The driver-he looked about twenty-two-continued to ignore him as he fiddled with Remo's radio. The arrogance of the youth's nonchalance made Remo's blood boil. He calmed himself, thinking that he was not going to be ignored much longer.
The light turned green.
The driver hit the accelerator.
The rear tires spun, throwing off rubbery clouds of smoke.
The Buick stayed in place. A station wagon directly behind started to honk. With his free hand, Remo waved the car to go around him. His other hand held on to the driver's-side door handle, his feet rooted on the asphalt street as if by Super-Glue.
Remo waited patiently for Shariff to notice him. It was taking a while. The guy jammed the accelerator to the floor. The rear tires spun faster, shaving hot rubber off his treads. They were winter tires, so Remo didn't sweat the loss of tread. Besides which, he'd get satisfaction from the car thief soon enough.
Finally the driver released the gas. He put his nose to the glass and looked up at Remo.
Evidently he was not frightened by what he saw, a skinny dude of indeterminate age wearing-despite the winter chill-a black T-shirt and black chinos, because he rolled down the window.
"You mind?" he said.
"Yes, I do mind," Remo said pleasantly. "You are sitting behind the wheel of my car."
"This?"
"Do you see any other wheel you're sitting behind?"
"This your car?"
"I answered that. Now, you answer this: Why are you driving my car?"
"You weren't using it."
"So you just felt free to steal it, is that it?"
"I ain't stealin' it! Get outta my face with that shit!"
Remo leaned down. He bestowed a friendly disarming smile on the tough's scowling face. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, Shariff, but isn't that a screwdriver where my ignition used to be?"
"What you expect? You forgot to leave me the keys." His tone changed. "How you know my name?"
"ESP," Remo said.
"ESP? How you do that?"
"Do what?"
"That thing you did before. Had the pedal to the metal and I wasn't goin' nowhere. You shoulda been yanked along for the ride. Instead, I'm wastin' time talkin' witchu."
Remo made his voice contrite. "Sorry about that."
"You gonna tell me how you do that, or what?"
"Sinanju."
"Spell it. I wanna buy it, learn it, or steal it. Whatever it takes."
"Actually, it takes about fifteen years and seventy tons of rice just to master the basics. Then you really have to buckle down."
"Don't have that kind of time. Now that I got this fine car, I plan on moving up in the world, Jim."
"The name's Remo."
"Thought you said it was Sinanju."
"I can see why you're stealing cars," Remo sighed. "Sinanju is what I do. It's kinda like . . . fahrvergnugen."
"Say what?"
"You know the TV commercials about being at one with your car?"
"Mighta come across it once or twice," Shariff allowed.
Remo waved another car through the intersection. "Well, Sinanju is kinda like that, except you don't need a car."
"That's good," Shariff said, "because you ain't got a car no more. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be gettin' on my way."
Shariff hit the accelerator. Remo was ready. The black car thief had telegraphed his intentions so loudly he might as well have shouted them.
This time, Remo didn't hold the car in place. He let it accelerate. But he stood his ground, keeping hold of the door handle.
As a result, the Buick described an arc in the slippery snow until it spun into the opposite lane, pointing back toward the health-food store where the blond stood watching him, clutching herself against a shivery wind.
"Why you do that for?" Shariff complained. "Now I'm pointin' the wrong way!"
"Because that way's where my car was parked before you interrupted my life with your sociopathic intrusion," Remo said without malice.
"Was that farfarnugat?"
"You must mean fahrvergnugen, and no, you weren't paying attention. Sinanju is what I do. Fahrvergnugen was only a metaphor."
"Yeah, well, metapor this, sucker!"
A machine pistol jumped into the man's hand.
"Nice Uzi," Remo commented.
"You stupid? This here's a Mac-10. Drive-by heaven."
"All guns look alike to me," Remo said, "and don't tell me you're going to shoot me simply because I want my car back."