“Two tents. Lessee, now. We got a grading price structure. You got your bronze package, your silver package and your gold package.”
“We shall accept nothing less than gold package,” the Asian man stated without hesitation.
“What do you get with the gold package?” The American sighed.
“Not so much what you get as where you’re put. Gold package is the farthest from the latrines, see. Not convenient, but upwind.”
“Fine. Two golds. How much?”
“One thousand. Each,” Quimby Summy said with the smile of a man who could name whatever price he wanted—and get it.
“That had better be pesos you’re talking,” the man growled.
“Dollars. American. Only place in the territory free of King Brown snakes. Money back guaranteed.”
Remo shrugged and handed over his CURE credit card, booking two gold packages for two days in advance. They found that the tents were reasonably clean, and that was end of their list of benefits.
“Why did you allow the man to take advantage of you? You should have negotiated,” Chiun intoned. “It would have been easy enough to convince him to give us a better rate.”
“Don’t worry about it. Smitty’s paying.”
“Still, you allowed yourself to be taken advantage of. Everything you do in recent days proves you are unfit to move about in the world.”
“But I am fit to be Reigning Master of Sinanju? So any nincompoop with a few slick moves can be Master?”
“I hadn’t thought so. Look. No phone. No power. How shall I recharge my iBlogger?”
Remo went back to the information-and-tourism tent. “Need a TV, electrical power and a phone.” Quimby Summy grinned wide. “That’s extra.”
“Whatever. Just put it on the card. The guarantee goes for the extras, too, I hope?”
“Sure,” Summy said. “Sure, it does.”
Quimby appeared at their tents with a wire tow wagon carrying a battered television. The TV was so old it was from the era when color was a novelty, and the rainbow word Color was emblazoned on the cabinet.
“You guys must have a hell of an expense account,” said their neighbor, a cameraman with a Canadian sports channel. “We’re sleeping four to a tent, and we still gotta pay some of it out of our own pocket.”
“Why bother?” Remo asked.
The Canadian looked terrified. “King Brown snakes, that’s why. This valley is the only place free of them for miles.”
Remo knew a rat when he smelled one. He explained the shenanigans at the campground to Chiun as they drove into the desert to witness the start of the Extreme Outback Crocodile Habitat Marathon.
“I saw another commercial for your vile television program,” Chiun interrupted. “Your shameless prostitution will be broadcast throughout Australia.”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
“We were discussing vile serpents. What better example than your profane abuse of your Sinanju training?”
“Didn’t we agree not to discuss the TV-show on this trip?”
Chiun fluttered his hand. “You brought it up, Yeou Gang.”
“I did not, and stop calling me that.”
“I can’t call you anything else.” Chiun shrugged.
“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything.”
Chiun huffed. “Great words of wisdom, which you doubtless learned from the virgin acolytes of the tiresome carpenter. It would give me great pleasure if just once I heard my own wisdom issue from my own pupil.”
“Get bent.”
“I do not recall teaching you that use of language,” Chiun said. “More nun mouthings, I assume.”
Remo didn’t respond.
“Fine, I shall cease speaking,” Chiun concluded loftily.
They drove in silence down the endless highway until Chiun snatched the wheel and gave it a tug. The rental car careened off the road on two wheels.
“What was that for?” Remo demanded, jerking the wheel back and adjusting his body weight to bring the car crashing back onto all four wheels.
“I did not wish to offend your sensibilities with my speech.” Chiun shrugged. “This is the way.”
“You could have pointed,” Remo said. “And I never invited the silent treatment anyway. That was your idea.”
“The platitudes from the convent?” Chiun reminded him.
“You’re just itching for a fight, aren’t you?”
“Chafing under the smothering blanket of shame, do you mean?”
“Can it. Where we going?”
“Bring the car into the shade behind the big rock that is shaped like your head.”
“I don’t see any—”
“Forgive me. Now I see that all the rocks are shaped like your head. That one.” Chiun pointed and Remo headed for the chunk of ugly sandstone, chewing on his tongue. The rock bore only a small resemblance to his head.
Chapter 26
“Whoa, here they come. Have you ever seen anything like it? This is fantastic! These blokes are really breaking a sweat out here t’day, where the temperature is bet ter’n a hundred degrees. To make matters worse, the sand is reflecting the heat right back up at the runners, and they’re literally running inside an oven!” The boyish man in the khaki shorts, shirt and hat was crouching and bouncing, waving his hands as if his enthusiasm were about to burst him open. The video cameraman maneuvered to keep him in the picture.
“Who’s he? Looks familiar.” Remo and Chiun were waiting in the shade of their special rock a stone’s throw from the video crew.
“Why would I know the answer to such a question?” Chiun was watching the line of approaching runners, who were crippled wraiths in the heat shimmering up from the ground. “He is a snake wrangler from the television.”
“Yeah, now I remember,” Remo said. “I knew you’d know. You know everything, Little Father.”
“You could not be more disingenuous, my son. Disingenuous means insincere.”
“I know what disingenuous means.”
“Rot behind me, rot here, is where the competitors will leave the desert proper and enter a section of grasslands that’s teeming with outback predators.” The snake wrangler wouldn’t have been more excited. “There’s some nasty buggers in ’ere. These blokes are gonna have to be lot on their feet to get through without bein’ bit, clawed or gored!”
Just six miles into the twenty-one-mile race, the runners were limp with fatigue. The first third of the Extreme Outback Crocodile Habitat Marathon was designed to sap their strength before pitting them against the real dangers.
“What people won’t do for a few bucks,” Remo commented.
“The prize purse is a million U.S. dollars,” Chiun pointed out.
“Really? Again?”
Chiun glared at him.
“I could win this game easy,” Remo pointed out.
“You could be a star quarterback. Does this mean you should do so?”
Remo nodded. “You’re right, Chiun. I’m making lots more as a television phenomenon.”
“Fah!”
The pack of runners began jogging into the grasslands.
“Look at these guys. They’re almost dead on their feet already!” the snake wrangler exclaimed. “There’s gonna be some seriously slowed reflexes, and this is the exact wrong time for it. Crikey, we’re gonna see some rilly major bloodshed t’day!” The young-looking man in the khakis made a slicing motion across his throat, and the taping stopped. “C’mon, blokes!” The snake wrangler bolted into the grasslands and his production team jogged after him: a cameraman, a sound engineer, and a harried-looking blond woman in khakis with dark rings around her eyes.
“We supposed to stop the rilly major bloodshed?” Remo asked.
“I care not for these fools. We will merely watch for signs of cheating and report the perpetrator to the Emperor.”