There were too many questions, and Remo had thought of them all. By the end of the second day, he still had no answers. The FOES office had been empty when he checked it the day before, but Remo decided to try again. If he could grab just one of those nuts, he might have something. And he was still on an assignment, even if he didn't feel like completing it.
* * *
A car pulled up alongside Remo as he walked down the street. It was growing dark now, and he was in a bad section of the city. Remo knew this because the one police car he had seen went through the area rapidly, its two officers staring straight ahead as if they didn't want to see anything that might require their attention.
"Can you help me out, fella?" the driver called out to Remo.
"You lost?" Remo asked, leaning on the car.
"No," the driver said. He slid across to the passenger's window, showing the stubby nose of a Saturday night special. "I just need money. Yours."
"Nice gun," Remo said conversationally. "How come you need money? Don't you work?"
"This is my work. Hand over your wallet, or I'll blow your freaking brains out."
"I think you should find a new line of work," Remo said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Remo said, bringing his left hand up to steady the gun while simultaneously batting the barrel with his right. The barrel snapped and clinked into the gutter. An incredulous expression spread over the gunman's round face.
"Yeah," Remo repeated. "I'm in a bad mood."
The gunman tried to fire anyway, but Remo's hand was a vise preventing the cylinder from turning. Then Remo took the gun and popped the cylinder out of its frame. He dropped the ruined weapon.
That was enough for the gunman, who slid back across the seat and hit the gas. Remo swept out a leg and clipped the right rear tire with a toe as hard as a crowbar. The tire blew.
The car kept going, however, but not as fast as its driver would have liked. The wrecked tire wobbled crazily and dragged. Turning a corner, the wheel rim sheared through the rubber.
Remo caught up to the car and ran along with it.
"Get away from me!" the driver yelled.
"Tell you what," Remo said as he jogged beside him. "I could use some exercise. You're going to be the ball."
Remo sped forward and cut in front of the car. Just for effect he took out the headlights with two quick jabs. Then he got to the other side and with a sharp kick made the left front tire let go. The car slowed considerably, and stopped altogether when Remo ruptured the right front tire.
The gunman hastily rolled up his window as Remo sauntered back to the driver's side and took out the remaining tire. For good measure, he popped the trunk open with the flat of a palm and rolled out the spare. A finger thrust rendered the spare useless.
There was a jack in the trunk, and it gave Remo an idea. He grabbed it and set it up under the chassis, taking a moment to methodically destroy all the locks on the doors so the driver could not escape, and then jacked one side of the car up as far as it would go.
It was far enough so that Remo could take the chassis in both hands and, coming to his feet from a kneeling position, flip the car slowly onto its roof.
The roof crumpled. The driver screamed.
At that point a knot of pedestrians gathered.
They watched as Remo, seemingly playing the part of a good samaritan, knocked out the window glass on the driver's side.
"Are you all right, pal?" Remo asked.
The driver was all but standing on his head and had a gusher of a nosebleed that rampaged down into his eyes.
"Get me out of here! Get me out!"
"Scared?" Remo asked solicitously.
"Yeah, yeah— get me out!"
"Want not to be scared?"
"Yeah— yeah, I do."
So Remo shot a hard finger into the man's forehead, which cancelled out his emotions. Not to mention his life.
"Your wish is granted," Remo said.
"Is he going to be all right?" someone asked as Remo walked off.
"Sure is. I gave him first aid."
The FOES office was still empty when Remo got there, but he was in a better mood. Chiun had always said that exercise was good for the spirit as well as the body. Thinking of Chiun again, Remo felt a twinge.
It was time for a long talk with Chiun.
* * *
Not fearing attack, the Master of Sinanju hadn't bothered to lock the door. Remo just walked in.
Chiun, attired in the white kimono that he seldom wore, sat writing on a piece of parchment. He did not acknowledge Remo, although Remo knew Chiun was aware of his presence.
"I have come to talk, Little Father," Remo said quietly in Korean.
"I have offended you, I know," Remo said, finding the words more difficult than expected. He cleared his throat.
"If this is the end of our travels together," Remo said, "then I will accept that fact if I must. It is not my wish to put our friendship aside, but if it is your wish, then my respect for you forces me to accept this."
Chiun gave no sign he heard, but his pen scratched less furiously.
"But just as I have my respect for you, you must respect me. I am prepared to say my last good-bye and wish to atone for my offense before we part. But because I do not know how I have offended you, I cannot do this. You must tell me. This is my parting request to you, who have been both parent and teacher to me."
When Chiun finally spoke, it was after a long silence, and he did not look up from his writing.
"That was a good speech, excellently spoken," he said tonelessly.
"Thank you," Remo said, a lump growing in his throat. Dammit! Why do I feel like this? he asked himself.
"But your voice broke toward the last," Chiun added, and resumed his writing. A long silence stretched into minutes in which neither of them spoke.
"Sit at my feet, Remo," Chiun said at last.
Remo sat, his face a mask.
"Emperor Smith has been trying to reach you."
"I don't care about Smith," Remo said.
"And your assignment? Do you no longer care about that?"
"I don't know," Remo said truthfully.
"Then what do you care about?" Chiun dropped his quill for the first time and faced Remo. His expression was unreadable.
"I care about you. I care about us."
Chiun nodded and turned his parchment over.
"Do you remember the legend of the Great Master Wang?" Chiun asked.
"There are many legends about Wang," Remo replied.
"True. But one stands above all other." Chiun placed his hands flat on his lap and spoke with his eyes closed, as if from memory.
"There is a saying in my village, 'Blue comes from indigo but is bluer.' This means that a pupil can sometimes exceed his Master. So it was with Wang in the long-ago days of Sinanju. Now, Wang was not the first of the Masters of Sinanju. No, many came before him, and many came after, and some who followed also took the name of Wang.
"Before Wang, the Master was named Hung. A good Master was Hung, and the last of the old Masters of Sinanju, who knew not the sun source. In those days the Master was followed by lesser Masters, who were known as night tigers.
"When the time came for Hung to train his replacement, he chose a young night tiger named Wang, who was my ancestor. Wang was not a difficult choice, for in the years those times were hard, and the babies of Wang's generation had mostly been sent home to the sea. Those who survived were not always healthy, although some made adequate night tigers. But only Wang, Hung saw, was worthy to train as the next Master, and Wang began that training, quickly proving himself an apt student and possessive of the promise of true leadership.