No answer.
"Look, Chiun. I think you owe me an explanation at least," Remo said, touching Chiun's arm.
No swirl of robes betrayed Chiun's intent, but the Master of Sinanju spun fully around without breaking stride, his right arm slashed once, and he continued on.
"Begone, vile one," Chiun called back.
Remo looked down at his chest where Chiun's deadly fingernail had laid open his T-shirt and created a thin pressure mark across his chest. A quarter-inch more and Remo would be leaking blood.
In shocked silence, Remo returned to his car alone.
It had been no better when, hours later, Chiun found his way back. Remo looked up as Chiun entered the hotel room, but the old man ignored him and walked to the telephone.
"I wish to speak to someone in charge. Good. I have a complaint. There is someone in my room who does not belong. You will send someone to remove him? Thank you."
"This has gone far enough, Little Father," Remo had said.
"I am no one's father," Chiun retorted. He opened the door to the hall and waited.
When the manager arrived, looking harried, Chiun leveled a trembling arm at Remo and cried, "I found this stranger in my room, and now he refuses to leave. I demand his removal."
"Little Father..." Remo began, angrily.
"See? He is claiming that I am his father. Anyone can see this is not so," Chiun shouted loudly enough to carry into the hall. A crowd collected at the door.
"Well?" the manager asked Remo.
"Aw, he's just ticked at me for some reason."
"Are you this man's son?" the manager asked levelly. The crowd muttered their skepticism.
"I'm registered in this room," Remo said. "You can check it out. Remo Williams."
"He lies!" Chiun crowed. "He told me his name was Remo Greeley. This is proof of his deception."
"This room is registered to a Remo Greeley," the manager pointed out.
"Okay, okay," Remo said, throwing up his hands. "I'm leaving. This old coot is right. He's not my father. I don't have a father. And what's more, I never had a father."
Remo pushed past the crowd, who roundly jeered at him. He registered in another hotel, angrier with Chiun than he'd ever been before. He didn't sleep that night, but by morning his anger had drained. He called Chiun's number, but when he said, "It's me," Chiun hung up without a word. It was not Chiun's way to be so brittle, and Remo felt a growing fear. Perhaps this time he had done something so unforgivable that Chiun really had disowned him. But what? And what did UFOs have to do with it?
Remo wondered if Smith might know, and called him. But Smith was frantic.
"Remo, my God! What have you done? Chiun told me he is resigning as your trainer. I couldn't talk him out of it."
"Yeah, yeah, I know all that. But did he tell you what's pissed him off?"
"No, he refused to discuss it." Pause. "You mean you don't know yourself?" Smith asked incredulously. "How could you be so irresponsible? How could—"
Remo had hung up on Smith, angry again. For two days he had felt angry and scared and even lost by turns. He felt like an orphan again. He didn't know what to do. He had never been without Chiun for any length of time and was surprised at how much he had grown to depend upon the old Korean in small ways. What would happen to him now? Would he continue to develop along the path of Sinanju, or would he be frozen at this stage of development? And what about Chiun? Would he return to Korea?
There were too many questions, and Remo had thought of them all. By the end of the second day, he still had no answers. The FOES office had been empty when he checked it the day before, but Remo decided to try again. If he could grab just one of those nuts, he might have something. And he was still on an assignment, even if he didn't feel like completing it.
* * *
A car pulled up alongside Remo as he walked down the street. It was growing dark now, and he was in a bad section of the city. Remo knew this because the one police car he had seen went through the area rapidly, its two officers staring straight ahead as if they didn't want to see anything that might require their attention.
"Can you help me out, fella?" the driver called out to Remo.
"You lost?" Remo asked, leaning on the car.
"No," the driver said. He slid across to the passenger's window, showing the stubby nose of a Saturday night special. "I just need money. Yours."
"Nice gun," Remo said conversationally. "How come you need money? Don't you work?"
"This is my work. Hand over your wallet, or I'll blow your freaking brains out."
"I think you should find a new line of work," Remo said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Remo said, bringing his left hand up to steady the gun while simultaneously batting the barrel with his right. The barrel snapped and clinked into the gutter. An incredulous expression spread over the gunman's round face.
"Yeah," Remo repeated. "I'm in a bad mood."
The gunman tried to fire anyway, but Remo's hand was a vise preventing the cylinder from turning. Then Remo took the gun and popped the cylinder out of its frame. He dropped the ruined weapon.
That was enough for the gunman, who slid back across the seat and hit the gas. Remo swept out a leg and clipped the right rear tire with a toe as hard as a crowbar. The tire blew.
The car kept going, however, but not as fast as its driver would have liked. The wrecked tire wobbled crazily and dragged. Turning a corner, the wheel rim sheared through the rubber.
Remo caught up to the car and ran along with it.
"Get away from me!" the driver yelled.
"Tell you what," Remo said as he jogged beside him. "I could use some exercise. You're going to be the ball."
Remo sped forward and cut in front of the car. Just for effect he took out the headlights with two quick jabs. Then he got to the other side and with a sharp kick made the left front tire let go. The car slowed considerably, and stopped altogether when Remo ruptured the right front tire.
The gunman hastily rolled up his window as Remo sauntered back to the driver's side and took out the remaining tire. For good measure, he popped the trunk open with the flat of a palm and rolled out the spare. A finger thrust rendered the spare useless.
There was a jack in the trunk, and it gave Remo an idea. He grabbed it and set it up under the chassis, taking a moment to methodically destroy all the locks on the doors so the driver could not escape, and then jacked one side of the car up as far as it would go.
It was far enough so that Remo could take the chassis in both hands and, coming to his feet from a kneeling position, flip the car slowly onto its roof.
The roof crumpled. The driver screamed.