"I'd say he's about ready, wouldn't you?" the guy said.
"Let us see if the device still functions," said the squeaky voice.
Despite his predicament, Nicky Kix managed a raucous laugh.
"You guys ain't shit, you know that? It'll never work. There's a contact in the door that has to touch another contact to complete the circuit."
"Thanks for reminding me."
He heard the scrape of a mangled timer dial and the tenative toiling of the timer mechanism itself. Then a sound like a coin dropping into a cigarette-machine slot.
Then Nicky Kix enjoyed the exquisite agony of having every water molecule in his cranium boil under an intense microwave bombardment.
He came erect as if impelled by a cattle prod.
He was dead before a three-fingered greenish hand slam-dunked the compacted microwave, Nicky's head and body following, into a trash barrel, incidentally yanking the plug from the socket.
"I thought those things wouldn't work unless the door was shut," said Jeter Baird, eyeing the dead body partially stuffed into a small Transformed Tae Kwon Do Teen Terrapin kiddie wastebaket.
"They will if you rip the contact off the door and jam it into the other contact," said the tall green figure of Aramis.
"Who are you guys?" asked Devin.
"You know how some people have guardian angels?" Aramis asked.
"Yeah."
"You two have guardian Terrapins. Congratulations."
This made perfect sense to Jeter and Devin, who had grown up on a steady diet of comic books.
"How can we ever repay you?" asked a relieved Jeter.
"You are allowed to tip," said the squeaky voice of Porthos.
"Don't listen to him," said Aramis. "We work for free. You won't be bothered again."
"Although we do not guarantee untipped work," Porthos added darkly.
Jeter and Devin hastily brought out their wallets and gave all their personal cash to their guardian Terrapin, Porthos.
"Pass," said Aramis when they offered him a plush D'Artagnan doll. "Just do us all a favor. Don't mention this to anyone."
"Not even our mothers?" asked Devin.
"Of course you should inform your mothers," said the squeaky-voiced Porthos. "One always tells one's mother of good fortune."
After the pair had gone, Devin turned to Jeter.
"You don't suppose it's true . . . "
"If you think about it," said Jeter, "we have been having an unusual streak of luck since this whole thing started."
For the rest of their days Jeter and Devin were never again visited by the guardian Terrapins. But they did discover the Hong Kong actors who usually played Aramis and Porthos. They were snoring, in full costume, in the back of the extortionists' car. They were unable to explain how they got there, nor why Aramis woke up wearing Porthos' head and vice versa.
Chapter 29
Dr. Harold W. Smith was attempting to do three things at once and was on the verge of succeeding.
He was monitoring the LANSCII file as distant defeated fingers wiped clean the "TERRAPIN SKIM" heading. He was attempting to take his Zantac, a prescription ulcer medicine, and he was listening to Remo's brief report through the blue contact telephone.
"Reptiles everywhere can snuggle in their shells in safety tonight," Remo was saying dryly.
"Er, yes."
"What's next?" Remo wondered.
The office intercom buzzed. Reflexively Smith reached for the switch, inadvertently spilling his medicine.
Suppressing his annoyance, he said, "Excuse me," as he depressed the switch while attempting to swallow a hot splash of stomach acid that had leapt up his esophagus.
"Yes?" Smith said sourly.
His secretary said, "The transfer patient has arrived, Dr. Smith. "
"Excellent. Thank you."
Smith returned to the blue phone. "Remo. Please ask Master Chiun to return to Folcroft."
"What about me?"
"I want you to go to New York City."
"What's down there? Besides muggers?"
"Don Fiavorante Pubescio. I want you to deliver a message to him."
"What's the message?"
"Cadillac Carmine Imbruglia is cheating on his rent."
"Who's Cadillac Carmine Imbruglia?" Remo wanted to know.
"The Boston don."
"How'd you find out his name?" Remo asked, interested.