The rubber popped a rip, and air hissed through the ragged eruption.
The cab settled at its southern corner.
"It is okay, Remo!" Chiun said loudly. "We will ride with this man!"
"We will?" Remo blurted.
"He is desperately in need of our business." Chiun pointed. "Look. His wheels are in a sad state."
The driver came out and looked at his tire.
"A flat?"
"It is too bad," clucked Chiun, "but we will wait for you to repair it." He beamed. Remo looked at him doubtfully.
The cabby shook his head. "Can't. The rules say you take the next one in line."
"Then my son and I will take the next conveyance in line with sorrow in our hearts," the Master of Sinanju said magnanimously.
"Yeah, yeah," the driver grumbled, popping his trunk and removing a tire iron and jack.
The second cab-this one air-conditioned-took them out into traffic. They got all of sixty yards out before they hit a traffic jam. It didn't last long. It was just that they encountered so many on the way into the city.
As they drew cool, filtered air into their lungs, Chiun folded his kimono skirts delicately and said, "Remo, tell me of this assignment."
Remo shrugged. "What's to tell? Someone killed the governor and lieutenant governor. Now there's a special election to replace them."
Chiun nodded. "Typically debased," he said.
"What is?"
"The American approach to democracy. Not that the Roman brand was any good. It lasted but four centuries."
"A mere tick of the Korean clock," Remo said, smiling.
Chiun's button nose wrinkled up. "Koreans did not have clocks until the West introduced them as a form of slavery. "
"Slavery?"
"When one is watching clocks, one is not attending to one's proper business."
"I won't argue with that," Remo allowed, looking out the window. They were approaching the city. He saw business signs in an amazing variety of languages, including the modern Korean script called hangul.
"In Roman times," Chiun went on, "the governors were appointed by the emperor."
"Well, we elect ours."
"The Romans voted for their consuls. That was in their early primitive period, before they came to embrace the sweet serenity of rule by emperor."
"Like Caligula, I suppose?"
Chiun frowned, transforming his wizened face into a dried yellow apricot. "He has gotten bad press," he sniffed, watching the palm trees whip by. "It is no wonder the trees grow as they do here," he added.
"How's that?"
"The bad air. It makes the trees grow naked, except for their heads. Trees should not possess heads. It is unnatural. Like elections."
"Look, Chiun. Since we're going to volunteer our services to the Esperanza campaign . . ."
Chiun's head whipped around. His thin eyes went wide.
"Volunteer? Sinanju-volunteer!"
Remo nodded. "That's how it works. People who support a candidate volunteer their services."
"Then they are fools and worse," Chiun said harshly. "I will dispatch no enemies for no gold."
"Sounds like a cute campaign slogan," Remo remarked. "But volunteers are what Smith wants us to be. So we do it."
"We do not!"
"We who are loyal to our emperor do," Remo pointed out dryly.
The Master of Sinanju absorbed this example of white logic without comment. His eyes narrowed. Perhaps, at the next contract negotiation, he would find a way to make Smith pay for any enemies of Esperanza he was forced to dispatch without pay. With interest, of course.
They finally pulled up before a Wilshire Boulevard hotel, where Remo understood from The Los Angeles Times Enrique Espiritu Esperanza had taken the penthouse suite for his protection.
Remo paid the cabby, after a brief argument over the tip. The driver insisted the tip was insufficient. Remo pointed out the undeniable fact that it was ten percent of the fare.
"But it was a two-hour ride because of traffic," the cabby complained. "How can I make a living at these rates?"
"Drive in another state," Remo said, turning away.
They entered the lobby. Remo noticed a single dollar bill sliding up one of the Master of Sinanju's voluminous sleeves.
"Don't tell me you were planning to chip in on the tip?" he asked incredulously.
"No, I surreptitiously relieved the driver of one dollar."
"Why?"
"You provided him valuable career advice, therefore overtipping him. I merely balanced accounts."
"Then you can catch the next tip."
Chiun's tiny mouth expressed disapproval. "Perhaps," he said.