Their hands gripped the tiny wheeled luge platforms beneath them, and they leaned their bodies as their speed grew and they swept around the second curve—still naked.
“They’re not even attractive” Remo added insistently.
“And yet, see how the rabble appreciates it?”
“Woo-hoo!” shouted a man sitting at the end of the bleachers nearby, squinting through binoculars. “Lookit those woobies wobble!”
“Them cheeks are almost touching ground,” another spectator added.
“Hey, number six is really enjoying himself,” another said.
“Repulsive,” Chiun observed.
“At the very least,” Remo agreed.
The crowd began to chant. “Moguls. Moguls. Moguls.”
“Why do they summon Moguls?” Chiun asked.
“Those ridges in the racetrack are called moguls,” Remo explained. “When you go over them… This is gonna be gruesome.”
The five naked racers flew over the moguls, and the ridges created spectacular vibrations in their bodies, eliciting explosive cheers from the crowd. The lugers remained focused on their performance, and seconds later a large, powerful-looking woman with silver hair got the checkered flag.
“Man, that was a great one!” enthused the baby-faced middle-aged man sitting close by. “Hey, you guys, didn’t you even bring binoculars?”
“First time,” Remo explained, and stopped breathing. The smell of the man’s breakfast Budweisers was lethal.
“Come ’ere and look, then!” He was fiddling with a silver, brushed-aluminum box tucked between his legs and mounted with a slim bracket to his binoculars. “One of them new digital high-definition camcorders. Records right on to the DVD, too. I can zoom this sucker in so tight I can count body hairs.”
“Sweet,” Remo answered.
“Bought it just for ENL. Drive out twice a month from Tempe during the regular season. I have to keep the thing out of sight, though. Them a-holes at ESN, don’t like the audience making their own video. Cuts into their DVD sales.”
Remo looked the other way, which the baby-faced man took as a sign of extreme interest. “I pop these suckers in at parties and it brings the house down!”
“ENL?” Remo asked abruptly. “What’s the E for?”
Chiun ignored him.
“Hey, you really are a virgin.” The baby-faced man chortled. “E for Extreme, of course. Extreme Nude Luge.”
Remo said to Chiun, “Well, now I know why we’re here. Smitty thinks this has something to do with all the killings at the extreme sporting events, like those skydivers who got burned up in Montana.”
“The skydivers you allowed to be burned up over Montana,” Chiun corrected. “It is little surprise the Emperor is perturbed.”
“Hey, watch this,” the man with the camcorder said. “They’re about to make the result official.”
Remo watched. The five naked lugers were now standing around with their support teams, drinking Gatorade. The PA from a small wooden shack squawked to life. “In today’s first event, the winner is Mrs. Jean Hebbleman.”
The woman who had won, a solidly built giantess in her fifties, began whooping and jumping up and down with excitement—still naked. The man with the camcorder diligently recorded every second of it.
“That’s beautiful,” he murmured.
A family in the front row waved to Hebbleman. “You’re the greatest, Grandma!” shrieked a scruffy third-grader in a SpongeBob SquarePants shirt.
“Yee-uck,” Remo declared. “Little uncomfortable with all this, huh, Little Father?”
“It is horrid and vulgar.”
“Plain old luge is horrid and vulgar. They put on these tights, then roll downhill watching their packages the whole way. This is much worse.”
As the golf carts transported more contestants up to the hilltop starting line, Remo said, “I still haven’t figured out what’s so extreme about it.”
“Simply observe,” Chain said.
The first crash came in the third race. There was just one woman in the field and she was easily the most skillful nude luger among them. Her quick start gave her an immediate lead, but the young man in second place luged aggressively and closed the gap. At the second long curve he bit his lip and leaned carefully, hardly reducing his speed.
“That dope’s trying for an inside pass,” the baby-faced man blurted, trying not to blink as he maneuvered his thighs to aim his camera. He didn’t want to miss a thing.
But he wasn’t going to make it. Remo and Chiun saw it even before the kid did.
He started his pass inside, pulled alongside the intense-looking woman in the lead, then the young man’s wheels lost their purchase. He skidded sideways for a few feet before flipping into the leader, then they logrolled off the track and across the rocky hillside. The hill descended underneath them, and their momentum continued all the way down to the bottom. They flopped to a halt, their bloody, naked bodies tangled together.
“Woo-hoo! Now that’s extreme, friend!” the man with the camcorder shouted.
“Little Father, would you think less of me if I upchucked?” Remo asked.
“Not at all. But do it elsewhere.”
Each time Chiun was sure the Western world could sink no lower, a new and more repulsive form of exploitation and entertainment was unveiled. Remo, as white as he was, at least had the good taste to be disgusted with these proceedings. If only he would stop asking when they could leave…
“If you know what Emperor Smith suspects, then you know what we are here to do,” Chiun chided.
“I know what you are here to do. I don’t work there anymore, remember?”
Another headstrong act of rebellion by the Master of Sinanju. Chiun sighed mentally.
“That skydiving thing in Montana was worth millions.
I seriously doubt nude luge is big business,” Remo added.
“You are seriously mistaken, then,” Chiun said. “See how the crowd grows? It is still early in the day and the number of spectators will swell by three times before the climactic races of the day. The ultimate winner will receive great reward.”
“Really? How much?”
“Figure it out for yourself. See it as an opportunity to educate yourself.”
Remo asked the infant-like man with whom he had apparently formed a deep friendship.
“Today’s purse is a hundred grand cash,” the man said. “That gets you into the semifinals, then the finals. Whoever wins this year’s championship goes home with a cool million bucks, buddy. Plus endorsement, contracts like you wouldn’t believe.”
“A million bucks? For riding a skateboard naked?”
“It’s harder than it looks.”
“Hey, Little Father, I just got a great idea,” Remo said, turning to Chiun, who felt the cold hand of dread on his age-weary and weakening heart.
“My son, do not even say the words.”
“You and I both know I could whup these losers.” Remo was wearing the same grin that was worn by the young pranksters who untied fishing nets in Sinanju to vex the adults. This was not like untying nets. Remo was joking, surely. “Please do not pull on my leg.”
“I’m serious. I need a job, right? And look what drops right into my lap—an easy cool million. All I have to do is get naked and roll down the hill a few times.”
Chiun waved his words away. They were unworthy of a response.
“Okay, then. Let’s leave. I’m bored.”
“We will stay until the finals in order to unmask the perpetrator of poor sportsmanship.”