"Shh!" Skunks snapped at the new arrival. "Here," he said, pointing at the TV.
On the screen, Louis DiGrotti's head was just rolling off his neck.
"What the hell?" The new man gaped. "Was that the Bear?"
Skunks and the others nodded.
"How did he-?" The man with the bags froze midsentence.
On the screen, Remo had just stepped forward. He was plainly visible now, standing next to the Master of Sinanju.
Two shopping bags dropped to the worn carpet. White foam containers split open, spilling red sauce all over the floor. Flecks of red splattered on shoes, wall and bed.
As the others jumped angrily away from the mess, the latest arrival remained rooted in place. He continued to stare in shock at the satellite-fed taped image on the crystal-clear screen.
Remo's cruel face remained in sharp focus.
The man standing in the puddle of sauce shook his head in uncomprehending shock. In the center of his forehead, between his wide-open eyes, was a large purple bruise.
When he at last spoke, his voice was small. "Oh, shit, not him again," gasped Johnny "Books" Fungillo.
Chapter 13
"This is inexcusable," Harold Smith accused, struggling to control his anger. "How could you allow yourself to be filmed? I thought that you and Master Chiun could avoid cameras."
"Avoid, yes," Remo said aridly. "When we need to. But I didn't think we had to here. I figured this was just some other dumb-ass stop that didn't matter. Besides, I thought I could just snag the tape. How was I supposed to know it'd be hooked up to a satellite dish?"
When Smith exhaled, a rusty noise escaped like a wounded genie from the mouthpiece of the pay phone.
Chiun glanced up, his wrinkled face puckering with displeasure at the sound.
"Your enemies will quake in fear when they behold the terrifying wrath of the Master of Sinanju, Emperor Smith!" he called loudly. Dropping his voice low, he said to Remo, "Remind me to do something to aid his breathing the next time we see him. Those wheezing jackass brays are becoming depressing."
"Please tell Master Chiun that I am less concerned about my enemies than I am about the organization," Smith said tersely.
Remo cupped the phone. "Smitty says-"
"I heard," Chiun said thinly.
The old Korean stood near the curb a few feet away from Remo's sidewalk phone. Hands clasped behind his back, he turned his gaze back to the street where he'd been watching Boston traffic, leaving Remo and Smith to discuss their white nonsense.
"Anyway, I didn't know what I should do, Smitty," Remo said, "so I figured I'd better call."
"What you should have done was avoid the camera in the first place," Smith said tartly.
Remo's brow darkened. "Hey, I didn't want to schlepp off on this hare-brained assignment for Captain Diddlepants in the first place," he warned. "So take the snot somewhere else or Chiun and I are outta here."
Smith sighed again. "I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose recriminations are pointless anyway until we find out what it is we are dealing with." He gave a thoughtful hum. "You're certain it was a satellite dish?" he asked abruptly.
"Yeah, I think," Remo replied. "It was one of those cockamamie Frisbee-looking things."
"And you're sure there was no video equipment on the premises?"
"The cable went right from the camera to the dish. I might not be too good with gadgets, but I can follow a wire."
"Perhaps it is a private security company," Smith mused.
"Great," Remo said. "Gimme an address and I'll get the tape from them."
"One minute, please."
A few seconds of gentle tapping on his special keyboard, and the older man was back on the line. "This is strange," the CURE director said. "I checked to see if there was a local security firm in the employ of Raffair, Boston. When I found none, I checked nationally. There is no record of any security company anywhere doing business in any way at all with Raffair."
"So what?" Remo said. "Maybe they're just a little too trusting."
An impatient hiss came from the curb.
"They do not need hirelings, for they are guarded by their own reputation," the Master of Sinanju called over his shoulder. He was now studying the parked cars that lined the side of the road. A black Mercedes had caught his eye.
Smith had heard the old Asian's words. "It is strange for an operation that spans the country to not have at least some outside security," he agreed. "But if Raffair is inspiring fear, it must be purely by word of mouth, for there is no electronic record."
"Not word of mouth alone, Smitty," Remo disagreed. "If they've got a guy at every office like the one whose head Chiun lopped off here, most people'd have sense enough to tread lightly."
Smith's tone grew strained. "He decapitated him?" he asked wearily.
"Oh. Didn't I mention that?"
Ignoring Remo's sheepish tone, the CURE director plowed on. "I will attempt to find out where the signal might have been sent," he said. "Until I uncover a lead, you and Chiun may return home."
"Raise a flag," a squeaky voice volunteered behind Remo. It was followed by a piercing metallic scratching sound, like fingernails on a blackboard.
When Remo glanced back, he found that the Master of Sinanju had taken more than a passing interest in the parked Mercedes. Bored, the old man was drawing the edge of one long fingernail across the door panel. In the nail's wake, a shiny line of exposed silver glinted in the streetlights. A slender corkscrew of peeled paint curled down into the curbside snow pile.
"Knock it off, Chiun," Remo groused. Apparently, the noise was such that only sensitive eardrums were bothered by it. Somewhere distant, a pair of dogs howled.
The wizened Korean ignored his pupil.
"Didn't you say there were other offices, Smitty?" Remo asked. He scowled as he plugged his free ear. "Maybe we could find out who saw us from them."
"Unwise," Smith said, unmindful of the persistent noise on Remo's end. "We do not need another compromising incident today. Your images could have been sent to them by now. If this is the case, were you to show up at another Raffair office at this point, it is likely they would shoot first."
"It is more likely that they would hold their manhood and run, Emperor," Chiun proclaimed as he continued etching the door. "Any blackguard with designs on your throne would be cowed by my demonstration. Thanks to Sinanju, you may rest your regal head on silken pillows, confident in the knowledge that Fortress Falcroft is safe."
"Please inform Master Chiun that it is not Folcroft that concerns me," Smith said seriously. "The Boston Raffair office is very close to your own home. It is the two of you who could be in danger."
At that did Chiun raise his head. His weathered face was astonished.