"You do?"
"Of course. When one practices the art of assassination as you do, one is bound to become disillusioned. But do not sorrow, my son. You will improve with a little practice. Ten, fifteen years. Practically overnight." He patted Remo gently on the shoulder.
"It's not that, Little Father. I'm just tired of killing people for a living. I don't want to do it anymore."
Chiun arched an eyebrow. "And what, may I ask, do you propose to do since this great revelation? Sell washing machines?"
The lights dimmed and brightened in the lobby, the signal to enter the theater. "I don't know. But I'm not going to kill anybody else. I've thought it over."
Chiun sighed as he settled into his seat in full lotus position. "I guessed as much."
"Guessed what?"
"That you have been thinking. Like killing and making love, thinking is an activity which should only be undertaken by those who know how to do it correctly. In your case, you should stick to killing."
"Very funny."
"And only under supervision."
Remo sat back. He wouldn't have to tell Smith about his decision until intermission. Till then, he'd have time to take a nap. The first act of Giselle was as good a place as any to catch a few winks, and he was bone tired.
"Disgraceful," Chiun muttered as soon as the curtain came up.
"Hmmm?" Remo cranked one eyelid open.
"This is not dancing. Where are the fans? Where are the streamers?"
"This is ballet," Remo said. "It's different from Korean dancing. They use their feet."
"A shameless display of leg-showing. Girls should have more modesty. Look at that one in the white jacket. Ruffles at the collar, and no skirt. She is ladylike only around her neck."
"Where?"
"On the stage. A carnal exhibition. And big legs, too. White legs. Who would have such a woman?"
"That's not a woman, Chiun. It's a man."
"A man? With no pants?"
"Quiet down, Little Father."
The old Oriental looked around. "Why? Are you afraid I will wake someone up?"
Remo scanned the seats around him. Indeed, almost half the audience seemed to be fast asleep. He craned his neck to see into the orchestra section. A thousand heads bobbed up and down rhythmically as the air welled with the sound of deep snoring.
"Everybody's conked out," Remo whispered.
"What do you expect? Even unconsciousness is preferable to watching those legs."
"Something weird's going on here," Remo said.
At intermission, the curtain came down to a smattering of applause. The house lights came up, and a few people straggled into the aisles. Most of the audience remained sprawled in their seats.
"Let's find Smitty," Remo said.
Smith was standing by the refreshments counter on the first tier. Remo and Chiun had a hard time getting to him because the other patrons kept staggering in front of them.
"Out of my way," Chiun commanded as a young couple slammed into him on either flank.
"Sorry," the young man said with exteme slowness. His mouth worked further, but only drool came out.
"Slovenly creatures. White, naturally."
"He's not the only one," Remo said. Near Smith stood a fashionable middle-aged woman in green taffeta. As Smith purchased something from the bar, the woman melted to the floor. A few feet away, another patron, an elderly gentleman holding a styrofoam cup in his hand, slid slowly down the wall to the carpet.
"What's wrong with all these people?" Remo asked. "They're falling like boll weevils at first frost."
Smith walked over to them, a styrofoam container in his hand. His face was grave. "Can you see what's happening?" he asked.
"I see it, but I don't believe it," Remo said. "Is it like this all over New York?"
"All over the country," Smith said. "The first reports came from Miami, but within hours I'd heard from every city in the United States. The hospitals are full with accident cases, from people falling asleep at the wheel. Suicides are quadruple their usual rate."
"Maybe it's something in the water," Remo offered.
Smith shook his head. "Unfortunately, we know what it is. There've been enough autopsies to prove it beyond a doubt."
"And?"
Smith looked around him. "Heroin," he said.
"Heroin?" Remo repeated unbelievingly. "The whole country?"
"Somehow, a huge quantity of heroin has been introduced to the American public. The epidemic has crossed all social and ethnic barriers. There's no pattern." Smith took a sip of his coffee. "I'm afraid there's just no way of stopping it at present, since we don't know the source. That's yourjob. Find out who's behind this scheme, and how he's operating. And then stop him."
Remo waffled. "There's just one thing—"
"I recommend you start with known drug contacts in the Miami area, then work your way up to the main distributors."
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?"
"See, I'd like to catch this bum as much as you, but I've come to a decision. About my life. That is, about the way I spend my life. It's the killing, Smitty.... Smitty?"
Smith stood weaving in his spot, staring glassily at Remo.