Redemption (3 page)

Of course Yogi had noticed the poor little kid running from Jin, but he’d never intervened. According to his philosophy, it was each person’s responsibility to pass their own tests. Surely, he would eventually decide to face Jin on his own, to meet his destiny and brave his adversaries – but, no. Time after time, Yogi watched him running for his life, often falling short and succumbing to many fists and feet. It was a wretched spectacle and it depressed him. He realized the boy was crippled, lost and alone against this band of honourless morons. Making matters worse, the little Western boy clearly didn’t have a single defensive instinct. He absorbed the attacks instead of resisting them. He could tap into the Japanese mindset. And today, the same thing was about to unfold in front of him as he walked to his father’s dojo.

Today was stick day. Jin and his gang had collected cherry branches and were hitting, poking, anything that got a reaction from the wriggling thing in the centre. This time, Yogi had seen enough. In a calm, firm voice, he called toward them:

“Enough! Leave him! Can’t you see he can’t defend himself?”

Jin turned to stare at Yogi. Of course he knew who he was and what he was capable of. Arrogantly, he responded, “None of your business, keep walking!”

Yogi advanced with a piercing glare and a slow, steady step. “Don’t you feel cowardly, attacking someone with a whole gang behind you?”

“Hey, I thought you were Japanese! What are you doing, defending the albino demon?”

“I told you, Jin, to leave him alone!”

Jin laughed shrilly and arrogantly and more than a little nervously. He knew what Yogi could do to him, of course, but more than that, he could lose face in front of his followers. He hadn’t planned for an encounter like this, and now Yogi Tanaka was less than a metre away, and Jin was in a tough spot.

“You can’t tell me what to do! I’m the boss, and I decide what happens to the albino demon, you see!?”

Yogi darted forward and pulled Andy from the circle. Jin swung a hook that Yogi blocked easily with his left forearm, followed by a punch in the stomach with his right fist. Jin went down. His comrades fled. Yogi took Andy by the scruff of his neck and led him away from the farce.

“Don’t you ever defend yourself?”

Andy was still in shock. He thanked him.

“You’re welcome. I’m Yogi.”

“I… I know. I’m Andy.”

Yogi smiled. “Now we
both
know.”

The two friends walked together until their paths diverged, getting acquainted as the sun set on a spray of cherry blossoms.

Things changed for Andy at that moment. Yogi became his big brother, of sorts, and they became friends. Japan was beginning to look promising.

CHAPTER 4

It was a grey morning (as usual). When Andy awoke, rain was splashing over his windowpane. He ate
maman
’s breakfast at the table, as usual. His daddy was already seated and reading the paper, dressed for work, as always. Scott mentioned that he would fix Andy’s broken bicycle – the front wheel was bent due to Andy’s carelessness, and he promised to pay more attention in the future. Pleased, Scott smiled and returned to the paper. When the time came, Andy and Scott left together to start their day. As he walked away, Scott revived the engine.

Suddenly, a blast rang through the street. Andy turned back. A black sports car with tinted windows had rolled up in front of the family home. A machine gun spray. Two or three bursts and a flame licking out of the car. Andy’s father absorbed it all before crumpling onto the ground. The car squealed away, the smell of burnt rubber lingering in the air. Andy was paralyzed, or he refused to move, because something so horrific simply couldn’t be real. The car was utterly peppered with bullets, windows shattered. The worst of it, the bleeding mass lying in the entrance, had been his father only a few seconds ago. He was standing there, staring at what was left of his father’s head. Blood flowed down the street in red trickles like lava. Blood, head, screams. Blood head screams. Like a cobra, the Yakuza had struck.

*     *     *

In dying, Scott knocked Andy’s life wildly off course. The Yakuza had managed to hit Andy’s childhood as well. He and Caroline returned to Montreal after burying Scott in San Francisco, his birthplace. The funeral was, naturally, somber, with plenty of mourners attesting to the level of respect and appreciation Scott had earned in every facet of life. Through the years, Andy’s memories of his father dissipated until the man he had adored, and who had adored him, was only a vague imprint over his earliest years. It made him sad, but it let him get on with his life. However, there was a wound buried deep within him, and it had never healed properly. Andy channelled everything into his studies, coming to excel in every field.

