Wissex had warned him that these two were dangerous but had not prepared him for this. It was time for Old Reliable. As the smoke dissipated and Remo's form again became visible, Spencer
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reached into a shoulder holster and withdrew a Pendleton-Sellers .31 caliber semimag automatic with the Bolan augmented armature. The pistol fired a shell that exploded into fragments a foot away from the muzzle of the gun. Anything in the immediate area would be downed. It could level a cocktail party of people faster than Norman Mailer talking prison reform could level common sense.
Spencer pulled the slide back to put a shell into the firing chamber. As he did, he backed away from Remo, lest the crazy American make a suicidal lunge.
"Don't back up any more," Remo said.
"An old trick, Yank."
"I'm warning you. Don't go any further."
"You're the one who's going, pally," said Spencer.
Too late, Spencer heard the roar. He wheeled just as the bull rammed into him. The beast's large, curved horns dug deep into the Englishman's belly and the bull lifted him, impaled on the horns, up over his head. The bull stopped and looked at Remo as if he recognized him, then turned and crashed away down the tunnel toward the partially open doors.
The trumpet player was in full throat but his music died in a squawk as the bull broke out into the sunshine, his cargo of dead Englishman avast on his horns.
The crowd screamed.
Remo walked back to Terri and Chiun.
"Damn," he said. "I wanted to get some answers from him."
"He was very brave," Terri said.
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"Your dream man, huh? Good. The next one to come after us, I'll let him have you," Remo said.
"You didn't have anything to do with it," Terri said. "His bomb didn't go off. And his knife fell apart before it hit you. And the bull got him before he could shoot you."
"Lady," Remo said.
"What?"
"You're an asshole." Remo turned his back on her and said to Chiun, "I wish I knew who sent him."
"I know who sent him," Chiun said.
"You do? Who? How?"
"Did you not see the crest on his jacket?"
"No."
"Then you did not see the crest on the jackets of the others who tried to kill us?" Chiun said.
"No."
"The same crest will be on that knife," Chiun said.
Remo trotted back down the tunnel and picked up the hilt of the knife. He looked at it as he walked back to Chiun. A lion, a sheaf of wheat, and a dagger.
"What is it?" Remo asked.
"The House of Wissex," Chiun said.
"Who the hell are they?"
"Some upstart Englishmen," Chiun said. "I thought we had taught them a lesson." He shook his head sadly. "But some people never learn."
Fifteen
"Here's a big one." Hank Bindle was looking at the pictures in Variety's International Film Annual and he stopped to point out a full-page ad to Bruce Marmelstein.
"What's it about?" Marmelstein asked, craning his neck to look at the page.
"I don't know," Bindle said. "Let's see. It's got a picture of an airplane and a girl falling off a building and a guy with a sword."
"New guy or old guy?" asked Marmelstein.
"Old guy, you know, wearing like some kind of fur. With muscles. Like Conan. And there's like a missile heading for the city."
"Sounds like Conan meets Superman. I didn't hear that anybody's doing that," Marmelstein said. "You can't read any of the words?"
"I think this one is the. Is the T-H-E?"
"I think that's the. He pronounced it thee.
"What's the difference between the and thee?" Bindle drew out the long sound of the syllable.
"They're different words," Marmelstein said. "That much I know."
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"What about when you say the book and thee apple?" Hank Bindle said, scratching his head in bewilderment. "You mean they're different words?"
"Well, how could they be the same word if you sound one the and the other one thee?'''' Marmelstein asked. He twisted the chains around his neck as he always did when he was involved in a deep philosophical discussion.
"You just did it," Bindle said.
"Did what?"