Unknown voice: "People might get hurt."
Janie Baby: "You can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs."
Tony: "Right. That's not our problem. Anyway, tomorrow Janie'11 hold a press conference and blame the shooting on the cops. Well phony up some witnesses who saw them fire first."
Unknown voice: "What about the explosion?^
Janie Baby: "Leave that to me. It just proves what a shoddy unsafe operation this coal-burning monster is. Where's the radio transmitter to set off the charge?"
Tony: TVs under my mattress. Well leave it there until we want it. So there's no accident."
Unknown voice: 'I've put the guns at the bottom of the box of chicken salad sandwiches. It's marked on top."
Janie Baby: "Good. And the explosives?"
Voice: "Already in the trunk of the car."
Pause.
Janie Baby: "Okay. It's almost seven o'clock. We better get moving."
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Remo waited while people shuffled around in the next room, then heard the front door open and close. He glanced out the edge of the drape at the front window and saw the singer, her husband and two other men walking toward a white Lincoln sedan, dripping with chrome and doodads. Presumably, Remo thought, their grass-fueled Volkswagen was at the florist for repairs.
There was no knob on Remo's side of the connecting doors, just a round smooth lock plate. Remo brought his right hand back to his hip and punched with his hard fingertips into the wood next to the round brass plate. The wood splintered as Remo's fingers drove into the core of the door. His fingertips nicked the lock mechanism, turned it and the door pushed open.
The single room looked like an illegal dump. Neither bed was made. A wastepaper basket was filled with beer cans and wine bottles and when it had overflowed, the room's occupants had made do by throwing cans and bottles anywhere. Butcher paper from sandwiches littered the floor. Half-eaten heroes were dropped on the dresser.
Remo peeked into the bathroom, curious to see how the well-bred who wanted to bring America to a new and brighter tomorrow of freedom and personal responsibility lived. The sink was pocked with beard stubble, but the free motel soap had not been opened. The bath towels had not been touched and the shower and tub were dry and unused. There were four beer cans on the vanity shelf next to the sink. There was a half^empty jar of no-fluorocarbon anti-perspirant next to the sink, along
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with a dozen cylindrical plastic bottles of multicolored pills.
"Better living through chemistry," Remo said aloud. He went back into the main room and flipped the mattress from one bed onto the floor. There was no radio transmitter under it.
Remo lifted up the second mattress and saw the transmitter, a square black box with dials, a chrome button and a pull-up antenna. Behind him, he heard the front door open.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" a voice asked.
Remo looked over his shoulder and said, "Maid service. This room was due for a cleaning in 1946 and somehow we missed it."
The man standing in the doorway was a large blond with a slick brown tan. He wore white jeans. His biceps bulged from under his short-sleeved tan shirt and his lat muscles rippled as he folded his arms and looked at the radio transmitter on the bed.
"What's that?" he asked.
"A new organic mini-vacuum cleaner," Remo said. "It gets rid of all kinds of dirt Want to see how it works?"
"No, wiseass. I just want to see you in the slammer for burglary."
He came into the room and closed the door behind him. Remo picked up the radio transmitter and let the mattress collapse back onto the bed. The blond man reached for the telephone on the end table near the door.
"Can't let you do that, friend," Remo said.
"Try and stop me," the burly blond said.
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"Whatever makes you happy," Remo said.
He walked casually toward the blond who now had the phone in his hand. Remo reached out a finger and depressed the cutoff button.
The blond, with a nasty sneer on his face, tried to do two things at once. He slammed the receiver back down, hoping to smash it onto Remo's finger, and with the heel of his left hand he pushed at Remo's chest to try to shove him back into the room.
The receiver hit the phone base but missed Remo's finger. The blond felt bis right hand being re^ moved from the instrument by Remo's left hand. The heel of the big man's left hand slammed squarely against Remo's chest To the blond, it felt like butting his hand- against a brick wall. The shock wave raced back through his wrist, up his forearm and upper arm and made his shoulder shudder.
He swung wildly at Remo's head with his right hand. The punch missed.
"Isn't there any way you're going to behave yourself?" Remo asked.
"I'm gonna take your head off, sucker," the blond said.
Remo sighed. The blond threw another left hand and right hand at the slim man standing in front of him. Remo did not move, but somehow both punches missed. It was as if the smaller man had kept his feet rooted but had just swayed left and right out of the reach of the punches. The blond felt his long back muscles stretching painfully when the punches missed. He grabbed at the telephone and slapped it towards Remo's temple, but the instrument went over the top of Remo's head as
35
he ducked. Then, as Remo came up, the blond felt himself lifted high into the air, and his 240 pounds were being thrown toward the back of the motel room. He wasn't spiy enough or quick-witted enough to cushion his head before he butted skull first into the wall. The crunch of his head hitting the wall punched a foot-wide soft spot into the sheetrock of the wall, beneath the cheap metallic vinyl wallcovering. The blond groaned and fell into a lump.
Remo walked out the front door without looking back. If the man wasn't dead, that was all right. And if he was dead, that was all right too. What mattered was the big ugly Lincoln and making sure it did not get too far away.
He put the radio transmitter on the seat between himself and Chuin as he got into the rented car and drove quickly from the motel parking lot.
When he reached Clairburg four miles away, he saw the white Lincoln four cars ahead of him. With luck, he would get close on the open stretch of highway leading from the town to the electrical station.
They were just passing out of the town and moving back onto the main highway when Chiun said, "You are not going to tell me, are you?"
"Tell you what?"
"What is this black box?"
Remo watched ahead. The other cars had moved away from between bis car and the white Lincoln. There was only three hundred yards now between the cars and Remo was steadily closing the gap.
"It's a toy," Remo said.
"How does it work?" Chiun asked. His long-
36
fingernailed hands moved over to pick up the black box.
"I'll explain," Remo said. "First pull up the antenna."
Chiun's long fingers nipped at the round ball at the top of the retractible antenna and pulled it up to its full 15-inch height
"What now?" he asked.
"There's a switch there that says on-off. Turn it to on," Remo said.
Without looking, he heard Chiun click the switch. He was only a hundred yards now behind the Lincoln. There were no other cars visible on the road.
"What next?" Chiun said. "Must I always drag everything out of you?"
"There is a battery/indicator light next to the on-off switch," Remo said. "Tell me when it comes on."
"I like this," Chiun said. "I really like this."
"Just watch for the light," Remo said.
"It's on," Chiun said. "It's on. An orange light It just came on."
Seventy-five yards.
"Now you see that button on top?" Remo asked.
"Yes."
"Do you know whatTl happen if you press it?"
"What?" asked Chiun.