”—he searched for the right words—“it certainly fits you perfectly.”
Umiko grinned. “It’s custom paint. It’s my way of being a rebel.”
“A rebel.” Cain smiled. “I love how having a greenish-blue scooter makes you look like a rebel in Japan.”
“Will it work for you?” she asked. “It’s more powerful than the forty-nine cc engines, so it’s legal on the highway.”
“It’s no Harley, but beggars can’t be choosy. It should do the job.”
“Great! I’m thankful to be useful.”
“I’m the thankful one.” Cain exhaled deeply. “You’ve helped me out so much tonight. I’d be lost without you.”
“I’m pleased to help you.” Umiko’s keys were secured on a small pink-and-gold cherry blossom key chain. “Here.” She held the keys in the air, dangling from her fingertips.
“Sakura.” Cain used the Japanese word for cherry blossom as he reached for the keys. When their hands touched, Umiko folded hers into his, and she blushed.
“Please let me know if you need anything else,” she said.
“You’ve done so much for me, Umi. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“Just find your sister, Cain-san.”
Cain felt butterflies in his stomach as he got caught up in the moment. He stepped closer to her, placed his hands on the outside of her arms, and leaned in. His solid body pressed against her tiny frame. He felt her heart beating fast—like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird.
His lips touched her soft, full lips. He held the kiss for only a second.
Umiko slowly opened her eyes and smiled.
“That felt wonderful,” he said. “It felt right. You felt right. I wish I could stay longer, but I’ve got to go.”
“I understand,” Umiko said. “Remember. Mushin. One mind.”
Cain turned toward the scooter and Umiko spoke up. “One more thing. I almost forgot.” She reached into the compartment underneath the seat and removed a helmet that matched the color of her scooter.
“No way!” he protested. “Ain’t gonna happen!”
“It is the law. You can’t afford to be stopped by the police,” she warned. “A traffic stop in Japan would delay you for at least thirty minutes—maybe even longer.”
Fuckin’ Japan and its stupid laws! he thought as he snapped on the helmet. They don’t give a damn about the yakuza kidnapping an American, but don’t be caught without a helmet! He swung his leg easily over the scooter and started the 125cc engine. It purred quietly.
“I’ll call you,” Umiko said, “if I hear from the police about Bonnie.”
He nodded to acknowledge her and said, “Sayonara.”
“Not sayonara,” she replied. “That word has a certain finality to it. Mata ne—see you soon.” She smiled.
Cain was on a mission—a mission that would have only one outcome, he promised himself. Mushin, he thought as he rolled the throttle and cruised off into the night to find Bonnie.
Chapter 60
The small Suzuki Address V125G scooter was not conducive to Cain’s six-foot frame. At least it’s quiet and reliable, he thought. He cruised the backstreets of Yokohama’s complicated maze of narrow streets and dark alleys. Driving on the opposite side of the road is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Thank God this thing doesn’t draw attention, he thought. He then laughed at himself for even thinking that a six-foot gaijin on a robin’s-egg-blue scooter with a helmet to match would go unnoticed. I must look like one of those bears that ride around on a unicycle in a Russian circus. But then he smiled, fondly remembering Frank Rogers. Even the Devil eats flies when he has to.
Cain navigated the roadways as best he could. His eyes darted from sign to sign. Traffic advisories, distances in kilometers, and directions were on the left, right, and above him. Eighty percent of the signs were written in a mixture of Japan’s three alphabet systems: hiragana, katakana, and kanji. The other 20 percent were thankfully in English.
“Oh, there’s Chinatown!” he said aloud. Yokohama’s Chinatown had one of the world’s largest concentrations of Chinese shops and culture outside Beijing, and the neighborhood was a popular tourist destination. During the day, it was a grand area to be experienced with the senses—bright colors of red and yellow to stimulate the sight, and a variety of aromas to awaken the nose. Some smells were pleasant and inviting, others hideous and foul. The last time Cain had visited was at lunchtime on a weekday. Raw chickens had been hung upside down by sidewalk vendors who were eager to advertise their lunch specials consisting of kung pao chicken, chow mein, and Peking roasted duck. But