"Glad you've come around to my way of thinking. How about we ditch the two dips and get down to work?"
"Cheeta is not a dip," Chiun sniffed.
"Okay. She's a dipette. My offer stands."
"Quiet," Cheeta hissed. "You'll ruin the magic spell. "
"Perish the thought," Remo said. To Chiun he added, "I rest my case."
Remo folded his arms. "Then I wait here until the moon turns blue."
Chiun looked up. The moon was high overhead, very full and not at all blue.
"It is no such color," he sniffed.
"That isn't the moon I meant," Remo said, pointing to Delpha's pale, goose-bumpy backside.
Chiun hid his face anew.
Remo was saying, "Give it up, Delpha," when the helicopter arrived with a noisy clattering.
"Get a shot of that!" Cheeta told her cameraman, slapping him on his head like a spotter signaling a mortar man to fire.
The cameraman pointed his videocam up at the descending helicopter, an eggshell-colored Bell Ranger with a red stripe.
It settled into the middle of Fifth Avenue, revealing the world-famous BCN logo.
Cheeta screeched, "You idiot! That's us!"
"But you said-"
"Never mind," Cheeta said, rushing to meet the pilot, who was braving the prop wash to come in her direction. He actually saluted before speaking.
"Miss Ching. The station just received a call from Randal Rumpp. He's offering you an exclusive if you'll meet with him."
"But we can't get in!" Cheeta fumed. "We tried."
"The news director said to do whatever you had to.
Cheeta looked at the pilot, at the helicopter, and back at the streaked-by-sunset Rumpp Tower.
She wrapped her bloodred fingernails about the pilot's tie. "How do you feel about flying into Randal Rumpp's office?" "Miss Ching?" Cheeta grinned like a happy moray eel. "I promise you the ride of your life," she said.
Chapter 12
Randal Rumpp was explaining to the mayor of New York City the facts of life.
"Look, you can't collect property taxes on it, you can't move it, you can't sell it, and let's face it, Mr. Mayor, you run the greatest city on the face of the earth. Do you want an embarrassment like a sixty-eight-story skyscraper that no one can enter on your hands?"
The mayor's voice was suspicious and taken aback at the same time. A unique combination.
"What do you . . . propose?" the mayor asked.
"You waive all property taxes for the next hundred years, provide the manpower and the material, and I'll build a new, bigger, and brassier Rumpp Tower on this exact spot," Randal Rumpp said quickly.
"Can you . . . do that?"
"Why not? You can't touch, taste, or feel the current one. It's as useless as tits on an avocado. So we build up from the current foundation, and through it. Make it taller. Of course, I'll need a piece of all frontages."
"Why?"
"We gotta bury the old facade, don't we? You don't want it to show through. It'll ruin the effect. I think the new one should be green. Like glass money."
While the mayor was digesting all this, Randal Rumpp took a sip of Marquis Louis Roederer Cristal champagne from a Baccarat crystal goblet with the name "Rumpp" carved into the base. It was the only one of its kind. Rumpp had had two made, but upon delivery smashed one, in order to make the survivor more valuable. In another year, Randal Rumpp figured, it would be a collector's item and he had plans to move it through Sotheby's.
The mayor's voice came again.
"What about the people trapped inside? What about you?"
"I'm working on that, Mr. Mayor. It took a lot to pull this off. It's going to take a lot to undo it."
"This is insane, Rumpp. You can't get away with something this big."
"Everything I ever got away with in my life was big," said Randal Rumpp coolly, draining the goblet. "Get back to me when you have something I can work with."
He hit the OFF button on the cellular, then bounced out of his seat, humming.
"It's working!" he chortled. "It's really, truly working! I'm going to get a higher tower, and I won't even have to pay for it. This will be the deal of the century!"
In the outer reception room, a phone rang. Rumpp marched in and confronted his executive assistant.
"I thought I told you to leave every phone off the hook!" he snapped.
The woman was shaking. "I couldn't help it. I wanted to see if it worked."
"Try it."
She picked up her receiver and said, "Hello?" A notch appeared between her brows. After listening a moment, she handed the receiver to Randal Rumpp, saying, "I . . . think it's for you."
"Who is this?" Rumpp demanded.
"I am Grandfather Frost," said a strange voice.
"Never heard of you." "I am like your Santa Claus. I bring presents to those who are good."
"Yeah? How come I never heard of you?"