"Is there a problem here?"
"No problem, Doctor."
"Yes!" As Audrey spoke, she moved to stand at Remo's side, warm fingers resting lightly on his biceps. "Would you walk me back to the hotel?"
"No problem," Remo said.
"You sure of that?" asked Chalmers. "I believe you'll find there is a problem when you start to meddle in another man's affairs."
"You're drunk, friend. Maybe you should hit the sheets so you don't miss the flight tomorrow, eh?"
"I'll hit your bloody sheets, you little faggot!"
Chalmers put his weight behind the swing, but it was nothing special. Remo pulled his punch to keep the hulk alive, but it was still enough to drop him in his tracks, out cold before he hit the pavement.
Audrey gaped at Chalmers, laid out in the street. "My God," she said, "what happened?"
"I suppose he slipped and hit his head," Remo answered. "We could try and carry him to the hotel."
"Forget about it. He can sleep it off right here, for all I care."
"Well, if you're sure—"
"I'm sure. If someone rips his wallet off, it serves him right."
She looped her arm through Remo's, and they put the fallen hulk behind them, crossing over to Jalan Pudu and starting on the loop back to the Shangri-la.
"I'm glad you came along back there," she said. "It could have gotten ugly."
"You should be more careful choosing dates," said Remo.
"Bite your tongue! I wouldn't date that caveman on a bet. He saw me in the club and… oh, well, never mind. I wanted Safford—Dr. Stockwell—to get rid of him, but he's supposed to be the best at what he does."
"Which is?"
"Shoot animals," she said with thinly veiled contempt. "The great white hunter, don't you know?"
"I didn't understand this was a hunting expedition," Remo said.
"You're right, of course. It isn't. But we had to make some kind of gesture toward security and all that sort of thing. There was insurance to consider, and the truth is, I don't want to find a lion in my tent if I can help it."
"Lions live in Africa," said Remo.
"Anyway, I'm told the hired gun stays… unless he's cracked his skull and can't go on tomorrow. God, you don't suppose we'll have to push the trip back and look for a replacement?"
"I suspect he'll be all right," said Remo, "but I wouldn't want the headache he'll find waiting for him in the morning."
"Serves him right," said Audrey, "but enough about that creep. I understand you're from New Orleans."
"Not originally." Remo tapped into the file CURE had compiled on Renton Ward. "I've worked there for the past eight years, but I'm from Kansas, if you trace it back."
"What got you hooked on snakes?" she asked.
He smiled. "What got you hooked on plants that died a hundred million years ago?"
"Touché." She thought about it for a moment, then went on. "I guess it crept up on my blind side, Renton. I was into botany and horticulture as a freshman out in California, when I took a course on prehistoric life. It was supposed to fill a blank spot in my schedule, no big challenge, but it got me thinking. How can a species dominate the earth for several billion years, and then just fade away? I mean, if we can solve that riddle, there's a chance we still might save ourselves, you know?"
"Are we in danger of extinction?"
"Every day," she told him earnestly. "We've got pollution—air, sea and land—overpopulation and a lot of shaky fingers on the trigger that could blow us all away. So what if Russia fell apart? It's not like one regime was causing all the problems in the world. Hey, what's the joke?"
She caught him smiling, seemed about to take offense.
Remo moved to head her anger off. "No joke," he said. "It's just that you sound more like someone who should be out leading demonstrations than collecting fossils."
"I do both," said Audrey, "when I have the time. And what about yourself?"
"I mostly hang around the serpentarium and milk my snakes," said Remo.
Audrey giggled like a schoolgirl. "When you say it that way, it sounds positively lecherous."
"It gets to be a handful," he allowed.
"I can imagine. What's your favorite?"
"Snake? That has to be the king. Twelve feet of solid muscle. One dose of his venom is enough to kill a hundred men. We have a mated pair back in New Orleans."
"And you handle them?"
"I milk each of them once a month."
"You must be very brave."
"It keeps me on my toes," he said. "The other snakes are dangerous, of course—the rattlers, coral snakes, moccasins, the bushmaster—but if you mess up with the king, you're history."
"You must have magic hands."
"It's in the wrist," he said.
"You'll have to show me sometime. How you do it."
"Have you got a snake?"
"We'll improvise."
"That could be challenging," he said.