"Just when you discard a piece of a kimono is when you need it most," said Chiun. "But all right. Mutilate its beautiful wine essence. If you are ready to leave this insane asylum at last, I will endure it." Chiun was watching a soap opera he had loved in the early and mid-seventies but one which now he disliked for its filth and violence. However, on occasion he would tune it in, and this time it was interrupted to announce another rock star was dead as a result of the Concert of Death in which so many had died to save the suffering people of Gupta.
The viewers were warned that the scenes might be too horrible to look at. To avoid the horror, people should not look at the scenes which would be shown now, at the six-o'clock news, and the eleven-o'clock news.
"This is the Debbie Pattie concert," intoned the announcer, and intense noise and a heavy beat followed. Debbie's voice was barely a whisper, a whisper of talk, and then it grew louder, and her multicolored painted face turned a reddish hue and then she was screaming, and thrashing in the wires of the electronic guitar. She rolled on the ground screaming as the audience joined her in ecstatic yells. The drummer picked up pace and the fans were jumping in their seats. Some of them ran hysterically up onto the stage.
When the song was over, Debbie Pattie stopped convulsing and was still as the audience went wild. Unfortuantely she remained just as still when the next number began. Men in white coats ran out, the necessary medical teams that always accompanied rock concerts. Normally they were used for the crowds. One of them placed a stethoscope over her heart.
"It was only then," came the announcer's voice, "that the fans realized, that everyone realized Ms. Pattie was not singing, but had been electrocuted by a malfunction in her guitar."
Within minutes there was another interruption, and Debbie's manager said the song would be released as a single, calling it her best work ever. A writer for Rambling Rock magazine appeared, calling it "the most powerful, sensitive interpretation of a larger scope of the dynamic of the frontiers of rock than Ms. Pattie had ever dared explore before. It was bold, yet in full knowledge of its absolute sensitivity, combined with a tonal daring that went beyond known frontiers of harmonization."
And then there was the report that got Remo's interest. Half her money was going to the victims in Gupta, but with a special proviso: no organization would collect it, but it was to be handed directly to the poor people in cash.
"Ms. Pattie had been investigating the use of the Save concert money at the time of her death," said an announcer.
"She was all right," said Remo. "She was better than I thought. She cared. She really did. She smelled awful but she cared."
Chiun looked up, alarmed. He sensed the sounds of American lunacy coming at him, specifically Remo's. These whites shared that insanity that he found almost nowhere in the Orient.
"Let's go now," said Chiun. "We will phone Smith from Dakar, or Samarkand, or Calcutta."
"I'll phone him now," said Remo.
"Why break bad news right away? Allow Emperor Smith the kindness to still believe you work for him for a few more days. I will take upon myself the onerous chore of severing relations."
"No," said Remo. "It's my job. I'll quit it."
"No, my blessed son, great bearer of the thousand-year skills of Sinanju, glory of our House, allow me to do this delicate thing."
"Don't worry," said Remo, who knew Chiun would not be saying nice things unless he wanted something badly. "I'll handle it."
Chiun did not listen to the conversation. Instead he sadly packed both sleeves of the kimono for the Campobasso Festival of the Grape, the ones shaded to honor the god Dionysus. At least he wouldn't lose a kimono he might need. But when he would be able to free Remo from this insanity, he was not sure. Gravely Remo returned.
"I can't leave now, little father." Chiun nodded wearily.
"The whole country may be destroyed by those shysters Palmer, Rizzuto Do you know what they're going to do to the money supply?"
"Do not tell me, lest I lose sleep."
"They've figured out how to get two hundred million clients and sue the government at the same time. "
"What horror," said Chiun, folding his hands.
"But in doing so, they're going to wreck the government. I can't let them get away with that. Not after Debbie."
"Of course not," said Chiun. "What is one death alone? We must give them two."
"I know you're being sarcastic, but I believe every word I'm saying. I believe it deeply. I'm sorry."
"The problem was never that you didn't believe what you said. The heavens know how much I have prayed that one day you would learn that your body does not have to follow your tongue."
"I know how much you counted on leaving," said Remo.
"Would you mind terribly if you did not get yourself killed? Would you mind terribly acting like the professional assassin I trained you to be? Would you mind terribly killing Smith's enemy instead of getting killed yourself?"
"Of course not," said Remo, who knew that Chiun from the very beginning had railed against America's monuments to heroes who died an battle. To the House of Sinanju this only glorified getting killed, rewarding what should have been discouraged.
"There is a way we can win," said Chiun. "But I am afraid you are going to have to remember what I have only told you a thousand times a thousand."
Palmer was laughing. Rizzuto danced on the expensive table and Schwartz was on the phone simultaneously with his stockbroker and his Rolls dealer.
Their days of debt were over. They were going to have more money than they could spend, more money than Palmer could divorce away or Rizzuto gamble away, and even more money than Schwartz could brilliantly invest away.
"I am afraid to say it," said Palmer, bubbling, "but at last the world is turning our way. Nothing can go wrong. We've got the biggest client list possible. The right victims, the right victimizer, read money, and we're in position."
"Bless the name Robert Dastrow," said Rizzuto, kissing a gold chain around his neck where he used to wear a religious medal.
"I never thought of Dastrow as a good guy. I never thought he did anything benevolent in his life. But I take it all back," said Schwartz. "The man is not only all genius, he's all heart."
"He's decent is what he is, gentlemen. We have met the decent human being," said Palmer. "I didn't think they existed anymore. He knew we were in trouble. He knew we needed a big one to pull ourselves out, and he did it for us."
"You know our problem was that we didn't let him pick the overall situations, too," said Schwartz. "This man understands the law. From here on in, we follow. He's smarter than us and that's all there is to it. "
"He's better than us," said Palmer.
"He is us," yelled Rizzuto.
"What does that mean?" asked Schwartz.
"I don't know. I'm a trial lawyer. It sounded good," said Rizzuto.
Twenty minutes before, all three of them had been considering filing for bankruptcy, except Rizzuto, who was planning to leave the country because loan sharks did not accept pleas of insolvency without trying to collect pieces of the body.
And then Dastrow had phoned. He was initiating another case.
But this time Palmer was furious.
"We got nothing from the Grand Booree. The thing didn't even go off. We sent staffers out there. Staffers have to be paid. We got warning fliers printed up. Printers have to be paid. And what did we get? Less than Gupta, which wasn't enough to cover your fees to begin with. So, thank you for calling, but you are interrupting a liquidation meeting," said Palmer.
"I'm going to make you rich. You never specified rich before."
"Do we have to? Why do you think, people enter law, to exercise their gums?"
"I only followed orders before, or made suggestions. This time I'm going to make you the richest negligence-law firm in the country."
"What's the catch? How is it going to backfire?" asked Palmer.