"That's right," Remo said. "We keep it in the refrigerator. You don't think we'd leave it laying around where prying eyes could see it, do you?"
He opened the refrigerator door and beckoned the two men closer. "There it is," he said, pointing with a royal index finger into the bowels of the refrigerator where a quarter-pound stick of margarine sat on a red saucer. The two men stepped forward. A step, two steps, then around the door and in front of the refrigerator. Remo went up in the air and came down with an elbow on the top of the skull of the one who had yet to speak a word; the skull went all soft and mushy under his elbow, then the man dropped to the floor.
Remo was behind the second man, his right hand around the back of the man's neck, his fingers like talons, biting into the clusters of the nerves. The man screamed. His arms were extended rigidly at his sides, frozen there by pain.
"All right," Remo said. "Which one of you is Musso?"
He relieved the pressure a little so the man could answer.
He gasped. "Musso ain't here. He went back. He told us to call him later and tell him what we found out."
Remo squeezed again. "Which one killed Curpwell?" then released the pressure and the man hissed, "Musso did. With an ice-pick. That's how he works."
"What are you guys after?" Remo asked.
The man's arms were still extended stiffly at his sides. He answered: "Somebody's making earthquakes and shaking down people. Don Fiavorante sent Musso to find out about it."
"Don Fiavorante?"
"Yeah. Pubescio. He's the head man."
"What's your name?"
"Festa. Sammy Festa," the man snivelled.
"All right, Sammy. I'm going to let you live. For awhile." He squeezed harder again. "You go back. You tell Musso and you tell Pubescio that they stay away. Tell them to forget earthquakes if they know what's good for them. Tell them to stay away from Doctor Quake. Tell them if they come back to San Aquino County, they're going out in a doggy bag. Especially Musso. You tell him that" He squeezed even harder. "You got that?"
"I got it. I got it."
Remo released his grip on the man's neck and Festa made a clumsy move for a gun under his jacket. He wheeled toward Remo. Then Remo's hand was around Festa's and around the gun.
"That Cadillac got power steering?"
"Yeah."
"Then you can drive it with one hand?"
"Yeah."
Remo fractured Festa's forearm. The gun clattered on the floor. Festa screamed with pain, then looked down at the gun, then up at Remo.
Remo was smiling. "Remember to tell Musso what I said. My name is Remo. He may want to know that."
Festa clutched his broken arm, pain contorting his pretty-boy features. "I'm sure he's gonna want to know that."
"Be sure to tell him. Remember, my name is Remo. Now get out of here, before I change my mind."
Festa was out the front door before Remo reached the corridor. When Remo passed the front door, he saw the Cadillac swerving back out of its parking space and speeding away from the institute.
Good. That'll bring Musso back. Remo wanted him . . . for Curpwell. But his chief job was to track down the earthquake people and he couldn't spend time on side trips. But if Musso came back? Well, not even Smith could complain if Remo defended himself. After all, what else can you do against a man with an icepick?
Doctor Quake was still seated at the high stool in his laboratory office when Remo returned.
The infernal machine in the corner was still running, filling the laboratory with thumping, and Remo said: "Can't you turn that damn thing off?"
"No," Quake said. "It's an endurance test. It's been running for three days. The goal is a whole week. You know, I don't think they were from the FBI at all."
"They weren't," Remo said. "Mafia."
"Mafia? Oh, dear. What would they want with me?" Dr. Quake's eyebrows lifted, as if with a life of their own. When they lowered, they threatened to cover his entire eyeball.
"They want to know how to make earthquakes. Someone around here knows how and those two goons thought it was you."
"Two? Oh yes, two. But there were four before."
"Four? What happened to the others?"
"They went off with my girls. The laboratory assistants."
"Now where the hell did they go?," Remo asked. "The girls might be hurt." He was worried now.
Then another voice came. "We're not hurt."
Remo turned behind him, toward the door, and his eyes opened wider. Two girls stood there, perhaps in their early 20's. They wore identical clothing, white tee shirts with a clenched red fist on them and the imprint N.O.W., and blue jeans. But that wasn't what caught Remo's eye.
What caught Remo's eye was the extraordinary breasts on both of them. They were bra-less, but their breasts were firm and vibrant, and so large that they intimidated the fabric of the tee-shirts they wore. Remo thought of the two girls instantly as the eighth and ninth wonders of the world. Or considering two each, the eighth, ninth, tenth and eleventh wonders of the world.
Only as an afterthought did Remo look at their faces, alabaster white and lovely under jet-black hair- which proved that Remo had been in California too long because he regarded as an oddity any girl who wasn't blonde and tanned. He thought all this, then realized the girls were identical twins.
"Are you all right, daddy?" one of them asked, and they walked up to Doctor Quake's side, boobs a-jiggle, bubbly and bouncy under the tee shirts, butts awobble that he told himself was sick and degenerate, then leaned back to savour.
He sat back onto a chair, crossed his legs discreetly, and if he had it in him to blush, he would have blushed.
Imagine. Two of them looking like that,
One girl put a hand on Dr. Quake's shoulder. "We were worried," she said.
"Oh, no. Nothing to worry about. This gentleman here saw to that."
Both girls now looked closely at Remo and one stepped toward his side, and stood next to his chair.
Remo said, "But we were worried about you. Those were Mafia guys, you know. What happened to the two you were with?"
The girl by Quake hesitated. Then she said, "They left."
"Without their car?"