"Or you can sleep in the car."
"Only if you sleep in the trunk."
They went in.
The front desk was about the size of a kitchen table and had the same kind of green-flecked formica top. The man behind it was under thirty and had dirty blond hair.
"Greetings, innkeeper," proclaimed the Master of Sinanju. "We seek suitable lodgings."
"He means we want a room," said Remo.
"We will consider engaging a room if your establishment suits our needs," corrected Chiun.
"You run a wonderful establishment," said Remo, sliding a credit card across the formica countertop. "It comes highly recommended. Give us a bungalow."
"We will negotiate once we have interviewed your room service chef," proclaimed Chiun.
The desk clerk looked blank. "Room service chef?"
"You provide room service, of course," said Chiun.
"From time to time, yeah."
Chiun lifted his wide kimono sleeves to the ceiling. "Summon the illustrious purveyor of victuals."
"Purveyor of victuals?" undertoned Remo.
"We are in the West," whispered Chun, "I am speaking western."
"Yippie ti yo-yo," said Remo.
"Do you want a room or don't you?" the desk clerk demanded.
"I do," said Remo. "He's up in the air. Consider us separate clients."
The desk clerk looked unconvinced. "You gonna want room service?" he asked Remo.
"No."
"Good, because I reserve the right to refuse finicky guests. There're a bazillion press guys about two miles down the road and I foresee a long, busy night coming. "
"So do I. Where's my key?"
The desk clerk handed Remo a brass key which had a greasy green tag hanging from it with the room number written in faded ink.
"Unit sixteen," he said.
"Thanks," said Remo, signing the credit card slip.
"What about me?" squeaked the Master of Sinanju, his face as tight as a cobweb.
The desk clerk said, "You want room service, I got a night man who'll do a run to the Taco Hell. That's when things are slow. They won't be slow tonight."
"Taco Hell!" huffed Chiun, stamping his feet. "Remo, this is totally unacceptable."
"Not to me. And if I were you, pardner, I'd book a room quick because I feel a cool night coming on and that car looked mighty drafty to me."
"I will take the room adjoining this ingrate," said Chiun quickly. "Be sure to put it on his bill."
The desk clerk eyed Remo. "That okay with you, sir?"
Chiun snapped, "He has no say in these matters."
"Anything that placates him is fine with me," sighed Remo.
"Where does one find true food in these parts?" asked Chiun.
"True . . . ?"
"Rice . . . duck . . . fish."
"There's a Chinese restaurant in Ukiah. Yen Sin's. You might try that."
"Have their best dishes sent to my room and put it in on the white ingrate's bill," said Chiun.
"Sorry, the night man doesn't go into Ukiah. Only to the Taco Hell, which is just up the road."
"I'd have him make an exception in this case," Remo told the desk man.
"I don't see why I should."
The Master of Sinanju reached up and took the charge machine. He eyed it critically. The desk man became nervous.
"Don't drop that, sir."
Chiun looked up. "This contraption is important to you?"
"Definitely. Can't run the business without it."
Chiun nodded. "I will hold it for ransom until I have rice and steamed duck, or unseasoned fish, in my room."
"Sir, you don't want me to come around and take that away from you, do you?"
"I do not care what you do as long as I have proper room service," snapped the Master of Sinanju.
The desk clerk sighed and came out from behind his station.