Remo's eyes adjusted to the lack of light, got a good look, and decided that darkness was preferable.
"Okay, let's hear it," he said.
"I like you," said Jane Goodwoman in a suddenly husky voice.
"I'm politically incorrect. Honest Injun."
She came closer. "I like a challenge."
"Try mounting a giraffe."
Jane Goodwoman approached with the languorous sway of a net bag crammed with assorted misshapen muskmelons.
She reached behind Remo and zipped the tent flap closed.
"You had something to show me," Remo reminded.
"And here they are!" said Jane Goodwoman, pulling down her blouse front. "Check out these casabas."
"Sorry. I'm not working on the problem of bad silicone implants."
Jane Goodwoman's face sagged almost as much as the rest of her. "Back in Boston, they don't react like that. You're not, you know-"
"Yes. Definitely. Whatever you mean, I'm it."
Jane Goodwoman brightened. "Really? I've always wanted to make it with a gay male."
"Try Rock Hudson. He probably won't even put up a fight. I will."
"I want your lean tigerish body."
"I'm opposed to date rape."
"I insist."
"This is sexual harassment, isn't it?"
"Screw sexual harassment. Take me now or you'll never eat lunch in this town again."
"Lunch in this town is ladybugs, remember?"
"Consider me your ladybug," said Jane Goodwoman, lunging with her arms outstretched and her breasts like twin battering rams.
She was as easy to dodge as a Nerf ball swinging on the end of a string, but Remo preferred not to have the tent come crashing down on his head so he caught Jane Goodwoman by one outstretched wrist and applied enough pressure to lay her flat on the floor, quivering in all directions.
He got out of the tent as fast as he could and almost collided with a pimple-faced teenager carrying a boom mike. He had shiny ears and innocent green eyes.
"There's a woman inside who needs your help," Remo told him.
Moaning came from the tent. "Oh-that was the best-foreplay-I-ever-had!"
The boy hesitated. "What-what do I do?"
"Zip up afterwards," said Remo.
Chapter 6
The Master of Sinanju was waiting for Remo at the closed tent.
"You are improving," said Chiun.
"Improving how?" asked Remo.
"Once there was a time when you would have rutted with a woman with such udders without respect for yourself or her."
"If I have any respect for Jane Goodwoman, I haven't noticed," said Remo, slapping the tent side again.
"Who's out there?" an annoyed voice demanded.
"Food and Drug Association," called Remo. "Open up."
"You mean Administration."
"Have it your way. Who are you?"
"Centers for Disease Control and I'm busier than a one-armed paperhanger in here."
"How come you're the only one?"
"Because I have a public to protect. Those other idiots are just concerned about turf, ink, and their reputations."
"Then you're exactly the person we want to talk to and we're coming in."
The man was on the rotund side with squinty eyes behind big glasses. He did not look entirely pleased to see them, but after a few moments his more genial side came through.
"I'm Dale Parsons with the CDC," he said.
"Remo Salk."
Parsons blinked. "Any relation?"
"My mother's cousin's father's son," said Remo, who had gotten the name off the ID card.
"So what's the FDA's interest in HELP?" Parsons wondered, eyeing Remo's casual black T-shirt and matching chinos.
"There's a California candy company looking to market chocolate-covered thunderbugs and we gotta approve it as safe."