"I thought you said the village was Sinanju," Hyskos said. The story was getting boring again.
"It is. But it's also the name of the killing art they originated. "
"I guess those Koreans don't like to waste a good word, do they?" Hyskos said.
Remo shrugged. "Guess not. But let me finish. We'll be landing soon. You've heard of karate and kung-fu and ninja stuff. Well, they're all stolen from Sinanju. Sinanju is the original, the sun source, the real thing, and if you survive the training, a person can realize his full physical and mental potential. His senses are heightened. His strength is increased. With Sinanju, you can do things that seem impossible to normal people. It's sort of like being Superman, except you don't have to dress up. That's what happened to me because of Sinanju."
"Aren't you the lucky one? To be so perfect and all," Hyskos said.
"Yeah, well, don't think it's all peaches and cream. I can't eat processed food. I eat rice. I can't have a drink. Do you know what I'd give to be able to have a beer? And all the time, yap, yap, yap, Chiun's complaining that I'm an incompetent white who can't do anything right."
"He doesn't like you?" Hyskos said.
"No, it's not that. He just expects perfection all the time. Chiun thinks I'm the fulfillment of some freaking Sinanju legend about some dead white man who's really the incarnation of Shiva, some kind of silly-ass Hindu god, and after Chiun dies, I'm going to be the next Master of Sinanju. Dealing with him's not easy. Do you know he wants me to get Willie Nelson to run a benefit concert for him? And Chiun's already one of the richest men in the world. Can you believe that?"
"Not that, I'm afraid, or anything else," Leon Hyskos Junior said.
"Too bad, because it's all true."
"Why tell me?" Hyskos said.
"Well, Chiun couldn't come on this mission with me because he's getting ready to renegotiate his contract, so I had to do this job alone and I guess I just felt like talking to someone. And you seemed like the logical person, Leon. "
Hyskos noticed that his arms had started trembling when Remo unexpectedly called him by name. He hadn't mentioned his name. He was sure of it. He took hold of both armrests to steady them. It helped. Now only his biceps shook.
"You're on a mission now?" Hyskos asked in a thin voice.
"That's right. And for once, it's an assignment that's close to my heart. I'm representing dead people. I think that's appropriate, a dead man representing other dead people. Would you like to see pictures of my constituents?"
"No thanks," Hyskos said, tightening his seat belt. "I think we're about to land."
"Here. Let me help you with that," Remo said, taking the short end of the seat belt and pulling it tight with such force that the fabric smoked and Leon Hyskos Junior felt the contents of his bowels back up into his esophagus.
"Uuuuuumppp," Hyskos said, his face turning guppygray.
"That's better," Remo said. "We wouldn't want you to faw down, go boom." He pulled out his wallet, and a chain of photos in clear plastic holders tumbled out. Remo held the chain up to Hyskos' sweating face and began counting them off like a proud parent.
"This is Jacqui Sanders when she was sixteen. Pretty, huh? Unfortunately, she never reached seventeen. They found her body in a ravine outside of Quincy, Illinois. She'd been raped and strangled."
Leon Hyskos Junior tried to say something but only a series of foul-smelling burps came out.
"And this girl used to be Kathy Walters. I say used to be because she was dead when this picture was taken. She was found in a ravine too. Same deal, but a different ravine. The same thing happened to this next young lady too. Beth Andrews. Her body turned up in a Little Rock sand pit. I guess they don't have ravines in Little Rock."
Remo tapped two more pictures in quick succession. "And these were the Tilley twins. You can see the resemblance. But there wasn't much of a resemblance when their bodies were found in an Arkansas ravine. The guy who did a job on them smashed in their heads with a flat rock. But maybe you recognize the faces. They were in all the papers last week. Or maybe you recognize them for a different reason."
Remo looked away from the pictures and his eyes met those of Leon Hyskos Junior. And there was death in Remo's eyes.
Hyskos slipped a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a small automatic. He pointed it at Remo's stomach. "Hey, you're not supposed to have those on airplanes," Remo said. "Put it away before the stewardess catches you. "
Hyskos let out a loud belch and some of the color returned to his face. "How did you know?" he asked.
"That you're the Ravine Rapist?" Remo said. "Well, remember I told you about CURE? All these killings you did made you a priority item. So the computers were fed all the facts about the killings and worked out your trail path and then, don't you know, your name kept turning up on a gas credit card all along that path. Then you did a really dumb thing. You booked this flight out of New Orleans and Smith sent me to intercept you and-ta-dah-here I am."
Remo smiled.
"You're supposed to kill me. Is that what you're saying?" Hyskos said.
"Exactly. So what do you say? Should I strangle you or what? Normally, I don't do strangulations but this is a special case."
"You're not going to do anything except what I tell you. Don't forget, I'm holding the gun."
"Oh, the gun. I meant to ask. How'd you get it past the metal detector?"
"New kind of gun. Plastic alloy."
"No fooling? Let me see," Remo said. He dropped the wallet, and before Hyskos could react, Remo's right hand snapped out and Hyskos felt his gun hand go numb. There was no pain, just a sensation as if the tissues of his hand were filling with novocaine. And suddenly, Remo had the flat pistol in his hands. He examined it closely. Remo jacked back the slide, but it caught. Remo pulled it anyway and the safety catch snapped. Then the ejector mechanism came off in his hands.
"Shoddy workmanship," he muttered.
"It's supposed to be stronger than steel," Hyskos said. Remo grunted. He tried cocking the weapon with his thumb but managed to break off the hammer. "I'm not so good with guns," he said, handing it back. "I think I broke it. Sorry."
The Ravine Rapist took the pistol and pulled the trigger three times. It didn't even click. He dropped it.
"I surrender," he said, throwing up his hands.
"I don't take prisoners," Remo said.
Hyskos looked around wildly for a stewardess. He opened his mouth to call for help but found he could make no sound because his mouth was suddenly filled with the pieces of the new non-metallic-alloy pistol that was stronger than steel.
"You look kind of faint," Remo said. "I know just what to, do for that. Just stick your head between your knees until your head clears. Like this."
And Remo took Leon Hyskos Junior by the back of the neck and slowly pushed his head downward, slowly, inexorably, and Hyskos felt his spinal column slowly, gradually begin to separate. He heard a pop. Then another. Then a third. It felt as if his head was exploding.
"If we weren't landing," Remo whispered, "I could make the pain last longer. And in your case I'd like to. But we're all slaves of the clock."
Hyskos felt his teeth break as, in his pain, he bit down hard on the gun in his mouth. And then he heard another pop, this one louder than the rest, and then he heard or felt nothing more.
Remo put the wallet of photos into the man's jacket pocket, and fastened his own seat belt as the airliner's tires barked as they touched the runway.
"My goodness, what's wrong with him?" a stewardess asked Remo when she saw Hyskos hunched over in his seat.
Remo gave her a reassuring smile. "That's just one of my constituents. Don't worry about him. He's just decomposing after his long flight."