"One salute. You let him get away for one cheap little salute."
"It was a sign of respect," Chiun said stubbornly. "Also a work of art."
"Oh, come on. Now that's really too much. A work of art! A work-"
"The salute was performed while Mr. Daniels
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balanced on the balls of his feet, exquisitely, on the railing of the fire escape, out of the way of the window up there."
"Big deal," Remo said, opening the car door for Chiun.
"And he was dancing. The dance of the wind." Chiun demonstrated, his arms waving at his sides, his head turning slow circles.
"That's not dancing. That's weaving. Daniels was drunk as a pig." He slammed the door.
"Oh, to have had this specimen as a youth. To have been able to pass on the wisdom of Sinanju to one who dances even while poisoned, instead of a crazed pervert who desires to undress his master in the street."
They were silent all the way back to the motel. "Are you going to fix dinner?" Remo asked.
"Why should I eat? My body has already been desecrated."
"Okay, I'll fix dinner."
"What a specimen," Chiun reminisced, smiling dreamily. He saluted the wall.
"I wish you'd quit this."
Chiun sighed. "It was only an old man's remembrance of his one brief moment of recognition in this disrespectful world," he said. He saluted again.
The phone rang. "Please answer the telephone, Remo," Chiun said. "I am too worn and broken to exert myself."
Remo snorted. "You know I always answer the phone."
It was Smith.
"Have you completed the assignment?" he asked, his voice tense.
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"No. Thanks to the Master of Sinanju and his appreciation of alcoholic ballet, I have not."
"Good."
"Good?"
"You see." Chiun interjected. "It is not only I who appreciates this fine human. The emperor also sees his grace and seeks to reward him for it."
"You've got to keep him alive," Smith said.
"What for?"
"Because someone's trying to kill him."
"Yeah. I am."
"Not any more. That envelope you couriered to me was made from paper fabricated in Hispania. There's some kind of connection. I can't get a fix on Denise Daniels yet, but that could take a while. Anyway, if somebody is trying to kill Daniels, it may be that he knows something-something of value to the U.S. That being the case, he ought to be kept alive until we know what he knows."
"This is crazy. I was supposed to kill Daniels, but now that somebody else is trying to kill him, I've got to save him. Maybe that makes sense to you, Smitty, but it doesn't make sense to me."
"Just let him do what he wants to do. Maybe it will stir the pot. But keep him alive. And Remo?"
"What?"
"That was good work, remembering to pick up the pieces of paper from the envelope."
Remo looked over to Chiun, who was saluting passersby on the street below with a jaunty flick of his wrist. "Thanks," Remo said. He hung up.
Chiun was beaming.
"I'm glad you're having such a good time," Remo said. "Personally, none of this makes any sense to me."
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"It makes perfect sense, brainless one." Chiun leaped to his feet as lightly as a cloud. "All emperors are crazy, and Smith is the craziest of them all. I will cook dinner."
He padded toward the kitchen humming a tuneless Korean melody.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bernard C. Daniels awoke in a flophouse two doors down from Mickey's, his home being three blocks away and therefore too far to walk after several days of riotous drinking throughout the town of Weehawken.
He rummaged around in his pockets. The two hundred dollars was missing. Well, I hope I enjoyed some of it, he thought as he scratched the tracks of a flea that had made its home on his scalp.
Then he discovered something that made him feel very sad. His credit at Mickey's Pub. was no longer good.
He should have asked the Grand Vizier for more, But then, that would have been gone by now, too, he realized.
"What day is it?" he asked the bartender.
"It's Friday, Barney."
He looked at the luminous clock over the bourbons, scotches and ryes which rested atop planks of
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