"What was that?" Nunzio hissed hopefully.
He waved frantically at the four men he had brought down into the sewers with him to come forward. They came to him, guns drawn. All five men peered down the dimly lit tunnel.
And as Nunzio Spumoni strained to hear, the first sounds of argument carried to his ears.
"Don't bellyache to me. I told you to watch where you were going."
"He pushed me," insisted the voice that Nunzio knew could belong to none other than L. Vas Deferens. The East African sounded strangely cowed.
"Oh, I am to be blamed for your clumsy clubbed feet?" sniffed a third, singsongy voice.
"You did push him, Little Father."
"Surprise me one day, Remo, and take my side for once."
When the men broke into view at the end of the tunnel, Nunzio didn't know whether to be relieved or even more concerned. Defense Minister Deferens was flanked by an old Asian and a young white man. The East African's trademark white suit was dripping wet and stained gray.
Nunzio remembered the white as the man who had caught Deferens's attention at the Bachsburg restaurant.
"This isn't about choosing sides," Remo griped. "It's about me having to fish Himmler here out of Shit Creek."
"I think I am going to be ill," Deferens offered.
"Shut up," said Remo and Chiun.
Nunzio was stunned when Deferens actually fell silent. He merely trudged along, his hands clutching his belly, a queasy expression on his sagging model's face.
"Is everything all right, Vas?" Nunzio ventured as the men closed in. "I tried to call...."
When Deferens and his companions stopped before Nunzio and his Camorra entourage, Remo's face was a scowl. He appraised Nunzio's reed-thin frame.
"Who's the praying mantis?" he asked Deferens. "An agent of Camorra," Deferens said, defeated. Nunzio's eyes grew wide beyond his steamed-up goggles.
"Deferens, what is the meaning of this?" Nunzio demanded, taking a cautious step back. He was comforted by the appearance on both sides of his armed men.
"Do we need him?" Remo asked, ignoring Nunzio.
"What? Deferens-"
"No," the minister said glumly, interrupting the Camorra agent.
Remo turned to Nunzio. "Wanna see something I saw in a really bad movie once?" he asked. Nunzio's eyes didn't have time to register confusion before Remo's hand shot forward, index and middle fingers extended.
The plastic of his right goggles lens surrendered to the stiffened fingers. Cracked plastic shards shot back through Nunzio's shocked eye, burying themselves deep in his brain.
Nunzio Spumoni's legs buckled, and he fell, slipping over the side of the platform. The body struck water with a mighty splash.
Before the first ripples from Nunzio's bobbing corpse reached the stone walls, the four remaining men opened fire.
Deferens dropped to his knees, frantically cradling his head in both hands.
Near the gunmen, Remo launched a toe into the groin of the closest. His pelvis cracked in a sideways smile straight up to his navel. As entrails splattered to stone, Remo shouted to Chiun.
"Get him out of the way!" he called over his shoulder.
Deferens only knew that he was the "him" being referred to when he felt a bony hand latch on to the back of his neck. In the next instant, he was airborne. He landed in a spray of filthy water next to Nunzio Spumoni's lifeless body.
"I hope you are happy," Chiun complained, whirling up beside Remo. He had to avoid a dozen fat automatic slugs. "I had to touch that disgusting creature."
The flat sole of one sandal lashed out, catching one of the gunmen square in the chest.
It was as if the thug were struck by a speeding car.
The man's feet left his shoes, and he rocketed back into the mossy wall of the tunnel, pounding stone with bone-crushing ferocity. When he slid to the floor, a perfect outline of his body was visible in the stone.
"Don't complain to me," Remo warned.
"You're the one who pushed him in in the first place."
Remo brought his hand across the face of one of the two remaining men in a sharp sideways slap. With a tearing pop, the man's jaw sprang free. It skipped across sewer water a half-dozen times before sinking from sight.
The Camorra agent was all panicked eyes and flapping tongue. Remo finished him with a knuckle to the nose. Bone splinters found brain, and the man fell to the catwalk.
Realizing that the battle was lost, the fourth and final man tried to run past the Master of Sinanju. His body managed to run a few yards along the platform. His head, however, hit the water just below Chiun with a brain-dead splash.
When Remo turned, the old Korean was flicking a single dollop of blood from one long fingernail. He kept his hands away from his silken robes.
"We must find a place where I can wash my hands as soon as possible," the old man insisted.
"First things first," Remo said tightly. "Let's go see if our brown fish floats."
He hurried past Chiun to the edge of the platform. The current was stronger than it had been that morning, the water deeper. Nunzio Spumoni's body had become wedged on a rusted run-off pipe. Deferens was clinging to the body like a flotation device as filthy water splashed all around him.
Squatting at the river's edge, Remo frowned. "You gonna fish him out?" he asked the Master of Sinanju.
"I fished him out last time," Chiun sniffed.
"I fished him out last time. And besides, you pushed him in last time."
"Do not bother me with technicalities," Chiun said.
Deferens heard them bickering. He looked up helplessly, his pale face now ashen. "Save me!" he cried. He retched as a crashing wave filled his open mouth.
"I'm sick of always having to do all the heavy lifting around here," Remo griped under his breath. He was about to climb down and grab Deferens when he was struck by a flash of inspiration. Jogging to one of the dead gunmen, he stripped off the man's suit jacket. Trotting back down to where Chiun waited above Deferens, Remo dangled one sleeve in front of the defense minister.
"Grab on tight," Remo called down. "Because I am not coming in after you."