The Master of Sinanju turned a gloomy eye to Remo. "I must wear these drab robes for an entire year, thanks to my ingrate of a son. Unless he has reconsidered and has decided just this once to think of someone other than himself."
"Nope," Remo said, shaking his head. His eyes were trained out the open bay door. "Still just thinking of me. But thanks for asking."
"Do you see?" Chiun demanded of Bugget. "Do you see how he is? Do you see how he treats me? I would not mind the selfishness if it were only directed at me. I have thick skin. But he has an entire village for which he is responsible. Yet does he care?"
"I care," interjected Remo.
"He does not care," Chiun insisted. "If he did, he would not disregard hard-won lessons in favor of ignorance. Yet you try talking to him."
Standing before the old Korean, Bugget tipped his head, as if seeing Chiun for the first time. "You know, old fella, you seem like kind of an interesting character."
"I am fascinating," Chiun replied.
"Don't forget humble," Remo said.
"Yes," Chiun agreed. "You may live ten times your years and never meet another as humble as I." Bugget twisted his lip, chewing on his mustache.
"I think there might be the makings of a song in you."
Remo felt his stomach sink. When he looked over, he saw that the old Korean's face had brightened like a beam of misplaced sunlight in a moonless midnight sky.
"Oh, crap," said Remo.
"Do you really think so?" asked Chiun, suddenly warming to Bobby Bugget.
"Oh, crap," repeated Remo.
"Hush, Remo," Chiun said. "Forgive him, O minstrel. Rudeness is just another of his many failings. Tell me about the song you are going to write about me and are not going to write about Remo."
"I don't know yet," Bugget said. "But a lot of the songs I write are about folks I meet in my travels. I guess that's probably because of how I started out. Years ago I used to do country covers at a little bar in Nashville."
The Master of Sinanju gasped. He held a frail hand to his chest. "Dare I ask? Is it possible that you know the beauteous Wylander?"
This was a country music star for whom Chiun had developed a crush a few years before. She had the biggest hair and the fattest caboose in the Grand Ole Opry. Which, given the competition, was no mean feat. Somehow the Master of Sinanju was able to see past the surface to glimpse some deep, inner beauty. Remo, on the other hand, suspected if you dug that deep into Wylander, you'd strike nougat.
"Wylander Jugg?" Bugget asked. "Sure, I know her. But don't beauteous mean good-looking?" Confused, he looked to Remo for help.
"Don't drag me into this. I thought he was over the Wylander kick." His ear was cocked toward the door. A dark notch settled in his furrowed brow.
"That is because all you think of is your selfish little self," Chiun said. He was listening, as well. Without warning, the two men rose to their feet. Remo scooped up the case of gene-altering formula. Bobby Bugget whirled around them worriedly as the two Masters of Sinanju swept past.
"What is it?" the singer asked.
"Do not concern yourself, my songsmith," Chiun said.
"A car," Remo said. "Probably just our delivery boy. But maybe you better stay back here out of the way just in case the fur starts flying."
Bugget hadn't heard a car. He strained his ears. All at once the soft sound of an approaching engine tickled the far edge of his hearing.
"If it gets as crazy as last time, I don't want this stuff getting spilled," Remo said to Chiun, patting the big case. He glanced around for a good spot to leave it, finally settling for the top of an eight-foot-high stack of bottled-water boxes. He slipped the case up on top just out of sight. "We'll be right back," he promised Bugget.
And with that they were gone. The door to the bottling plant swung shut behind them.
Alone in the drafty warehouse, Bobby Bugget's bare knees knocked anxiously together.
"Nothin' to worry about, Bobby," he promised himself. "Them fellas scared off everything with sense enough to be scared."
For a moment, he looked out the open door, but he found the night too frightening. He looked at a fluorescent light instead. The fluorescent light was friendly. He wondered if there was anything cheerier than a fluorescent light. He decided that on his next gold-selling album he would write a song about the cheeriness of fluorescent lights.
As he stared at the light, he didn't see the glint of yellow that suddenly winked on in the trees outside. Malevolent cat's eyes watched Bobby Bugget's back.
And as quickly as they appeared, they vanished. Absorbed by the night shadows.
Chapter 27
Remo and Chiun slipped through the idle bottling plant.
Soon the place would be crawling with federal agents. Smith would need not hold them at bay much longer. If this long day was any indication, there were few if any more of Judith White's tigers migrating to the Maine woods.
Remo, for one, felt little satisfaction. Most of those who had been victims of the formula would change back, but not soon enough. There would be other murders in the next few weeks. And the cause of it all-Judith White herself-was probably a thousand miles away by now.
Bitterness deep, Remo pushed open the door that led from the bottling plant to the Lubec Springs offices.
They had a clear view straight to the front of the building. One chunk of the door Chiun had demolished hung slack from the otherwise bare frame. Through the opening they saw a car parked near the steps out front.
From the foyer came a nervous heartbeat.
When Remo and Chiun rounded the corner from the hall, they found a familiar figure standing near the empty receptionist's desk, his back to the two Masters of Sinanju.
"If you're going to interrogate the furniture, at least do it with the lights on," Remo said, flipping the wall switch.
Mark Howard wheeled toward them, Smith's heavy automatic clenched in a two-handed grip. He nearly squeezed the trigger as he blinked against the sudden stab of white light.
"Oh," Mark said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Remo, Chiun. I didn't know where you were. I was a little worried when you weren't waiting in front."
"Your concern for our welfare honors us," Chiun said, offering a slight bow.
"The real fun's happening out back," Remo explained. "We've got a trap set. No takers, though. It looks like you didn't have to waste your time coming up here after all."
Mark seemed to relax. With his free hand, he rubbed one tired eye. "I don't mind," he said.
"Yeah? Well, I do," Remo said, pointing at Howard's gun. "You mind putting that thing away? I've seen you in action with one of those before, and I don't feel like searching the woods for any toes you might accidentally shoot off."
Mark seemed to have forgotten the gun. "Oh, sorry," he said, slipping the pistol back in his shoulder holster.
Remo took special note of the weapon. "That Smith's?" he asked with a frown.