The eye shot open. "Well, why don't I just go see if I can find a policeman right now?" the mayor offered anxiously.
"By George, I think you've got it," Remo said. He gave the mayor a friendly pat on the kettle and nudged him out into the crowd. Handle aimed forward, the mayor stumbled through the multitude of druggies. A man with a mission.
Satisfied with a job well done, Remo turned to go. At the nearby booth another man had joined the first. The new arrival was better dressed, although in the sense of an upwardly mobile hood. He was probably some sort of supplier.
The vendor was whispering to his companion and pointing to Remo. When he saw Remo looking their way, the vendor grew concerned. Sick eyes strayed to the cardboard box Remo had seen earlier. By the look on the vendor's face, he was more concerned with the box than he was with the array of drugs spread out before him.
"What's in the box?" Remo asked, curious. Both men appeared shocked to be addressed. The vendor in particular grew panicked.
"Nothing!" he snapped.
The intensity of his response indicated that such was not the case. Remo approached the box. He had to push the vendor's desperate hands aside before he could pull it open.
He discovered a case filled with videocassettes. Frowning, he pulled one loose.
"You got a warrant?" the vendor shrieked.
"Star Wars?" Remo asked. His face scrunched up in confusion as he read the subtitle. "Isn't this playing now?"
He felt the muzzle of a gun press his ribs. When he turned, he found the better-dressed thug standing beside him.
"Put it down and get lost," the man menaced. Remo kept the tape in one hand. With the other he grabbed the barrel of the man's gun.
The gun swung up in a perfect, fluid arc. It met the spot directly between its owner's eyes with a satisfying crack, continuing deep into the man's brain.
As the dead man collapsed to the ground, Remo's confused expression didn't waver.
"Isn't this playing now?" he repeated. The vendor gulped. He nodded dumbly. "Thought so," Remo nodded smugly.
Tape in hand, he turned away from vendor and corpse.
ON HIS WAY OFF THE Common, Remo met the mayor once more.
Three grimy hoods had grabbed hold of His Honor and were spinning him around. Because of the kettle, the portly politician couldn't see them clearly. As he stumbled, the trio laughed uproariously.
"What's going on?" the mayor shouted fearfully. All at once there came a sharp tugging sensation at his legs. He felt himself being pushed to the ground. Once on his back, he distinctly heard the sound of a fly opening. An instant later his tubby legs got suddenly very cold.
"They're called junkies, Mr. Mayor," Remo called. His voice sounded faraway. "They steal in order to feed their habit. Right now they're stealing your pants."
"Stop them!" the mayor cried.
"Can't," Remo said. "Until you get back to city hall, it's technically still legal. Sorry."
Flat on his back in the damp grass, the mayor blinked his one visible eye in panic. As the mayor of Boston rolled and shivered in his pink boxer shorts, Remo Williams left the Common, a cheerful smile plastered across his face.
Nothing, but nothing, could shake his happy mood.
Chapter 3
When Remo arrived back home at the condominium complex he shared with the Master of Sinanju, he found every light in the building turned on.
He mounted the stairs two at a time, pushing into the foyer. As he walked down the hallway to the kitchen, Remo leaned into rooms and flicked off light switches. He assumed that Chiun was in a good mood, hence the compulsion to use up half the electricity on the East Coast.
On the kitchen counter near the fridge Remo deposited a sack of rice he'd picked up from the corner market. Beside it he dropped the illegal videotape. He was stooping to collect a pot from a lower cupboard when the Master of Sinanju padded into the kitchen.
Chiun's face clouded briefly as he looked at the items Remo had left on the counter. His eyes lingered particularly over the pirated videotape. After a moment's inspection the shadow passed from his wizened features and was replaced by a look of beatific contentment.
"I have made great progress on my screenplay while you were away," Chiun said pleasantly.
"Good for you," Remo said, feigning interest. He was in too good a mood to fight. "You know where there's another three-quart kettle around here?"
"You took the only one with you."
"Hmm. No biggee," Remo said. He took out the gallon pot. "You up for supper?"
Chiun wasn't interested in food. He watched Remo fill the large kettle with water. The old Asian tipped his birdlike head to one side as his pupil placed the pot on the stove.
"Would you like to hear what I have written?"
"Maybe after supper," Remo hedged.
"Maybe?" Chiun asked thinly. There was just an early hint of pique in his singsong voice.
"Definitely," Remo sighed, turning to the old Korean. "After supper I'm all ears, okay?" Something across the room suddenly caught his eye. He crossed over to the table.
"You are also all nose and feet," Chiun said, his airy mood returning. "But that is genetics and cannot be helped, even by a Master of Sinanju as gifted as myself. You will love what I have written thus far," he insisted.
"I'm sure," Remo said disinterestedly. "What's this?" From the low taboret he picked through a bundle of shredded brown paper. Strewed across the table's surface, it looked like the remains of an old supermarket shopping bag.
"What is what?" Chiun asked innocently. Remo's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he lifted a particularly large section of paper. It said Safeway on one side. When he flipped it over he saw the name R. Blodnick printed in letters so carefully formed they might have been typed. The last name was one of his many aliases. His address was printed neatly underneath.
"Did I get something from Smitty today?" Remo asked. He glanced around for the package contents. Aside from the paper itself, there was nothing in sight.
"Oh, that," Chiun said, as if suddenly remembering. A bony hand waved dismissal. "Give it no more thought. The contents were unimportant."
"Smitty must have thought it was important enough to shell out the dough for express mail, Little Father," Remo insisted. "What is it and where is it?"
"The what is not important," Chiun sniffed. "As for the where, it is in here somewhere."
"Where?" Remo pressed.
"I do not remember. Nor do I have time to form a search party with you, 0 Dudley Dimwit of the Mounties." He turned abruptly from his pupil. "You have kept me from my work long enough." With that the old Korean bounced cheerfully from the room.
"I hate it when he's happy," Remo grumbled. Feeling his own light mood begin to evaporate, he began methodically searching the room for the mysterious item his employer had mailed to him. It took him five minutes to locate. He finally found it in the wastebasket beneath the rotting carcass of the previous evening's duck dinner.
Remo washed the plastic surface as carefully as he dared with a sponge and warm water, drying it with a half-dozen paper towels. After he was finished, he carried the object into the main living room he and Chiun shared. Along the way he noted that all the lights he'd turned off on his way in had been turned on once more. This time he didn't bother shutting them off.