"So be it," Chiun said, turning on his heel and leaving the room. He called over his shoulder, "Come, Remo."
"Wait! What about Danvers?" Looncraft demanded.
Remo paused at the door. "Stick him next to the fire for a while. His muscles should soften up in no time."
"But-"
The outer door closed and P. M. Looncraft walked over to his arthritic nightmare of a butler.
"Danvers," Looncraft said shortly. "I expect a full explanation of this dereliction of duty from you."
Danvers only buzzed.
Outside, Remo held the car door open for Chiun, who settled into the passenger side like blue smoke rolling into a cave.
"What do you think, Chiun?" Remo asked as he climbed behind the wheel.
"I think that man is not to be trusted."
"He's got what he wants."
"Such men as he never get what they want. Their appetites are too large."
"Takes one to know one," Remo said, pulling away from the palatial estate. "If you don't mind, I'm going to drop you off at the hotel."
"And where are you going?" Chiun squeaked.
"I got a date. With Faith."
"I am not certain I approve of my employees fraternizing."
"Who are you, Simon Legree?" Remo asked. "She used to work for Looncraft. I'm just going to get the inside story. In case we have more problems with him."
"Very well," Chiun sniffed. "Just remember-no fraternizing. "
"Scout's honor," Remo said.
Remo Williams felt good as he entered the lobby of Faith Davenport's upper Manhattan apartment house. He had showered, shaved, and changed into a fresh T-shirt and chinos.
As far as he knew, he didn't smell at all like a bear, but the pickled expression that came over the blue-blazered lobby guard's face as he approached the reception desk made him wonder.
"Remo Stallone to see Faith Davenport," Remo said with a straight face.
"Is she expecting you?"
"None other," Remo fired back confidently.
"One moment." The guard went to a typewriter and rattled the keys. Pulling the sheet from the roller, he inserted it into a copier-type device and pressed a button that said "Send."
"Computer?" Remo asked, curious.
"Fax machine."
"Isn't that a phone next to it?" Remo asked, pointing to a desk phone.
"You are very observant," the guard said coolly.
"I happen to be corporate secretary to Nostrum, Ink," Remo told him smugly.
The guard looked at Remo over his glasses wordlessly. His expression was a supercilious: Oh, really?
As they waited for a reply, Remo asked, "Why not just pick up the phone and announce me?"
"We do not intrude upon our guests in this building," the guard sniffed.
The fax machine hummed and a new sheet of paper rolled out. The guard read it and looked up, disappointment writ large on his face.
"You may go up," he said. "It's the twenty-first floor. Apartment C. That's Twenty-one-C," he added smugly.
"Thanks," Remo said, glad to get away from the distasteful look on the guard's face.
On the twenty-first floor he buzzed twice. Faith Davenport opened the door, a smile on her face and a gleam in her blue eyes.
Almost at once her face fell, matching almost line for line the downstairs guard's expression.
"Oh," she said in a disappointed tone.
Remo blinked. "Something wrong?"
"I thought you were taking me out."
"I am. My car's downstairs."
Faith's gaze raked his fresh T-shirt. "Which did you have in mind-McDonald's, or were you going to splurge and take me to Charley O's?"
Remo forced a smile. "We'll go wherever you want."
"I'm used to eating in places that require proper dress. And ties."
"I don't wear ties," Remo said, feeling his mood sink.
"Or shirts either," Faith said, stepping back with studied reluctance so Remo could enter.
Remo was surprised at the elegance of Faith's apartment and said so as the door closed behind him.
"How do you afford all this on a secretary's salary?"
" I play the market. I'm hoping to go back to school. Can I fix you a drink? Some Zinfandel or Grenache?"
"Actually, I don't drink," Remo admitted.
Faith used tongs to clink ice into two glasses, and looked over at him.
"You don't drink or wear business clothes," she wondered, "so what are you doing working for Nostrum, Ink?"
"What's with you?" Remo asked, suddenly annoyed. "I was dressed like this when you first met me."
"When I first met you, I didn't know you were an employee. And it is Saturday. We sometimes dress down on Saturdays. Evian water okay?"
"Sure," Remo said, suddenly feeling like he'd shown up at a formal affair in Halloween costume.
Faith came over and handed him a drink. She sat down and took a sip of Scotch. When her mouth came up, it reeked of alcohol fumes. Remo's eyes left her no-longer-quite-delectable lips and shifted to her eyes. They were veiled.
Faith took another sip. "Maybe we could order out."
"If you want," Remo said, thinking that he had hoped to end up back at this apartment, and not going out turned that possibility into a certainty.
" I know this wonderful Italian place," she said, putting down her drink. "Their pesto is superb." She twisted around and picked up the phone. She dialed as she put a pencil to a piece of paper and began checking off boxes.
"Want me to order for you?" she asked. "Everything's good."
"Actually, I have a lot of food allergies," Remo said quickly. "I'm on a strict rice-and-fish diet. Sometimes rice and duck."
"I never heard of an Italian restaurant that served duck," Faith said, frowning, her pencil poised. " I guess we'll have to go with fish."
"Fine with me," Remo said, noticing the chilliness creep into her voice.
Faith inserted a slip of paper into a fax and pressed "Send. "
" I don't know what I did before the fax," she said as the machine hummed.
"I usually made do with the telephone, primitive as it is."
"But with phones you have to actually talk to people. This is so much more efficient."
"It is quieter," Remo admitted.
Faith retrieved her drink. "Well, what shall we talk about while we're waiting?"
"Tell me about Looncraft," Remo suggested. "You worked there once."
Faith made a face. "Don't remind me. It was a cold place. I had to get out or I was going to go crazy."
"I hear Looncraft is called the King of Wall Street."
"Make that Prince," Faith said, making quote marks with her fingers. Remo hated it when people did that. "The chief is already being touted as the new King of the Street. "
"No kidding?" Remo said, ignoring his mineral water. "Where'd you hear that?"
"It's all over the street. Everyone is talking about him. Before that, everyone was wondering why Looncraft sold off his Global holdings."
"He did?"
" 'Did' is the word," Faith said, making quote marks again. "I hear that during the early hours of the meltdown he liquidated his position. Hours later, he bought it all back, and more, at a higher price than he'd first sold it."
" I don't know the market, but that doesn't sound logical to me."
"It's not. Even if Looncraft had suddenly gone contrarian."
"What's that?" Remo said, relieved that her fingers didn't dance with the unfamiliar word.
"A contrarian is an investor who swims against the tide. When everyone is selling, he buys. And vice versa."
"Sounds fishy."
"Enough of Looncraft. Tell me more about the chief. I find him fascinating."
"What about me?" he said, flashing his best boyish grin.
"Oh, you're nice too," Faith said dismissively. "But men in authority have always fascinated me."
"Is that so? Well, Chiun is eighty years old, grew up in a fishing village in Korea that smells like a thousand-year-old dead clam, and has a major crush on Cheeta Ching."