He rubbed at the back of his neck with a massive hand. Both hand and neck were covered with hair. So was the rest of his hulking body.
Back home in New York, he was known as Louis the Bear. Some said that he bathed in Rogaine. Of course, they had sense enough to say this behind his furry back. In addition to his physical resemblance to his animal namesake, Louis the Bear had a temper as great as the average grizzly and the strength to back it up.
Seymour Botz was aware enough of Louis DiGrotti's intimidating size to not test his temper. The accountant continued to work as the big man talked.
"I figured the reindeer would be the easy ones to find what with all that sky up there," Louis complained. "They must be hidin' out with all the walruses."
Frowning deeply, he picked up his camera. He was picking at the lens when the bell above the front door suddenly jingled to life.
Louis glanced up, a hopeful expression tugging at his five-o'clock shadow. But instead of a wayward reindeer, it was two men who had just entered Raffair's Boston offices. Face sagging once more, Louis tossed his camera to his desk.
"Damn Rudolphs," he growled.
The two men didn't seem to hear him. As they crossed to the desks, they continued an argument that had started outside.
"I'm not saying you can't listen to her," the young white guy was saying.
"You are absolutely not saying that," the old Chinaman interrupted icily.
"I'm just saying that the neighbors might appreciate it if you didn't turn it up so loud when you're not in the room. At least until I can replace the broken windows," Remo said.
"And who broke the windows?" Chiun replied frostily. "Besides, our neighbors are Vietnamese. If I can get used to the sounds of cats being strangled every night at dinnertime, they certainly cannot complain about the lovely Wylander."
"Wylander gives the cats a run for their money," Remo muttered. "Let's just try to keep the volume down, okay?"
"Absolutely not," Chiun sniffed. "Will you next muzzle the nightingale or whippoorwill? Where will your callous attacks on beauty end? I must draw a line in the sand."
At his desk, Seymour Botz eyed the new arrivals with concern. "Can I help you gentlemen with something?" he asked, his eyes bouncing from one man to the other.
"Just a sec," Remo said. "The only birds you can link to Wylander Jugg are the three hundred that give up their lives every week to fill her buckets of extra crispy."
Seymour cast a confused eye at Louis DiGrotti. The big man was reacting to the two visitors not with bemusement but with concern. Eyeing Remo and Chiun, he was slowly sliding a furry hand beneath his jacket.
Seymour shot to his feet as if his chair were on fire.
"You want stock!" he sang, hoping to cut off any violence. "I can give you a list of Boston brokers!"
Fumbling at the papers on his desk, he held a sheet out to Remo.
Remo turned a bland eye on the computer printout.
"Not interested," he said. "I believe in gold not stock."
"Don't think you can get around me that way," Chiun cautioned.
Remo ignored the old man. "Look," he said to Seymour Botz, "I just wasted a whole day flying to New York to visit a dead man and I've apparently got a night of Grand Ole Opry and angry phone calls to deal with, so why don't we just make this easy for everybody concerned and tell me who's pulling the strings on Raffair."
Botz tensed. "I don't know what you mean," he sniffed.
"Well, first off, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's dirty," Remo suggested. "Otherwise, the office Furby wouldn't be pointing that gun at us."
"He is pointing it at you, not us," Chiun corrected. "People must be instinctively drawn to your negative energy."
Botz spun to Louis DiGrotti. When he saw the gun in his huge hand, his eyes went wide. "What do you think you're doing?" the accountant cried.
"Friggin' reindeer," DiGrotti growled. "If them and the walruses ain't gonna help me do what I wanna do, I'm at least gonna do what I was sent here to do."
With that pronouncement, he squeezed the trigger.
A sound like a sharp thunderclap exploded in the small office. It was followed nearly simultaneously by the meaty thwack of lead against forehead.
As the smoke cleared, Louis the Bear blinked. And frowned.
Remo still stood before Seymour Botz's desk. Behind the desk, Seymour's mouth was open wide. For some reason, a thick maroon dent dotted the center of his forehead.
When the accountant lurched forward onto his blotter, the spray of brain and bone from the back of his blown-out head could be seen decorating the office wall.
"Wha... ?" Louis questioned, unable to wrap his tiny brain around what had just transpired.
A clamping pain on his wrist drew his attention. When he looked down, he found himself staring into the upturned face of the Master of Sinanju. Chiun squeezed, and Louis DiGrotti's hand sprang obediently open. His gun thudded to the floor.
"Tell me, Remo, have you ever met someone who did not shoot at you?" Chiun said blandly as Remo stepped over.
"Never happened till I met you," Remo replied. He turned to DiGrotti. "Okay, spill it, fuzzy. What's the deal with Raffair? And make it snappy before you start shedding all over my pants."
"Raffair?" DiGrotti said, blinking. He was coming out of it. One eye glanced down at his gun. It was lying on the floor near the leg of his desk.
"Okay," Rerno declared. "Let's remove all distractions."
He bent and scooped up Louis's gun, handing it back to the thug.
Louis would have used the handgun on his assailants had something strange not happened to the weapon on the way up from the floor. It had apparently disintegrated.
Woodenly, Louis looked at the fragments of scrap metal in his hand. They rattled. When he looked back up, Remo was slapping a cloud of metal dust from his palms.
"Your teeth are next," Remo said flatly. Feeling true fear for the first time in his life, Louis "The Bear" DiCrrotti offered a wide, agreeable smile. Thinking better of it, he slapped a hand over his mouth protectively.
"Whatever you wanna know, I'll tell you," he promised, his voice muffled by his big furry palm. Remo opened his mouth to speak, but the Master of Sinanju suddenly forced his way in front of his Pupil.
"I have a question," he announced imperiously.
"Chiun, can we get this over with?" Remo griped.
"Silence, hater of beauty," the old Korean snapped. He trained a steely hazel eye on Louis DiGrotti. "You will speak truth, hairy one?" he demanded.
Both hands now clamped over his mouth, DiGrotti nodded. "Uh-huh," he mumbled.