"Where have I seen you before?" Remo asked the man.
"In your nightmares," Sagwa spat. The fist flattened out, fingers straight. The other hand now formed a fist.
"One hand lies, the other tells the truth," Remo muttered. "But which one?"
He decided to find out.
Remo jumped back until his spine touched the closed bronze doors. Using them for leverage, he propelled himself with a backward kick.
The maneuver sent Remo shooting into the air, sailing over the chauffeur's twisting head.
A gloved fist shot up, clipping Remo's left calf.
It felt like a sledgehammer. Remo saw stars. He landed on one foot, the other held off the ground. He hopped three times before he found his balance.
The chauffeur came around, still hopping on one foot.
"Okay," Remo said. "Now I know which hand tells the truth."
Remo hopped back as the chauffeur advanced. He sensed the power of Chiun's inner essence hovering near him.
His whispery voice floated to Remo's ears. "Remember, do not shame me."
Remo hesitated. Why should he listen to Chiun now-after all that had happened? Then again, Chiun had warned him about the lying hand.
Remo put his foot down. It hurt. He stepped forward, limping slightly. "Damn!" he said.
The chauffeur hopped before him, not advancing, not retreating, but taunting him. Remo watched him maneuver. He saw the opening he wanted.
Remo went in low, his body bent at the waist.
With a victorious cry, the chauffeur brought his right fist down. Remo countered with crossed wrists. A mistake. The other hand, straight as a spear, caught him in the throat.
Remo rolled with the blow, coughing. As the chauffeur approached, Remo retreated, scrambling to keep his feet. This brought him close to Chiun.
Pitching his voice so only Chiun heard it, he demanded, "What happened to one hand lies, the other tells the truth?"
"He is Chinese, and therefore devious," Chiun whispered back.
"This guy is no kung-fu dancer," Remo growled.
"Nuihc gave him the benefit of certain knowledge," Chiun said.
"He knows Sinanju?" Remo said in surprise.
"He knows many styles, some worthy; some not," Chiun said. "But listen to his heart. He is empowered by drugs." "That explains why he's faster than me."
Chiun turned to Wu Ming Shi suddenly, lifting his voice. "It would seem that our servants are equally worthy."
"You have taught yours more than a few defensive tricks."
"A servant needs to protect his Master," Chiun returned.
Remo hopped closer, lifting both hands in imitation of the chauffeur's tortured stance.
"Your guy seems to know what he's doing," Remo taunted. "Why don't I try it?" He made a fist. "One hand lies," he mocked, "the other tells the truth."
For a moment, Sagwa's black eyes grew worried behind his mask. Then his arrogance asserted itself.
"You are a fool!" he hissed.
"Maybe, but you're the guy who thinks he's a whooping crane."
Remo feinted, more to test this unfamiliar style than anything else. It felt awkward, but he instantly appreciated the advantage of the long-arm style. Joints and wrists locked, it imparted pile-driver power to the blow because the entire of the body was behind it.
Respectfully the chauffeur danced out of the way of Remo's first clumsy blows.
Remo moved in, hopping. He danced to one side, hopped into reverse. All the time, he watched his opponent's hands, looking for the truth and the lie.
The chauffeur did the same. His arms went back and forth, and Remo opened and closed his fists alternately.
And while his opponent's eyes were mesmerized by the play of fingers, Remo suddenly put his weight on his bad foot and lashed out with his good one.
The blow was low and elegant. It caught the chauffeur in the kneecap, splintering it.
Sagwa screamed. And in the instant he balanced in midair, Remo countered with a closed fist to the other knee. It broke like a plate.
The chauffeur landed on his ass. Remo stepped up and brought one foot down on his left elbow. The joint cracked like a walnut.
Pain warped the chauffeur's masked face. He grabbed for Remo's restraining ankle. Remo deflected the off-balance stroke with a casual slap of his hand. Then he reached down for the mask, saying, "It's midnight. Time for all good little trick-or-treaters to unmask."
"Stop!" commanded the mandarin Wu Ming Shi.
Remo's hand froze. Gritting his teeth, he willed his straining fingers to touch the mask. They held fast, as if encountering an invisible wall.
"Stand back from my Sagwa," Wu Ming Shi ordered.
Obediently Remo stepped back. He swore under his breath.
"Sagwa. Rise to your feet."
Sagwa, sweating and straining, attempted to get up. He used his one good arm to lever his body up. But his legs refused to take his weight. Three times he tried to get to his feet. And then, exhausted, he fell back sweating and breathing hard.
His heart rate was tremendous, Remo heard. It accelerated to the point where Remo wondered if it would burst the heart muscle itself. The man's yellow face turned red with exertion.
Finally Wu Ming Shi spoke up.