"Hey, give me back my clipboard."
"You won't be needing it," Remo told him. "You're out of business— permanently."
Remo lashed out with the edge of the clipboard, catching Boffa on the side of the neck, and the man slumped to the floor in a lifeless heap.
"He who lives by the clipboard shall die by the clipboard," Remo said, dropping the clipboard on top of the body. He turned to Chiun and said, "The children are your responsibility, Chiun. Get them out of the way because I'm getting rid of that whole assembly line."
While Chiun herded the kids together like a bunch of lambs, Remo went to the head of the assembly line, where a gas pump stood. The cars were given just enough gas to be driven out to the car-carriers, but he took the hose and began to spray the passenger compartments of the vehicles.
Remo turned to make sure that Chiun had managed to get everybody outside before lighting a match and tossing it into the passenger compartment of the first car. The car ignited not with a bang but with a whoosh, and it occurred to Remo very briefly that perhaps he should have told the pretty young receptionist to call the fire department as well as the police department. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it arose, however. National Motors should have been more careful about who they hired and more observant about how their assembly line was being used— or misused.
Before long the second car ignited, and after a few moments the third, fourth, and fifth, in a domino effect.
Soon the entire assembly line was a mass of flames, and it was only because the gas tanks of the autos had not been filled that there were no explosions. Remo watched for a few minutes, and the air quickly filled with that odor again as the heroin went up in smoke.
Remo picked up the dead body of Jack Boffa, threw it over his shoulder and carried it out the way Chiun had taken the children. He hoped Chiun wouldn't come out of this whole thing with some kind of a Moses syndrome.
"Is that him?" Walter Sterling asked as Remo dropped the body to the ground.
He turned to face Walter, looking mildly surprised at the boy's arrival.
"Persistent, aren't you?"
"Is that the man who killed my father?"
"Yes, Walter, that's him."
Walter Sterling took one step forward and kicked Jack Boffa viciously on the side of the head.
"Kid, he's dead," Remo said, hoping he wasn't telling Walter anything that would upset him greatly. "He didn't feel a thing."
"That's okay," the kid said, "I did."
Remo turned to face a couple of those massive car carriers and said to Chiun, "Ask the kids if those cars are loaded down with drugs."
"They are."
"Well, then, they have to go too," Remo said. "And they're going to go big, Chiun, so take the kids out front to meet the cops. They ought to be here soon. When I come out, I'll be bringing Boffa with me, with his broken knife. The cops'll find traces of blood on it. Oh, and get me a bag of heroin, and then have the kids throw the rest of the stuff into those cars before they go."
"Anything else?" Chiun asked, with a sarcastic bow.
"Let's just get this over with."
Chiun seemed to agree with that and went off to talk to his flock. There were about a dozen kids of fifteen and sixteen. They filed over to the carriers and started dumping the remainder of their supply into the open windows of the cars. Chiun brought Remo a nickel bag and then again herded the kids away from the area. Remo bent over and stuffed the bag into the pocket of the dead foreman. Then he said, "Get lost, Walter. These cars have some gas in the tanks, and they may blow."
"Can't I help?"
"Do you have any matches?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I'll use your matches."
Walter took out a box of stick matches, handed them to Remo, and then went off in the direction that Chiun had taken the others.
Remo searched the area and came up with some rags, which he soaked with gasoline. He undid the gas cap on one car from each carrier, stuffed his makeshift fuses in, and then lit them and backed away a respectable distance.
He was aware of sirens in the distance just as the first car blew. Again, the domino effect came into play as car after car on the first carrier also burst into flames. By the time the police arrived, both carriers were a mass of flames, and now, of course, there was the danger that the full gas tanks of the carriers would explode.
Well, Remo thought, you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.
"I'm wondering," Detective William Palmer said to Remo and Chiun, "why I always manage to be one step behind you."
"We sent people to call in," Remo said. "Maybe they stopped for coffee on the way."
"Yeah," Palmer said, "maybe."
"Besides, what's the difference?" Remo said. He looked over to where some uniformed police were handcuffing all of the kids under the watchful eye of Chiun. "You've just about got the whole thing wrapped up now."
"So you say," Palmer said. "I've got a fire in a church and a fire here at the plant. Luckily, the fire trucks got here before the gas tanks on those carriers blew, or the whole plant would be gone."
"Omelets and eggs," Remo muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"I've got a dead preacher with his pockets full of smack, and I've got a dead foreman with his pockets full of smack. I wonder who put it there?"
"They did?" Remo sugggested.
"They aren't saying," Palmer said pointedly.
"Well, I wish I could help you, Detective," Remo said, "but every time we showed up, it was just a little bit late. We sent word to you as soon as we could."
"I'd like to believe that, but I'm afraid you and your friend are going to have to come with me and answer some questions. My ass could be in a sling because of this."
"I don't think so."
"Oh, and why don't you think so?"
"Well, you've got the whole story in your hands," Remo said. "All you've got to do is ask those kids."
"Those kids?" Williams asked. "Those kids all have rap sheets as long as your arm, mister."
"All juvenile stuff, right?"