in every direction as he escaped capture. His heart thumped against his chest like a drum and his thoughts rambled, but his eye caught someone familiar. I can’t believe what I just saw. It can’t be. Down one of the alleys, Cain saw a man in the shadows wearing a fedora and smoking a pipe. He was leaning against a building and snapping photos. That son of a bitch! Champ’s reporting my murder!
His rageful thoughts toward Champ were broken by the cawing of a bird in the back seat. The car swerved on the roadway as Cain twisted the steering wheel at the same time he turned his aching body to see behind him. What the—? A brown-and-gray hawk with yellow claws and matching eyes stared back at him. It flapped its wings from inside a custom-made wooden cage. Of course, Cain thought, Hayabusa would have a live falcon as his mascot.
Cain ditched the Skyline about a half mile from Umiko’s apartment. I can’t leave this bird in here. The owner might be a piece of shit, but this is a helpless animal. He grabbed the cage, along with his backpack, and walked the ten minutes to the high-rise apartment.
“Shh. Be quiet,” he instructed the bird. “You’re drawing too much attention.” And I’m not? An American with blood on his shirt, walking with a Japanese sparrow hawk and using a towel for a bandage?
Cain took the stairs, hoping to avoid any residents who would have likely used the elevator. He reached the seventh floor and tapped on the door with his middle knuckle.
“Nande ya nen!” Umiko shrieked as she opened the door. “What happened to you?”
Cain quickly invited himself in and shut the door behind him.
“Why are you bloody?” She continued her rapid-fire questions. “Why do you have a falcon? What happened?”
He placed the birdcage on the floor and looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m in a lot of trouble, Umi. I found Hayabusa, the man who took Bonnie.”
“Seiza kudesei,” she replied. “Sit. I will get a towel.”
Cain moaned from pain as he sat on the floor and propped his back against the sofa.
Umiko returned from the kitchen with a towel and a bowl of warm water. She soaked the towel in the water and wrung it out. She gently applied it to Cain’s neck and face. She cared for him with tenderness as she cleaned away all the blood that had caked to his neck, face, and ear.
“You need to go to a doctor,” she insisted as she looked into his eyes.
“Grab the expeditionary bag. There’ll be emergency aid equipment inside.”
She grabbed the bag and pulled out various types of medical equipment. “Your shirt is full of—” Umiko paused, clearly distressed by what she saw.
“Blood,” Cain answered for her. “This shirt is ruined beyond repair.” He looked at his hands, which were still bloody.
“What happened?”
“Doesn’t matter. Hayabusa’s dead now.”
Umiko gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand.
“It was suicide. But it might as well have been murder.”
“We have to go to the police,” she said with conviction.
“No! No police.”
“They will know what to do.”
Her sense of morality and ability to see the best in people were two of the traits Cain found attractive about her. But he recognized the stakes. The danger of never seeing Bonnie again was increasing every second, and Japanese bureaucracy would tie him up for weeks—possibly even leading to his arrest for manslaughter. “I’m so sorry, Umiko.” Cain teared up. “You are now in danger.”
“Why am I in danger?” Her eyes widened. “Because you’re here?”
“I had to leave your scooter at the scene. Eventually the police—maybe even the yakuza if they have the police on their payroll—will be able to trace the license plate back to you. They’ll come here. They’ll do to you what they’ve done to Bonnie.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong, though.” She began to panic. “I let my friend borrow my scooter.”
“I know you did nothing wrong. But you have to report your scooter stolen. And please promise me that you’ll go tomorrow to stay with your parents in Osaka—at least until this blows over.”
“I cannot leave my work tomorrow. Sato-san needs me.”
“Don’t worry about Sato-san. You are in danger. The yakuza can be here any minute. We must find a safe place and go there now.”
“The only hotel nearby that would be private and not ask for ID would be a capsule hotel.”
Cain shook his head. “No. I swore never to stay in one of those coffins again. There’s