"He was the poisoner," Chiun explained, quickly dispelling the saffron smoke with his kimono sleeves. A fleeting cloud passed across his stony countenance.
"I'll buy that, but we never found out who put him up to it," Remo pointed out.
Henry Poulette drew up, panting. He stopped, stared down at the body on the floor, and collapsed for support against the partition that separated them from the other inspectors. "Oh, my God," he moaned, "You killed Sal."
Remo stood the Chicken King upright. "Sal?" he demanded.
Poulette's head snapped up. "Uh, Sal Mondello. He was one of our best in-house inspectors. Been with us for years." His face was ashen. He weaved on his feet like a roupy hen.
"He a relative?" Remo asked.
"I wish it was only that. Without Sal, Poulette Farms might as well be a chemical waste dump." His tiny eyes refocused, and he lost another shade of coloring. "And when the big man finds out, we're all going to be chicken feed."
"That's it," Remo said. "Interrogation time." He propelled Henry Poulette past the body on the floor and toward the access ladder.
Chiun followed slowly, a determined frown etched across his wizened features. His hazel eyes were reflective, as if not seeing the world around him, but one within. A world of horror.
A single sibilant word escaped his parchment lips.
"Gyonshi!" he hissed.
Chapter 9
The secretary who had played Mother Hen for Henry Cackleberry Poulette met the trio as they entered the poultry producer's outer office. She had picked the kernel of corn from her teeth, which she now showed off proudly. The flock of young blond secretaries looked up in unison from behind their desks.
"We found the security team, Mr. Poulette!" the girl said urgently. "They were hanging upside down by their feet in a utility closet!"
"Not now!" Poulette hissed.
Remo propelled the office door open with the flat of his palm and tossed the Chicken King inside.
"Start crowing," he ordered.
"You know, I really take offense at all of this," Poulette said. He indicated Chiun, who stood by the door in uncharacteristic silence. "My God, he just killed a man!"
"Which usually means I take the next turn," Remo pointed out.
Poulette's head shifted back, nearly forcing his Adam's apple through the wrinkled skin of his throat.
"Mr. MacLeavy," he said, "the USDA doesn't ordinarily send its agents out into the field to murder and threaten murder." He seemed to have been emboldened by the continued silence of the old Oriental with the deadly hands. His pugnacious mood lasted only until Remo used the same technique Chiun had used earlier. Poulette's neck muscles felt as if they were being shredded by rabid dogs. His mouth dropped open, and his pointed tongue shot out and wiggled in the open air in front of his face. He howled in pain.
"The truth!" Remo said tightly.
"I hate chickens!" screamed Henry Cackleberry Poulette. "Always have! Always will! They ruined my childhood! I couldn't date! I had no friends! Everyone called me 'Hank the Cluck.' It was unfair!" he sobbed. "I don't even look like a chicken!"
Remo and Chiun exchanged glances.
"Then why get into this business?" Remo asked, releasing the pressure of his fingers.
"You know how my ads say 'a Poulette chicken in every pot'?" Henry Poulette said conspiratorially.
"Yeah?"
"If they're all eaten into extinction, no one will ever compare me to a chicken again! Never! Ever! Again!"
Remo looked into the fevered eyes of the Chicken King and said in a calm voice, "The truth I was looking for is a little different." Remo squeezed even harder this time. "Who was Sal working for?"
"Don Pietro!" Poulette shouted. "Don Pietro Scubisci!"
At the door, Chiun's head snapped around.
Remo, his attention trained on Poulette, failed to notice the reaction.
Remo blinked. "Scubisci? The Mafioso?"
"Don't know!" Poulette howled. "Don't know!"
"Do better, or join your dearly departed flock," Remo warned.
"I swear-I don't know if it was Scubisci! Mondello could've been working alone."
From the, door Chiun remarked, "He speaks the truth."
Reluctantly, Remo released Poulette's neck.
Poulette caressed his injured muscles. His wattle jittered with the agitation. "Sal was a plant." He shook his head to clear his thoughts. His head pecked at the air, and he took a deep breath. "You see," he added, expelling the air, "years ago, when I was starting this place up, I was having trouble with the union help. They were causing me so many headaches that I threatened to fire the lot of them and hire all nonunion. Then stuff started happening. Trucks overturning while delivering my birds. Mysterious fires on my loading docks. And there were picketers everywhere. I was going to go under. If Don Pietro hadn't stepped in, I wouldn't have made it."
"Nice of him," Remo said dryly.
"Hey, my problems were solved!" Henry Poulette said. "He arranged a sit-down with the union, and everything went back to normal. In return, I gave one of the Scubisci subsidiaries the hauling and carting contract on all Poulette Farms refuse."
"Nice way to do business," Remo commented.
"It is better than some others," Chiun muttered.
Remo was about to ask him what he meant by that when Poulette continued, "Don Pietro asked me to put Sal on the inspection line. I think Sal was family-you know, blood family-but kind of soft in the head, so I put him on the payroll."
"So Scubisci is poisoning America," Remo said.
"No." It was Chiun. He was shaking his bald head.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" Remo asked. "He probably has some scam worked out where he sells the antidote to local supermarkets. He's our man."
"I agree with him," Poulette said, indicating Chiun.
"Big surprise there," Remo said, sarcastically.