Hefting the minicam onto her padded shoulders, Cheeta returned to the prone form of Barry Black.
"Let's do a two-shot, okay?"
"Ommm," moaned Barry Black.
"Do you suspect that the assailants whose attempt on your life here today failed so miserably were the same who attempted to kill me?"
"Ommmm."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"Ommm."
"Obviously in shock," Cheeta said, dropping the camera from her shoulders.
While she was trying to figure out her next move, a glossy-white Mercedes rolled to a halt a block away.
Out stepped Enrique Espiritu Esperanza, Harmon Cashman, and a tiny old Korean man Cheeta Ching recognized at a glance.
"You!" she shrieked. Lugging the minicam, she jumped for the approaching trio. "I need to talk with you,"
Enrique Esperanza said, "I will be happy to continue our interview."
"Not you," spat Cheeta Ching, pointing to the tiny wisp of a Korean. "I mean him."
The Master of Sinanju beheld the vision that swept toward him. His heart leaped high in his throat. His almond eyes widened, and for a moment he was a young man back in Pyongyang, beholding the beauteous Ch'amnari.
"I've been dying to talk to you!" Cheeta said urgently.
"I understand your desire," said Chiun, bowing, his voice tense, his heart a balloon of joy. Remo had granted his deepest wish.
"Great. Where can I find Rambo?"
Chiun straightened. "Rambo?"
"Yeah. Your dreamy friend. The one with the wrists."
"You mean Remo?"
"Is that what he's calling himself now? Where can I locate him? It's urgent!"
"No doubt he is sleeping under a rock, overcome with slothfulness and ingratitude," Chiun huffed. He turned and stalked off.
Cheeta Ching watched him go, her face blank. "What's got into him?"
"We do not know," said Enrique Esperanza. "We have come here to offer condolences to the Black campaign. This is a tragic thing."
"Great quote," said Cheeta Ching. "Mind repeating it for the camera?"
"Why don't you follow us?" Esperanza suggested. "We wish to speak with candidate Black personally."
"Okay, but talk slowly. I'm not used to being my own cameraman."
Barry Black, Junior was still lying on the sidewalk when they reached him.
"I am Esperanza," said Enrique Esperanza in a formal voice.
"Ohhmmm," said Barry Black.
"He keeps saying that," Cheeta pointed out. "I think he's in shock."
"I have just the thing," Esperanza said, kneeling beside the stricken candidate. He took a minipack of Oreo cookies from inside his white coat, undid the top. and placed one in Barry Black's open mouth.
"Chew slowly. Chocolate is a stimulant. The Aztecs knew this."
Somewhere deep in Barry Black's shattered mind, a synapse fired. He began chewing.
A moment later he sat up, saying, "My karma must have gotten mixed up with Yassar Arafat's."
"Do you have any idea who would do this thing?"
"Hey!" inserted Cheeta. "Asking questions is my job. You don't see me running for governor! Not that I couldn't do a better job than any of you men."
"Have you any enemies who would do this?" Esperanza asked in a soothing voice.
"The Democrats. The Republicans. Any Californian who remembers my last term in office. Maybe it's a conspiracy."
"I do not think so," said Enrique Esperanza, helping the man to his feet. "I am Enrique Esperanza," he added, shaking the man's hand.
"Got any more of those nifty cookies?" Barry Black asked.
Enrique Esperanza smiled. He offered the rest of the minipack.
As Barry Black munched away, he said, "Great! What are these things, anyway?"
"Oreos," Harmon Cashman explained. "You don't know Oreo cookies when you taste them? Where have you been?"
"India. Tibet. Nifty places like that. I accomplished a lot. I even grew a beard, but I shaved it. Beards are seventies."
While the minicam recorded every syllable, Enrique Esperanza said, "We must not allow terror and violence to determine the outcome of this important election."
"You got my vote," Barry Black said enthusiastically, saluting his rival with a half-chewed sandwich cookie.
"I do?"
"If you vote for me, too. Sort of a karmic exchange."