"Can you fax straight from a computer like that?" Remo wanted to know.
Smith nodded absently. "It is a common application."
"News to me."
"You have much to learn, round eyes," sniffed Chiun. "Such as how to penetrate so-called secure rooms."
"I'd like to be a fly on the wall watching you get through one of those," Remo said, stealing a worried glance at the reflection of his eyes in the terminal screen.
"You would undoubtedly repeat your earlier error, even as an insignificant fly." The Master of Sinanju beamed. "Heh-heh. Even as an insignificant round-eyed fly. Heh-heh."
When Remo refused to join in the Master of Sinanju's amused laughter, Chiun went on.
"Emperor Smith has explained how the alert machines work. They are very simple. Like you."
"I'm all ears," said Remo.
"One moment," Smith said as his desk fax began to ring.
Out of the port streamed a long sheet a slick paper. Smith tore it off.
"What's he say?" Remo asked.
"He's very anxious to receive the sixty thousand dollars offered him."
"No surprise there. Did he ask what it was for?"
"He did not. I simply said it was an old debt."
"And he didn't question it?"
"No," said Smith, worrying his lower lip in a puzzled way. "But he made a strange request. He asked me to fax him a check." Harold Smith turned to the Master of Sinanju.
"Tell him no," instructed Chiun. "Inform him you wish to tender personal apologies for your slight."
Smith pecked out an answer, transmitted it, and received a prompt reply.
"He has agreed," Smith said after reading the return fax. He looked up. "I do not understand. Why would so brilliant a criminal fall for such an obvious ruse?"
"It is very simple," said the Master of Sinanju.
They looked at him expectantly. "First, he is greedy." "What's second?" asked Remo. "He is no more brilliant than Remo."
Chapter 36
Bruno the Chef was cooking a simple ravioli when Don Carmine Imbruglia barged into the LCN conference room, waving the morning edition of the Boston Herald.
"It's fuggin' on page three!" he chortled, spreading the paper on the conference table.
"What is?" asked Bruno.
"The dope on Fiavorante's gettin' whacked. They found his body last night."
"Guess that Tony pulled it off. So why ain't he back yet?"
"Don't be a mook. He clipped Fiavorante. Fiavorante's guys clipped him back. End of story. Listen, see what it says here." Don Carmine read along. "This ain't right," he muttered.
"What?"
"This can't be."
"What?"
"They say when they found Fiavorante there wasn't a mark on him. What happened to the slugs No Numbers pumped into him?"
"It say who's takin' over?"
"Hold your horses. I'm gettin' to that. Oh, Mother of God," said Don Carmine. "Something is very, very wrong. I smell a rat here. This is wrong. This is very wrong."
"What?"
"Says here that Don Pietro Scubisci has taken over."
"I heard he was in a coma."
"He's out. Maybe he got time off for good behavior. Fug! Now we gotta whack him out too."
"Why?"
"On account of he and I got history together. It's gonna be him or it's gonna be me."
"Who you gonna send? All your guys are dead."
"I'll worry about that later. We gotta protect ourselves first. Lock all the doors. Turn on all the alarms. Nobody comes in. Nobody goes out. We lay low for a while."
"Sure, boss, but what about that sixty G's you was supposed to pick up today?"
Don Carmine looked up from his newspaper.
"That's right. I almost forgot about that." His eyes narrowed craftily. "Okay, so you make the pickup instead. I'll hide out in the computertry room with all the motion alarms running. No one will touch me. I'll be safer than the fuggin' First Lady."
"What if it's a hit?"
"If it's a hit, they won't touch you. It's me they're after."
"If you say so, boss," Bruno the Chef said without enthusiasm.