"That you do not need to tell me. I saw," said Chiun. The long white fingernails were clean. "I hate bullets. With guns, as we feared, every man becomes his own assassin."
"You know, Little Father, sometimes when I go deep into mind, I wonder whether we should bother with being assassins."
"That, of course, is the danger of the deep mind, but do not worry. It passes."
Remo stretched and breathed and finally drank a glass of water. Someone was training those kids to be killers. He had thought it was Pell but now Pell was dead. There was someone. Find the someone, take apart his organization and call it a day. The big thing had been solved. The how. It had been kids.
Funny, none of them had talked by now. The training must have included that. Well, Remo had one lead. The boy who had taken a shot at him. The boy with Ms. Kaufperson. Funny name, Kaufperson.
"Beware," said Chiun as Remo reached the door. "Beware of children."
"Kids?"
"Have you ever fought a child?"
"Not since the fifth grade," Remo said.
"Then how can you assume you can match a child? These things should not be assumed."
"I haven't come up against anything I couldn't handle, and kids are weaker than everything I have handled. Therefore, Little Father, with great courage I go risking the playpen."
"Fool," said Chiun.
"I don't understand."
"Just do not go squandering this precious gift given you, lo, these many years. Do not assume."
"All right, Little Father. If it will make you happier, I will not assume."
There was only one Kaufperson in the Chicago directory. Remo assumed it was the person he wanted. The listing followed a multitude of Kaufmans and Kaufmanns. Two N's meant German descent and one N Jewish, usually. If that was so, were there German Kaufpersonns?
Roberta Kaufperson lived in a modern highrise with new carpeting, fresh-painted walls, and two patrolmen guarding her apartment. He moved back behind a corner as soon as he saw the uniforms. He entered a doorway marked Exit which led to a stairwell. He climbed twelve more flights of stairs until he was on the roof, then figuring just about which area would be directly above Ms. Kaufperson's apartment, he slipped over the small metal guardrail, caught an edge with one hand, popped out free, caught a window ledge again, popped out, one catch, one pop, twelve times going down and there was the back of the brunette Afro pointed at a television set showing "Sesame Street," up and lift the window, into the apartment, catch the vocal cords in the left hand and:
"Don't be afraid, Ms. Kaufperson, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you. But you've got to tell the policemen at the door to go away. Nod if you will do this."
Terror in the gray blue eyes. But the Afro trembled in a nod. Remo released the pressure from the vocal cords. Trembling, Ms. Kaufperson stood up, a full-bodied woman with a good even walk. Remo stayed close to her as she went to the door.
She pressed a speaker button.
"Thank you for waiting," she said. "I'll be all right now."
"You made enough stink to get us here. You sure you don't want us to stay?"
"Positive."
"Okay. But would you call the captain back at the station? He's got to approve it."
"Certainly."
As if moving with computer rhythms, she walked to the telephone, dialed the emergency number of the police department, briefly argued with someone on the other end as to whether she would dial another number for the captain, waited, told someone to remove the two patrolmen, hung up, and shouted:
"It's all right. Get out of here."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Remo heard the officers trudge away down the hall. Ms. Kaufperson removed her blouse with a wild uplift over her head. Her breasts strutted forth erect, with nipples hardened to attention.
"What's that about?" asked Remo.
"Aren't you going to rape me?"
"No."
"You didn't swing down some rope and risk your life just to say hello."
"I want information."
"Then you're not going to rape me?"
"No."
"Are you queer?"
"No," said Remo.
"Then how can you stand there?"
"I'm just standing. I don't know what you're talking about."
"You look at a half-naked woman and you're not excited?"
"I don't mean to be insulting, but there isn't a woman I'd climb down a building for."
"You are queer. Maybe you want a meaningful relationship. But don't think I'm going to give you a deep significant part of myself just because you climbed in a window. Sex is one thing. My soul is another."
"You can keep both," Remo said.
"I thought you were shot," Ms. Kaufperson said. "That's it, isn't it? You're wounded and too weak for sex."
"Right," said Remo. "Couldn't possibly hack it."
He saw her nipples ease out and the breasts become loose. She put her shirt back on.
"Then I don't hold it against you."
"Good," said Remo. "I want to know about that kid you came into the office with today. Who is he? What's his name? Where does he live?"