It all came together when Andy got his masters in political science. His theses had hardly gone unnoticed and his future employers had been tracking his evolution for a while. His future was decided before he knew it. One night, while Andy was bussing tables, a furtive type from the Canadian Security Intelligence Service recruited him right then and there. Andy burned with a desire to make a difference, protect his country, and, above all, seriously damage the bastards that had stolen his childhood and his father. He didn’t have to reflect for long. Soon, he was a first-class agent, and those who watched him from the shadows nodded with the satisfaction of one whose prediction has come true.

Andy lived his life and, at the dawn of his fifties, his flame for justice had blown out. The filth he’d been hunting all his life were almost never sentenced and stopped. Oh, a few were taken, and some were killed, but the architects of criminality pulled through cheaply. It was a symptom of a rights-driven society: the barest hint of a reasonable doubt was enough to get you out. He concluded that the only ones who were
really
advantaged were the types who would kill a man in cold blood while his son watched. His work never flagged, but in place of his flame of justice burned a flame of rage. He was hopeless, which made him listless. When his superior called him one day into his office, there was no notion of a turning point in his head. He went in and shut the door behind him.

“What can I do for you, James?”

James Kantan, chief of undercover operations, had over 30 years of field experience, during which time he’d called plenty people into his office. However, there was something in his face that gave Andy pause.

“Ok, give it to me. It’s because of the Forzatelli case, isn’t it?” James just sat there, staring. “Shit, are you going to tell me or shall we just stand here all day?”

“It’s like this, Andy… listen. I don't know what shitload of problems you got into again, but there’s CIA people in Montreal, and they want to see you. They ‘demanded your presence’.”

Andy snorted with laughter and plopped himself into an armchair.

“Listen,
James
, you know I’m seeing a snitch tonight. The meeting’s been planned for days and this jackass is directly connected to Reiki. He’s gotten away twice – twice! – but if this guy talks, there’s several firearm caches in it for us. So, it’s too bad they didn’t notify me in advance. Guess they’ll just have to go fuck themselves.”

“Yeah, but here’s the problem... I don't have a choice so you don’t have a choice! I don’t know what they want, they wouldn’t tell me. I insisted and they told me to fuck myself, sort of. The orders came from a high place. I was told that you had to go and
you will go
. It’s none of my business anyway, you’re the one they want, you take it up with them tonight, see!?”

“Goddammit James, we’re in deep shit, do you hear me!? Do you want me to work the case or—”

“You’re going, and that’s it! Here’s the address, be there at twenty-hundred, do NOT keep them waiting. Be there!”

Andy grabbed the post-it and grumbled out of the office.

The chicken scratch on the yellow post-it led to an abandoned slaughterhouse in Montreal’s eastern outskirts. The building was a huge brown cube with a few little iron-barred windows. Train tracks, also abandoned, ran behind the complex. Long grasses hugged the detritus strewn everywhere. A “For Sale” sign was tacked next to the main doors. Andy parked in front and took it in, looking for cars that might have belonged to these new friends, but there were none. All was deserted.
What kind of mouthbreather would buy a place like this?
It was begging for a wrecking ball. The main door was barred. In the darkness, he circled the building through the long grass and found a door, which
was
open, although behind it was nothing but a black abyss. Without questioning, he entered.

It was pitch dark inside, with the exception of a few wisps of light from the tiny windows. It smelled like mould. The place was vast and Andy could make out a glass-paned window that might have been the reception area. Everything was concrete, except for a giant refrigerator door a few steps away. He pulled at it – must have been full of carcasses in its day – and it gave. Deep inside, five or six blobs sat around a table (no carcasses, thankfully). The little lamp cast more shadows than light. The silence was broken by a serious, composed voice:

“Good evening, Mr. Bane. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Good evening. As a conference room, I will admit this is pretty original.

The man who had addressed him rose and approached, wearing a half-smile. He was tall and, like his moustache, thin and grey. Andy walked forward, both to extend his hand and to get a sense of the rest of the men, of which there were seven. All seemed older than him, and they watched without speaking.

