"I have none," said Enrique Espiritu Esperanza. "For I know I am protected by the best."
Chiun, bowing formally, breezed from the room. Remo followed.
"Who is that guy, that he knows all about you?" Remo asked.
"Esperanza is a great man," Chiun said.
"Bulldookey," said Remo.
They weaved their way through the furniture. No bullets struck them. No bullets came at all.
Moving low, they reached the parapet and peered up over the edge.
There was only one sniper. He was crouched on the roof of a high-rise office building, directly across Wilshire. They could see the color of his face. It was as brown as a cashew.
"He looks Latino," Remo whispered.
Chiun stood up and shook an angry fist, which was mostly bone covered by yellow parchment-skin.
"Hear me, O villain!" he called. "I am the Master of Sinanju, and I say that your minutes are numbered!"
The sniper brought his weapon up to his cheek and put an eye to the sniper scope.
It was a mistake. The Master of Sinanju cracked a piece of parapet off the roof combing, and with a flicking motion sent it screaming on its way.
The sniper had no sooner laid the cross hairs onto his target than the scope filled with stone. The stone, moving at terminal velocity, drove the scope into the man's eye socket, shattering it, so that the tube buried itself for half its length in the soft cheese of his brain.
"Scratch one sniper," Remo said, coming to his feet.
"He will never threaten Cheeta again," the Master of Sinanju intoned.
"Not to mention the inspiring Esperanza," Remo said dryly.
"Him, too."
"Too bad you had to waste him," Remo said slowly. "Now he can't tell us who put him up to it."
"We could not risk a stray bullet harming Cheeta."
"Fickle as she is, right?"
"Perhaps something may be learned from that body," Chiun said pointedly.
"Just what I was thinking. You know, it would be a good idea if one of us were to spirit the body away before that hairy barracuda wakes up and starts asking questions."
"I do not dispose of bodies," Chiun said icily.
"That means you want the Cheeta detail, huh?"
Chiun considered. "She is fickle, but it may be she will come to see my good qualities."
Remo grinned. "You forget. I have a boon coming to me."
Remo had known the Master of Sinanju a long time. He had seen him angry, greedy, elated, and sad, and every mood in between. But he had never seen the old Korean do a slow burn before.
Chiun first went pale. Then a flush crept up from his neck, which had turned very, very red. The flush suffused his wrinkled visage, until his bald head came to resemble a Christmas bulb with almond eyes.
"Of course," Remo said quickly, not sure that a volcano wasn't about to blow, "for the right word, I might be willing to fetch the body."
The Master of Sinanju's voice was thin. "What word?"
"The P word will do."
"Pale piece of . . ."
"Not what I had in mind. How about 'please'?"
Chiun hesitated. He cleared his throat. Remo waited.
"Aren't you going to say it?" Remo asked.
"I did."
"Huh?"
Chiun cleared his throat again. More clearly, he said, "Is that not sufficient?"
"No. I want to hear the vowels caress my ears."
Chiun parted his dry lips. A word emerged-long, drawn-out, a sibilant hiss.
It sounded like "please." Although it might have been "sneeze" or "bees" or "freeze."
"Close enough for government work," Remo said lightly. "I got the body."
"Then begone, callow one."
On his way to the elevator, Remo called back, "Whatever you do, don't let Esperanza out of your sight!"
"He is safe, never fear."
Remo grinned. "What, me worry?"
Remo took the elevator to the lobby. When the doors opened, he was immediately confronted by a trio of LAPD cops and a flock of press. Since this was the private penthouse elevator, there was no disguising where Remo had come from.
"I don't remember letting you pass," the head cop said.