When they landed in Orlando, those Asians unfortunate enough to have gotten on this flight rushed the exits, rubbing heads and crushing candy corn beneath their heels.
A shudder ran through the bottleneck at the door when Chiun and Remo approached. With fearful glances the crowd parted, hands firmly clasped to stinging scalps.
Chiun waded through the throng. "My son the unpatriotic American might not respect his culture," he sniffed as he passed, "but you may not have any of my Yankee Poodle Pie."
Remo was so grateful to finally be off the plane he kept his head down and his mouth screwed shut.
In the terminal they passed a busy bookstore. "Just a sec," Remo said to Chiun before ducking inside. He emerged two minutes later with a fresh stack of newspapers. As they walked, Remo slipped a pair of sewing scissors he'd just bought into his pocket. Though curious, Chiun refrained from comment as the two men made their way to the car rental.
In the parking lot Remo dumped the papers into the back seat of their rental.
According to Smith, the first spider sighting had taken place in the small town of Yuletide, twenty miles east of Orlando. Remo knew he should be worried when he saw the sign that welcomed tourists into town. On it, a pair of snowmen waved to passing cars. The border of the sign was decorated with plastic reindeer antlers.
Even though Halloween was less than a week away, there wasn't a pumpkin or ghost to be seen in town. The houses of Yuletide were hung with flashing red-and-green lights. Plastic Santas sat on lush green lawns.
"Why do I suddenly feel like Jack Skellington?" Remo asked as he eyed the Christmas decorations. In the passenger side of the car, the Master of Sinanju studied the festive landscape through suspicious slits.
"Have you people extended the season devoted to that busybody carpenter?" the old man asked.
"Not that I know of," Remo said. "Christmas season starts in August at the mall, but it usually doesn't spill out onto front lawns until November. They must take the Yuletide name seriously."
He parked the car and the two of them struck off on foot. As they walked, they saw parking meters shaped like candy canes and park benches that looked like holly-covered yule logs.
"No wonder the suicide rate goes up during the holidays," Remo said as they passed a papier-mache igloo. Around it, a family of painted penguins in scarfs and stocking hats were arranged in a frozen snowball fight.
The place they were looking for was on the corner. Other than a faded paper reindeer taped to the window, Santa's Package Store looked like a typical liquor store. The bell over the door tinkled as Remo and Chiun entered.
The grubby proprietor was sitting behind the grimy counter. He looked up sharply at the door. His tense face relaxed when he saw the two men who had just come inside.
"FBI," Remo announced. Walking to the counter, he offered the man his fake ID. "We're looking into last week's robbery."
The liquor store owner looked from Remo to Chiun. "Why's the FBI care?" he asked suspiciously. "Local cops think I'm crazy."
"From what I've seen of this town, you all got crack pipes as stocking stuffers," Remo said. "So what's the story?"
The man rubbed the beard stubble on his chin. "You better be on the level," he warned. "Now that there's been other cases, I'm getting calls to do all kinds of TV." He leaned forward on his stool. "It was last Friday night," he began. "Almost closing time. I was reading right here when I heard the bell over the door. When I looked up, I saw it."
"The spider," Remo said, his voice flat.
"Yeah," said the shopkeeper. He shuddered at the memory. "Thing was huge. Big as the doorway. It came crawling across the floor to the counter. I fell off my stool I was so scared. I'm lying back here on the floor when it reaches around with these big furry black legs and rips the cash drawer out of the register. By the time I got back up, it was gone."
Remo pointed to a security camera that was mounted high on the wall behind the counter. "What about that?"
"That's the weird part," the man explained. "After it took the cash drawer, it reached up and touched the camera. I don't know what it did, but when I checked the tape, there wasn't anything on it. It was all blank. Like it had been magnetized or something."
The store owner didn't see the deeply dubious expression on Remo's face.
Chiun had wandered over to the end of the nearest aisle. The old man was squatting next to an end-cap display that was piled high with cases of beer.
"What's with him?" the liquor store owner asked.
"He's a special consultant," Remo said. "The Bureau brings him in for the big stuff. Alien abductions, spider attacks, spontaneous telephone combustions."
The man was studying Chiun. "Just like the 'C-Files,'" he grunted. "I like that show."
"Not me," Remo said. The Master of Sinanju beckoned him with a long fingernail. "They've been stealing plots from us for years and we haven't seen dime one." He left the store owner, crossing over to Chiun.
"What have you got, Little Father?"
"There," the old Korean said, pointing to the floor. The beer cases were stacked on a low wooden palette. Following the Master of Sinanju's unfurled finger, Remo saw something small and black peeking out from between the dirty slats. It was as big around as a quarter and rested on an inch-thick pile of dust. Stooping, Remo picked up the object, holding it between thumb and forefinger. By the look of it, it had been chipped off something larger. The edges were jagged.
When he ran a finger across the dull black surface, Remo's face registered surprise. "What the hell?" Puzzled, he handed the fragment to Chiun.
When the old man touched the metal, he frowned. "There is no friction," the Master of Sinanju said. Remo nodded. He had barely felt the fragment. It was as if his finger was gliding over nothing at all. "You think it's spider spoor?" Remo asked.
"I do not know what it is." Chiun's weathered face was troubled. "Nor do I find comfort in the unknown."
The fragment had come from somewhere. And whatever it was, neither of them had encountered it before.
"Me, either," Remo said as he took the strange piece of metal back from Chiun. "I'll send it up to Smitty. Maybe he can figure out what it is."
He slipped the fragment into his pocket.
He took a final look around the dingy store. Something had happened here. He still doubted the owner's story, but the man seemed sure of what he was saying. And the metal fragment only added to the larger mystery.
When they left Santa's Package Store a moment later, Remo's face was troubled.
Chapter 10
"I was astonished at how awful it was. I mean, it really was that bad. Shockingly so."
Every word was a knife in Duncan Allen's heart. But in spite of the inhuman callousness of his critic, he had no choice but to sit there and take it. As he fidgeted in the overstuffed chair in the dusty old living room in Bangor, Maine, he gave a sickly, lopsided smile to the evil little man who stood in judgment above him.
"I bought it assuming you'd have improved over the years. You know, since back when I bought those first five manuscripts from you. But I wish I'd looked at it sooner. I'll do my best, but I don't know if it's salvageable at all. Of course, you won't be getting a bonus for this shit."
And at this, Stewart McQueen laughed. It was a mirthless laugh that was all smarmy condescension. That his laugh would be devoid of joviality wasn't a surprise. McQueen was the most humorless human being Duncan Allen had ever met. As an individual far superior to all things that walked, crawled or flew, Stewart McQueen didn't have time for a sense of humor. The world-famous novelist was too busy standing astride the very peak of a fiction writer's Mount Olympus, glaring down contemptuously at the pathetic mortals who scurried upon the Earth below.