"If these criminals didn't think that all the houses were owned by pissy-faced little wimps like him, this kind of thing wouldn't happen. Curt would still be alive."
Was she actually trying to blame that helpless, innocent little guy next door for her husband's death, Remo wondered.
"I'm sure you're right," he said. "Thank you for your time."
"Least I could do," she said. "Call me if you need me." She put an extra emphasis on the word "need."
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"Sure will," Remo said. As he and Chiun started down the walk, she stepped out and began yelling.
"Little nothing. Why couldn't it have been you instead of Curt, you little nothing?"
Remo looked over at the little man who was just standing there, staring at the screaming woman.
Poor little guy.
After Remo and Chiun had driven off, Elmo Wimpler reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small, pink, flimsy piece.
He shook it out and held it up in plain sight. It was a pair of pink, woman's panties.
After displaying it for a few seconds, he kissed it and threw it into one of the cartons in the back of the van.
Phyllis had caught the whole scene. She held her breath. Her panties had been ripped off her the night before by the phantom rapist-murderer.
But no, it couldn't be. Not Wimpler.
She watched as he locked up his house and went back to the van. Before getting in, he turned her way and threw her a wave and a kiss.
No, she thought, hugging her arms. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.
67
CHAPTER NINE
There were a lot of contracts to fill and a lot of millions to make in his new profession, but first Elmo Wimpler had one more personal piece of business to take care of.
Actually, three pieces of business.
The three owners of the Friends of Inventors were in their office late, studying the books on the week's take, when suddenly the lights in the room went out.
The door to the room opened and closed quickly.
Ernie, sitting in the middle of the table, heard a grunt from the partner on his right and felt something wet strike him on the shoulder. He turned to look at his partner and in the dimness of the office, he saw his partner had only half a head. And the wet stuff, suddenly he knew, was blood.
He turned to his left, in time to hear a phhhhht sound and the snap of bone and his partner's grunt as his half-head slumped forward and hit the large, oaken table.
"What the fuck," he said, jumping up from his seat and looking around him. He saw nothing.
"Sorry I couldn't come up with anything in mauve," a voice said to him from out of the emptiness.
"Who's that?" Ernie stuttered.
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He felt himself pushed from behind. He turned quickly but no one was there.
"I'm going apeshit nuts," he said aloud.
"Ever sell that car of yours?" the disembodied voice asked.
Something slapped Ernie in the face, but again there was no one to see.
"I'm dreaming," he said.
"No, you're not," the voice said.
"What is this?" Ernie demanded in a voice made loud with fear.
"Just think mauve," the voice said. Ernie felt some kind of touch on his head and just before he died, he remembered the meeting they had had with the wimpy looking guy with the funny black paint.
No. It couldn't be him. Could it?"
Phhhhhhht. Crack.
"Three more?" Remo asked Smith from the phone in his New York hotel room, overlooking Central Park.
"That's right," said Smith and gave Remo the address of the Friends of Inventors. "It's a phony operation that takes money from would-be inventors but it doesn't market anything."
"All crushed skulls?" Remo asked.
"Correct," Smith said. "But there was something else too. There was a note written in mauve-colored paint on the table."
"What'd the note say?" Remo asked.
"It said, 'This is the last one I do for free.' "
"And another amateur succumbs to the lure of money and turns pro," Remo said.
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"And for a pro, the only game in town is the Emir of Bislami," Smith said. "Chiun was right about the paint by the way. It's a special metallic compound that absorbs all light hitting it."
"Would it make someone invisible?"
"In the dark," Smith said. "All you could see is a black outline against a lighter background. But you couldn't pick up any details because they wouldn't send any light to your eye."