“My name is Oscar Schwartz. Have a seat, please, make yourself comfortable. We’re very pleased to meet you.”

Schwartz showed him a wooden chair facing the table. He faced his interrogators and Schwartz took his place on the other side of the table.

“Gentlemen of the CIA, I must say, advanced notice would have been preferable. I hope this is very important, to travel all this way just to meet me. The last time I needed you, you gave me—”

“Mr. Bane… to begin, you are here because that which we must tell you is of capital importance. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here either. Do you understand?”

“Imagine that,” Andy grumbled.

“First of all, what is it that makes you think we’re CIA?”

“Well, that’s what I heard from my boss, who was, by the way, furious that you wouldn’t advise him as to the nature of this meeting. You love a fucking mystery, eh? And for myself, I must admit that I don’t have much patience for games like this. I haven’t slept decently in weeks and it must be more than—”

“The CIA was no more than the means by which we were able to contact you, we are not CIA. I’m afraid that the authority in question is other than that. Life is complex, but this, you must already know.”

“Oh, I see... so under orders of the President himself maybe !?” said Andy sarcastically.

Schwartz looked him right in the eyes with a perfect poker face, half his face in shadow.

“ Maybe in a way... along with several other people that steer the world, and who, my friend, share a vision.”

“Ohhhh, good! Thank you, but I’ve already heard this bullshit. If you would excuse me, I think you’re talking to the wrong guy.”

Andy stood and stormed towards the door. Schwartz called him back in a harsher voice than Andy thought was possible:

“Your father, Mr. Bane. Do you remember? Agent Scott Bane was gunned down in cold blood in front of your home by the Yakuza!”

Andy wheeled around. A flash of anger shot through his vision on hearing the name of his father.
Who let this fucker into my personal file?

“How dare you use my father’s name to try to reel me into some hoax!? I don’t know what’s holding me back from breaking your
face
!”

“All right, calm down. My goal is not to manipulate you, but to explain why we have called you this evening.”

Andy was still enraged – he knew his face was red by now – but Schwartz’s words piqued his interest.

“Ok, Schwartz. Great! What do you want from me?”

“I want you to listen to me.”

“I
am
listening!”

“With all due respect, no you’re not. I would like you to sincerely consider what I say. Then, you yourself could judge the legitimacy of your presence.

Andy took the chair and looked Schwartz in the eyes. “Shoot. I’m listening.”

“Thank you very much. You have been chosen for a special task.”

“All right. What kind of task are we talking about here? What’s in question?”

“Mankind, Mr. Bane.”

“Ok. I’ll admit that mankind is tough to watch sometimes, I’ll give you that, but I really don’t think I’m the one to save it.”

“I wouldn't say save it... but let's say... improve it! You have been chosen for a complex work, Andy, and those whom you recruit, if you accept our offer, will have a mission even bigger than you and us.”

“So you want me to assemble a team. What kind of team, and what for?”

“
We
can’t tell you the kind – that decision will be yours to make. However, their task will be to save numerous human lives by purging the trash.”

“I think I get you. You’re asking me to form a group of mercenary hitmen, is that it? The type who’ll slaughter those who are dangerous in your eyes, is that it? Toward a patriot goal, for the American homeland, or some shit, or am I wrong? Haven’t you learned from the past? You know as well as I that black ops in the past were busted wide open and going down in media scandal. I don’t want to be the fool that goes to execute people under the pretext that they think different. I’m sorry. Nevertheless, if that’s the guy you want, you’ll find him, I’m sure of it. There’s nothing but mercenaries out there ready to kill whoever you please for a few miserable dollars.”

“I don’t blame you, Mr. Bane. In fact, I agree completely. However, you don't get it. You’re mistaken in thinking our goal is political. Our goal is to improve our world so that it can survive, you see!?”

“Rubbish. You know what makes the world go. Money and power. Not mankind. You’re asking me to swallow that some… vigilante group will purge the trash to clean our world... I mean like... a fat lady going on a grape diet to lose weight, is that is !?” said Andy ironically.