"Mr. Raisin," the television reporter quizzed, "where will the country get all these black, doctors?"
"After centuries of educational deprivation, the Block Mon must be given doctor's degrees. I demahnd a massive medical education program for Blacks, and, if need be, an easing of the discriminatory standards of medical boards."
"Would you name these discriminatory standards?"
"I would be glad to. Because of segregated and inferior education, the Block Mon has more difficulty getting into medical school, let alone passing tests given by white medical boards of examination. I demahnd immediate abolition of entrance examinations for medical schools. I demahnd the end of testing to pass. I demahnd the end of the strict standards of medical schools as just another technique of Jim Crow segregation, northern style."
"And if your demahnds... er, demands... are not met by the medical schools?" the reporter asked.
"We shall begin a sick-in, utilizing every badly needed hospital bed. I call upon everyone, Block Mon and white alike, who has a passion for racial justice to register at a hospital. I have here a list of phony symptoms guaranteed to get you admitted. When the truly sick are dying in the streets because there are no beds for them, perhaps then the medical schools will face up to the need to create more black doctors."
The camera panned back, revealing the portly Mr. Calder Raisin clad in a white hospital gown, standing by an empty bed. His voice was taken off the audio and a commercial for throat lozenges went on.
"Oh. Oh," squealed Gloria X. "He's great. Great. Just great. Great."
With each great, Barney felt her squeeze a tender spot of his anatomy.
"Great," Gloria X said. Barney pinched her hand. She ignored the pinch. "Great, he was great, darling. Wasn't he wonderful?"
Barney sipped the bourbon and grunted. "He's not my type."
"Well, he is mine," Gloria X said. "He's my husband."
Barney looked at her.
She leaned over, brushed the bottle away from Barney's mouth onto the floor, and ran her tongue over his lips.
"He's really great," she whispered. "It's a shame you're going to have to kill him."
Barney pushed her away from him. "Now wait a second. First you tell me you're married to this chocolate donut..."
Gloria nodded. "He's great," she said.
"And then you tell me to go out and kill him."
She smiled.
"May I ask why?" he said after a pause.
"To further the cause of black freedom," she said. "To eliminate Raisin's middle-of-the-road policy from the rising black consciousness. To demonstrate to my followers that personal sacrifice in the cause of freedom is glorious..."
"And to collect the insurance money?"
"It's a bundle, big boy." She winked.
"That's what I thought," Barney said. He took a deep swig from the bourbon bottle and rolled away from her.
Chapter Six
The Grand Vizier of the Afro-Muslim Brotherhood held open the door for Barney as he tiptoed out of Gloria X's house at five in the morning.
"Thanks, Malcolm," he said, trying not to slur his words too much.
"Once you out on the street, you ain't my problem," Malcolm answered. "Plenty of bloods be happy to see your white face this time of day. Ain't no way Allah be looking out for you, white scum."
"Hare Krishna," Barney said with a bow.
Barney wasn't afraid of muggers. He could still fight when he had to. He wasn't afraid of killers. He had killed too many times himself not to know that killers were generally more frightened than their victims unless the killers were very well trained, and if the Peaches of Mecca were the best fighting men in the neighborhood, he was in no danger. And, with nothing in his pocket but the five-dollar bill Gloria X had given him to insure his return, he wasn't particularly afraid of getting robbed.
What Barney Daniels was afraid of was that crazy old Oriental guy who seemed to materialize magically on the dim street corner ahead. He prepared to run in the opposite direction, but the old man was standing beside him before Barney could execute the about-face.
"You sure are fast, Pops," Barney said.
"Thank you. Greetings. I am Chiun."
"Barney Daniels."
"Yes, I know."
"Where's your friend?"
"He is nearby."
Barney looked around him, but saw no one. "I don't mean to be nosy, Chiun, but are you planning to kill me?"
"No."
Barney breathed easier. "That's good. You know, Chiun, for some reason you don't look like you live in the neighborhood."
"I do not. My home is the village of Sinanju, in Korea."
"I see," Barney said, as though that explained everything. "Going my way?"
"Yes," They walked silently for another half block.
Barney tried again. "Listen, I know this sounds weird, but..."
"Yes?"
"No, it's too weird."
"Go ahead. You may ask."
"Okay." He felt foolish even thinking it. "It's just that I saw you fight. You were pretty good, know what I mean?"
Chiun smiled. "It was nothing."
"So I was wondering, if you can fight like that, and if you're not going to kill me, well..."
"Yes?"
"Are you my fairy godfather or something?"
A voice behind him snickered. Barney jumped into the air, his heart thudding. "Good reflexes," Remo remarked.
"How long have you been back there?"
"Since you left the house."
Barney shook his head. "You two are really something," he said, extending his hand to Remo. "Barney Daniels."
"Idi Amin," Remo said, declining the hand.
"One of us is the Master of Sinanju," Chiun elaborated. "The other is a rude pervert who is barely useful for household tasks."
"And the third is a drunk we've had to stay up all night watching while he humped his way to heaven," Remo growled.
"How could you watch?"
Remo shrugged. "No scruples, I guess."
"I mean, the sides of the building were sheer faces of poured concrete. You couldn't have looked in the window."
"Suit yourself."
"What did you hear?" Barney asked, testing.
"Nothing special. Grunts, groans, a couple of giggles from Blondie, a belch or two from you... the usual."
"Hmmm."
"And your promise to knock off Colder Raisin for her."
Barney winced. "You from the CIA?" he asked.
"That does it," Remo said. "He's going back unconscious, like I said." There was a flurry of discussion in Korean between the old man named Chiun and the young wise guy.
"No!" Chiun said finally in English. "He is a man. He will walk."
"Walk where?" Barney asked belligerently.
"Tenth Avenue in midtown."
"What for?"
"We're supposed to keep you alive."
"On Tenth Avenue? I'd have a better chance of staying alive in the Klondike wearing a jockstrap."
"Breathe in the other direction," Remo said.
"Who sent you here?"
"Your fairy godfather. Get moving."
Barney bristled. "Look, you guys, I appreciate what you did for me back there, but I want to know where I'm going and why."
Remo sighed. "Let me knock him out," he said to Chiun.
"You are in no danger with us," Chiun explained. "However, our employer feels that others will attempt to do you harm. We are to protect you."
"So why do you have to protect me on Tenth Avenue? Why not just follow me home to Weehawken?"
"Because you've decided to murder somebody," Remo said, disgusted. "And I've got to ask Upstairs if you're allowed to. Complications. Always complications."
Chiun smiled proudly. "I knew he was an assassin."
"A fellow's got to earn a living," Barney said.
They turned left on 81st Street, where muffled music leaked from a cellar door. "Oh," Barney said excitedly. "I almost forgot about this place. A terrific after-hours club. Care to join me for a cocktail?"