"You know, I'm gonna ball that Maggot," she said in his ear.
"Forget it, Vickie. Maggot won't ball. Germs or something."
"He'll ball. I just gotta figure out how."
"Hey, remember me? I'm the guy that put you back together again when you wandered in here with your head strung out behind you. I'm the one who chased that fat-ass disc jockey away by telling him you'd split. Remember me?"
"I never forget a favor, Number One, but I gotta ball that Maggot. Hey, what time is it?"
He handed her the lollipop as he looked at his watch. "Six o'clock," he said.
"No, not that time. Day of the week time?"
"Oh, it's like Wednesday or something."
"Well, you just stay here and wait for me a minute," she said, and put the lollipop on the black curly hair on his chest. "I gotta make a call first."
"I am pleased by what you told Dr. Smith," Chiun said.
"I can't understand him getting upset about somebody nobody ever heard of."
"You should not disregard his anxieties. It is difficult sometimes to deal with a new house. They have no traditions and therefore are not bound by custom."
"Well, I'm not going to worry about them. What I'm worried about is finding the girl. It's strange, you know. The people who are trying to kill her never seem to have any problem locating her."
"Maybe she is wired for sound," Chiun said. "I understand that is what your country does with important people."
"How can we protect her when we don't know where she is?"
"It happened once to another Master of Sinanju, but it all worked out well," Chiun said.
"How?" Remo said suspiciously.
"The Master was hired to protect someone. He did not know the whereabouts of that someone but the killer did."
"So, what happened?"
Chiun shrugged. "What you would expect. The killer killed that person."
"Then how can you say it worked out well?"
"It .did. It was the fault of the emperor who hired the Master. No one blamed the House of Sinanju and the Master was paid anyway. So you can put your mind at rest. No one will blame us if something happens to the girl. And we will be paid."
Remo shook his head in wonder.
"Before we leave," Chiun said, "we must bury Lhasa Nilsson in a correct way. He is a member of a House."
"So?"
Chiun exploded in a babble of Korean. "So?" he said in English. "So he is a member of a House, a member of our profession. He must be buried ritually. I understand people from that part of the world have a certain way of disposing of their warriors."
Remo thought back, remembered the movie Beau Geste and said, "Funeral by fire."
"Correct," Chiun said. "Please take care of it."
"How?" Remo said. "Call our friendly neighborhood funeral parlor?"
"I'm sure that to one who would understand the Secrets of Sinanju, such a thing would not be difficult. Please take care of it," Chiun said.
He walked away as Remo behind him mumbled, "Please take care of it, please take care of it," under his breath.
He watched Chiun walk into the bedroom where his steamer trunks were stored, then went to the closet and dragged out the green plastic trash bag containing Lhasa Nilsson.
He hoisted it up onto his shoulder and carried it out into the hall, mumbling irritably under his breath all the while. It was Gary Cooper in Beau Geste. But who was the brother who had the Viking funeral? Well, never mind. It was funeral by fire? But the suspicion nudged at him that there was something else.
What was it?
Remo looked both ways down the hall, then turned right. Halfway down the hall, he found what he was looking for, a large incinerator chute used by hotel workers for dumping waste.
What was that? What was it Gary Cooper had done? It was more than just funeral by fire.
Remo yanked the chute door open with his left hand and with a flick of his right shoulder twitched the bag onto the door. He was ready to push it down the chute, when a ferocious yipping sound pierced his ears and he felt needle pricks at his right ankle. Remo looked down. A Pomeranian dog with a jeweled collar was snapping at him. That's it, he thought. A dog. A dog has to go with the corpse in a Viking funeral.
From down around the corner, he heard a stentorian female voice whooping, "Bubbles. Where are you, Bubbles? Come to Momma."
But meanwhile Bubbles was doing a number on Remo's right ankle.
Remo nicked the trash bag containing Lhasa Nilsson into the chute. He heard it hiss as it slid through the metal cylinder, then whoosh as it fell free to finally thump as it hit in the basement.
The whooping crane who was looking for Bubbles was getting closer. Remo could tell because her voice had changed from a roar to a bellow.
He reached down and grabbed the fluffy ball of fur by the jeweled collar and extended his hand toward the trash chute.
"Oh, there you are," came the roar. Remo looked around to see a magnificently overupholstered woman in a black dress come thumping toward him.
She yanked Bubbles from his hand and turned and walked away, without thanks, murmuring endearments to the dog.
Oh well, Remo thought. The idea is what counts anyway. Lhasa didn't really need a dog to go with him.
Back in the room, he encountered Chiun coming out of the bedroom, having changed his robe from ceremonial blue to ceremonial green.
"All done," Remo said. "The Viking funeral is over."
Chiun raised an eyebrow. "Will his ancestors be pleased?"
"Yup," Remo said, doing his top impersonation of Gary Cooper.
"Good," Chiun said with a smile. "One must remember the traditions. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."
"And garbage to garbage," Remo mumbled, then said loudly, "He's on his way to Valhalla."
"Valhalla?"
"Yes, it's a hamburger stand in White Plains. Let's go, we've got to find Vickie Stoner."
"Must we go near this Maggot to do it?" Chiun asked.
"Of course. It's about time you saw the wholesome rich side of American life. We're going to broaden your horizons."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Maggot popped pills. A yellow C. An amber E. A pink B12.
"She's got to go," he said. He was wearing a white cotton bathrobe and his white gloves. A surgical mask hung loosely around his neck, its use unnecessary so long as Louse Number One, Number Two and Number Three kept a respectful distance from him, which they now did by sitting on the other side of the dining room table.
"But Maggot, she's all right," said Louse Number One.
"One groupie's the same as another groupie," Maggot said. "Why is she different, except that she spends all her time on the telephone?"
"In the first place, she's smart. In the second place, she doesn't really get !n our way. In the third place, if we believe that fat-faced wax spinner, somebody's trying to kill her."
"Well, let them," Maggot said. "I don't want to be killed by accident. Look, we've got two out-of-town concerts and then the big festival in Darlington. We just don't need the headache."
"I say we vote on it," said Dead Meat Louse Number One, who had seen Louse Two and Louse Three sneaking from Vickie's room on separate occasions.
"Fine," Maggot said. "Usual rules. I vote she goes."
"And I vote she stays," said Louse One. He looked to Two and Three. They shuffled uneasily in their chairs under his glance and Maggot's piercing stare. Maggot picked up a carrot strip and stuck it in his mouth. "Vote," he commanded.
"She stays," said Two. "Ditto," said Three.
"Another tie, Maggot," said Louse One. "Us against you. She stays."
Maggot bit another piece of carrot angrily. "All right," he said. "She stays for now. But keep her out of my sight. And get her ready because we've got to leave now for Pittsburgh."
"She's already packed," said One.
Abdul Hareem Barenga was being kept alive by tubes. They were in his nose, in his arms, all over his body, the staff resident at Flower Lawn Hospital explained to the consulting surgeon who had just arrived from Africa.
"Serious internal injuries, Dr. Nilsson," he said. "All we can do is try to keep him alive one way or another. Medication cuts the pain, but he's got no chance. He wouldn't live five minutes without the life-support gadgets here." He spoke while standing at the side of Barenga's bed, paying no more attention to the injured man than he did to his wife's nightly report on his son's transgressions in kindergarten.