"They certainly do. I'll run the information through the computers and see what they come up with."
"Yeah, thanks. Stay tuned for further details."
Before Smith could answer, Remo hung up.
Lou's kid was leaving the house.
Harold W. Smith addressed himself to the Folcroft computers, feeding in the cities of New York, New Orleans, and Los Angeles and the information Remo had given him. He programmed the machine to report on any common bond that existed between the three major cities. It took only a few moments for the mechanical marvels to come up with an answer, and the response puzzled him.
Why should drug arrests and drug activities be down in all three cities? He double-checked the information he had fed into the machines but the computers still came back with the same answer. Drug arrests in all three cities were down, and down dramatically over recent years.
Smith took off his jacket, seated himself in front of the terminal, and set about trying to learn the connection.
When Remo reached his cab, he woke the driver and said, "Follow that car."
"The red one again?"
"Wait."
They watched as the kid got into the car and pulled out of the driveway.
"That's the one," Remo said. "Hit it."
They followed the kid for about fifteen minutes before the cabbie said, "Uh-oh."
"What's the matter?"
"I don't like where this cabrone is heading," the cabbie said. "Bad news, bro."
" Where's he heading?"
"I think he's heading for the ghetto. No fun there, boss."
"Just keep following, buddy. You're getting rich off me; that ought to be worth a risk or two."
"Triple the meter," the cabbie said, stepping on the gas.
After ten more minutes, Remo didn't need the cabbie to tell him where they were. White faces were at a premium on the streets they were now driving through, and the cabbie was becoming increasingly nervous.
Abruptly, the kid pulled his car over to the curb and stopped.
"This guy is loco en la cabeza if he leaves that car there, boss."
"Just pull over, friend."
The cabbie pulled over to the curb a few car lengths behind the kid, who was getting out of his car.
"I don't think I'll be needing you anymore," Remo said, sliding over to the curbside. He gave the cabbie a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change," he said.
"Jou loco too, boss, if jou gonna walk around here."
"I'll take my chances. Adios."
"Vaya con dios," the driver said, and peeled out.
Remo started trailing the kid through the streets, while the denizens of that area gave them both hard looks. The boy didn't seem to notice at all, and Remo just ignored them..
When the boy finally turned down an alley, Remo figured that the kid had reached his destination. Now maybe he'd turn up something he and Chiun could go on.
But when Remo turned to enter the alley, he stopped short because the kid he was following was standing very close to another kid, this one black. They were obviously transacting some business, so he pressed back against the wall and watched.
The conversation got hot and heavy for a few moments, and then an exchange was made. The kid Remo was following handed over an envelope, and the black kid handed over money. It looked like just one thing: a drug deal.
Good old Lou's kid was selling drugs. So that was the connection, Remo thought. Could that have been where Lou was getting his extra money? Had Billy Martin also been dealing in drugs? And was it just the kids, or were the parents involved as well?
As he watched, both kids continued down the alley and then disappeared around a corner. Remo was surprised because the alley appeared to be a dead end. He sprinted after them, and when he reached the corner, he saw that there was a wooden fence with some of the slats missing. The two kids had obviously beat it through there.
Squeezing through the narrow opening, he found himself on a side street. There was no sign of either of the two kids. Cursing, he looked across the street at the buildings, wondering if one or both of the boys could have gone into any one of them. A sign above one of the doorways suddenly caught his eye, and he stared at it in surprise.
It said: THE CHURCH OF MODERN-DAY BELIEFS.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lorenzo Moorcock was on the podium, delivering an energetic sermon to a somewhat less than energetic-looking flock. Some of them, looking as if they had only come inside to keep warm, were huddled in the rear pews. The more interested flock members were in the front three rows, listening in rapt attention. Remo stood in the back, next to the door, and scanned the pews for any sign of either kid. When he came up empty, he started to listen.
"…must always remember, dear brothers and sisters, that the old ways are dead. The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the Bible— they are all things of the past and should stay in the past."
Remo wondered why he bothered calling this place a church. Wasn't that an "old" word?
"In the future, we will not even call our meeting place a church," Moorcock said, as if he'd read Remo's mind. "This will simply be the place of meeting."
Catchy, Remo thought.
He went on to talk about something he kept calling "The Satan." In order to modernize their beliefs, he said, they would believe in everything "The Satan" did not believe in. They would advocate free love, abortion, collectivism, and communism. They would look upon the Ayatollah Khomeini as a great man, a great humanitarian, a true leader of the world.
It didn't take Remo very long to figure out that "The Satan" was the United States. It was a term that Khomeini himself was fond of when referring to the United States, and Moorcock was obviously a big Ayatollah booster.
"…I know I have given you all much food for thought this evening, so I ask you now to go to your homes and contemplate everything I've said. I must also ask you all to stop at the collection plates in the center aisle on your way out and give from your heart. A minimum donation of five dollars is suggested, but feel free to give more."
Remo looked at the collection "plates" on either side of the center aisle and saw two collection "barrels" that looked as large as the ones the forty thieves had hidden in.
He watched as the people left, and damned if everyone who had been sitting in the first three rows didn't drop five bucks or more into the jugs.
Moorcock walked with some people to the rear of the "place of meeting," obviously trying to coax more money out of them. When he saw Remo, he wished his flock members a good evening and approached him.
"You came," he said.