"Was he alone?" Remo asked.
"Sure," the man said. "He had me help load a crate in the back of his truck."
"Did that crate weigh as much as a skinny Arab with rotten teeth?" Remo asked.
The guy cocked his head. "Maybe. Reggio told me it was camera equipment. Say, I heard there's guys who are startin' to wanna fight after seein' that ex-cop on TV. You think old Lips went and joined the resistance against these A-rabs?" He scratched his ample belly as he spoke.
"Only if there's a paycheck in it," Remo said, shooting a look at Bindle and Marmelstein. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" he asked the man.
"I'm not so sure about that," the teamster mused. "Reggio always liked the zoo. The lion house is a pretty good spot for dumping purposes, if you know what I mean. If he bagged himself an A-rab, he might go there."
"Thanks." Remo turned urgently on the studio executives. "You guys know where the zoo is?" he asked.
"Ever been to Compton?" Marmelstein replied glibly.
Remo cuffed him in the side of the head.
"Ouch! Yeah, I know," Marmelstein complained, rubbing the edge of his hair plugs. "That hurt."
"Imagine how much worse it'll be without a hand to rub it," Remo said with a dour expression.
He headed back out the door.
Outside they found a group of Eblans standing suspiciously near the front of Remo's car. There were five of them in flowing robes and headdresses.
Two of the Arabs had been in a jeep; three had been on camelback. The camels were tethered to a nearby telephone pole.
"What is your business?" the leader of the group demanded. He was a short man with a thick beard and an even thicker accent.
"We're trying to scrape up a test screening audience for the latest Pauley Shore movie," Remo explained blandly. "So far people are happier with the occupation than the thought of having to sit through it. We're thinking a forty-million-dollar advertising budget."
The beard twisted into a frown.
"You are restricted to your homes unless granted permission otherwise," the confused Arab insisted.
"We're with Taurus Studios," Hank Bindle interjected. "I happen to be a close personal friend of Mr. Koala, who is a close personal friend of Sultan Omay."
This brought a reaction from the Arabs. At the mention of Taurus Studios, five automatic weapons were quickly raised. The Arabs aimed the guns at Remo's group.
"You are coming with us," their leader barked.
"Sorry," Remo apologized. "We're kinda pressed for time. Our projectionist's already on golden time."
Before the Eblan could react, Remo's hand shot forward, fingers stiff.
Their leader had been standing farther ahead of the rest and was therefore the first casualty. When the tips of Remo's fingers met the barrel of the Arab's gun, there was a shriek of protesting metal. With a pained cry the barrel split in two, folding back along its length like a peeling banana. One twisted side of half barrel punctured the heart of the gun's stunned owner. The other side curled farther back, splitting the breastbone of a charging Ebla Arab Army soldier. It came to rest in a second fluttering heart.
Even as the bodies fell, Remo swirled past them and into the midst of the other three Arabs.
Remo made short work of them. A toe caught a gun barrel, flipping it up through the forehead of a soldier. An elbow cracked a rib cage, collapsing it to jelly. Remo slapped the jaw of the last soldier up into his frontal lobe. As the man dropped to the hot concrete, Remo was already spinning back to the Taurus Studios car.
"What was with them?" Bindle asked, alarmed.
Remo's face was unhappy. "They know Khobar's missing."
"Cobalt?" Bindle asked. "Who the hell is Cobalt?"
"No. Kobe's arm," Marmelstein explained to his partner, deeply concerned. "It's missing. Did they cut someone's arm off for stealing?" he asked Remo worriedly.
"Hey, I don't remember approving any Pauley Shore movie," Bindle added, perplexed.
Remo rolled his eyes heavenward. "Get in the car, you mushheads," he said with more patience than he felt.
As he climbed in behind the wheel, he prayed that whoever the two executives had paid to kidnap and then murder al Khobar wasn't as stupid as them. Bindle and Marmelstein were just dumb enough to kill first and then try to interrogate the corpse later.
Leaving the bodies of the five Arabs to bake in the hot sun, Remo headed the studio car back out toward La Cienaga.
Dull eyes supremely indifferent, the three camels watched them drive away.
Chapter 27
Persuasion wasn't so hard, Reggio Cagliari knew. It was only a matter of having the right tools for the job. Reggio was never caught without the right tools. In fact he had all he needed in his hands right now.
One pair of pliers. A hammer. A handful of Sheetrock nails. Another pair of pliers was in his back pocket in case the first pair broke, which they sometimes did when he was working.
That was it.
It had been easy enough to nab Mr. Koala. Reggio caught him with a mallet to the back of the head when he stumbled on the Arab snooping alone outside the old Mammoth Studios lot.
The other Arabs were gone from the area. Reggio knew why. Their work must have been complete and they were bugging out. The evidence of that was all around.
While he loaded the terrorist into the trunk of his car, he saw the wires running in and around the big soundstages and into the office buildings all around the motion-picture studio. He'd seen the same wires wrapping around every other studio, some even before the occupation. Taurus had rented tons of space.
More than they would ever need for a single movie. Even Reggio knew that. But the Hollywood bigwigs had been too busy counting the rental cash to bother to find out what Koala and his A-rab cronies were cooking up under their own roofs.
Just to make sure, Reggio took a peek inside one of the empty soundstages. It was as he had expected. Koala must have been finishing up his last inspection tour. The last for anyone in this town. Ever. Reggio was glad he'd made this final deal. He'd take his money from Taurus and head off to South America. He'd go somewhere Don Vaggliosi never heard of.
First things first, however. He still had a little more persuading to do.
"Did you get that one?" Reggio asked. He was chewing on one of the cannoli he'd brought from his office. Powdered sugar dusted his dimpled chin. The pastel-pink bakery box lay open on the crate to which al Khobar was attached.
"This one? Yes, yes. Please." The voice was desperate. Pleading.
"Didja initial near da X?" Reggio questioned, taking the paper in one big hand. He blew the sugar off.
"Yes!"