As their cab dropped them off, Remo took note of the police cruisers parked in front of the building. "Something's up," Remo commented as he and Chiun stepped around the police cars. "Maybe we should use a back door."
"You may climb through an alley window if you wish," Chiun sniffed. "I, however, will use the perfectly serviceable door before me."
Lifting up the hem of his purple kimono, the old man marched across the sidewalk. Eyes on the cop cars, Remo followed. Side by side, the two men strolled into the lobby.
The confusion inside was such that no one stopped them as they crossed to the elevators. They accompanied a pair of police officers up to the fourteenth floor.
The doors opened on the sedate LFB logo. It was etched into a small bronze plate that was secured to the wall above a vacant receptionist's desk.
The cops walked from the elevator area down past several lobby desks, Remo and Chiun trailing. "Remember, Little Father," Remo whispered. "We're looking for a guy named Larry Fine."
"Yes," Chiun droned. "I don't know why you trusted that that was not some new manifestation of Smith's madness."
"Let's give Smitty a break, okay?" Remo said as they walked. "He's been living a waking nightmare these past few years. We're only here so he can make nice with the President before he leaves office."
"Then this is truly a waste of all our time," the Master of Sinanju muttered. "For Smith has already told us that we will visit the Corpulent Pretender in but a few day's time to administer the Emptying Basin."
This was the Sinanju selective-amnesia technique used to erase all memory of Smith, CURE and Sinanju from the minds of departing Presidents.
"Too bad we can't use that technique on 270 million more Americans," Remo said. "Make them forget the last eight years ever happened."
They followed the policemen through a wide archway and into a large, drab room filled with small cubicles. Coming toward them up the long gray aisle was a sheet-draped gurney.
"Uh-oh," Remo said. "I hope that's not who I think it is."
While the gurney was still at a distance, Remo stopped near a group of LFB employees. They were watching the approaching covered gurney with sick fascination.
"I'm looking for Larry Fine," Remo announced. Judging by the looks he received, his instinct about the gurney's occupant was correct. "Lawrence," a sniffling woman corrected. She dabbed her mascara-smeared eyes with a sopped Kleenex. "His name was Lawrence. Those thugs murdered him in his own office."
All of a sudden, it wasn't funny to make fun of his name. That happened not long after Fine's body was discovered, his neck nearly sawed through with a garrote wire.
Chiun fell in with the passing coroner's office procession. An unseen fingernail bounced the gurney's wheels over Remo's loafers on its trip out of the office. The Master of Sinanju continued with the rest out into the hall.
One of the office workers lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I hate to say it, but I'm just glad LFB didn't assign me to work with those racketeers."
"I knew something was wrong the moment I laid eyes on them," the weeping woman said. "Poor, poor Larry. I mean Lawrence." She blew her nose into her dripping tissue.
"Does all this have anything to do with Raffair?" Remo asked as she picked bits of tissue from her moist fingers.
All eyes turned to him. The crying woman took sudden notice of Remo's too casual attire. She froze in midsniffle.
"Are you with the police?" she asked suspiciously. "What's your name? Where's your identification?"
He rolled his eyes as he reached into his pocket for his phony ID. "My name's Remo-" he began. A shocked intake of air. Before he knew what was going on, the woman before him let out a bloodcurdling scream.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Remo asked as she shrieked bloody murder.
The other LFB employees dove for their cubicles. Cops spun Remo's way. Some were already running toward him.
"He's one of the killers!" the woman screeched.
"What?" Remo said, stunned. "No, I'm not." By this time, he was surrounded by police, their guns drawn.
"Let me see some ID," one of the officers demanded. "Slowly. "
Remo reached back into his pocket. When he searched his wallet, he came up empty. He checked his other pocket. The only things there were a small figure carved from stone and a crucifix he'd been carrying around as good-luck charms for the past few months. He suddenly remembered leaving Smith's newly issued IDs on his bureau back at Castle Sinanju.
"Oops," he said sheepishly. He eyed the many guns. "I'm out of practice. Is this a good time to offer a bribe?"
The woman screamed once more before jumping behind a cubicle wall.
"Face on the floor!" an officer commanded.
"No," Remo corrected. "Feet on floor. See feet go. Go, feet, go."
And before the cops knew what was happening, he was gone from their midst. When they spun, they saw him flying up the aisle toward the main entrance.
Gunfire erupted in Remo's wake. He flew into the hallway amid a hail of bullets.
The Master of Sinanju was with the coroner's men near the elevators. He frowned deep displeasure as Remo raced up to him.
"What have you done now?" Chiun demanded as Remo slid to a stop beside him.
"Nothing," Remo said. "Told somebody my name. The rest's a blur."
Chiun's wrinkled furrows grew deeper. "If you must say something stupid, do not say anything at all."
Police officers began spilling into the distant hall. When they yelled for Remo to stop, the two men from the coroner's office immediately leaped behind the broad receptionist's desk beneath the LFB plaque.
"I like my name," Remo challenged, hurt, just as the police opened fire.
Standing before the closed elevator doors, the two Masters of Sinanju weaved and dodged around the incoming volley of bullets. Several screaming shards of hot lead thudded into the sheet-draped corpse beside them.
"By all means, then, remain here and like your name to your heart's content," the Master of Sinanju began. With a ping, the doors slid open. "I, however, like my life more."
As bullets whizzed by his parchment-draped skull, the old man ducked aboard the elevator car. Remo shot a final glance at the still-firing police. Arranged at the end of the hall, they were frustrated by their inability to sight down on their quarry. They continued shooting as Remo jumped inside the elevator car. He stabbed the button for the first floor. "Can they not halt our descent?" Chiun asked as the doors slid shut. He tucked his hands inside his voluminous kimono sleeves as the elevator began its swift slide downward.
"You've seen too many movies. By the time they figure out how to shut it down, we'll be long gone."
"How?" Chiun asked skeptically.
Remo smiled. "I've seen a lot of movies, too." Reaching up, he pulled down the cheap suspended ceiling. Behind it was a small trapdoor. He gave it a push, and the door slapped against the roof of the car.
"Rock, paper, scissors for who goes first?"
Chiun was peering up through the hole. "Hurry up, retard," he said peevishly.