"I'd much rather watch what happens in here than down there," Grom suggested.
Amelia jostled back inside, barking. And Grom was chuckling. And, on the inside, despite the smile on her face, Dawn Summens was screaming and screaming.
Chapter 35
Chiun stood in the doorway of Cafe Amore and scowled at the decor, the potted plants and the hammered-tin ceiling. He scowled at Martin the waiter, who was coming at them in a smooth glide. Finally, he awarded his best scowl to the one who had brought him to this place. "What's the matter with it?"
"It is someone's home," declared Chiun.
"Believe me, it's a restaurant."
"Excuse our intrusion," the ancient Korean declared to the entirely emotionless man in the tuxedo. "My ill-mannered son was under the impression that this is a restaurant."
"Hiya, Martin," Remo greeted the waiter. "Set him straight, would you?"
"This is indeed a restaurant, sir," Martin said stiffly. "Two will be dining, sir?"
"If this is a restaurant, why is there no garish advertisement on the street?" Chiun demanded.
"Relax, Little Father, it's a VIP place," Remo said.
"For visiting dignitaries, royalty, business tycoons. They don't want the regular street rabble coming in. Isn't that right, Martin?"
"This is an exclusive establishment," Martin agreed as he led them to a table.
"Maybe a little too exclusive," Remo commented as they took their seats. They had the place to themselves.
"Drink, sirs?"
"No, thanks."
"I shall fetch menus, sirs."
"No need, Martin. Just bring me whatever's the freshest fish you've got back there. Steamed, with steamed rice."
Martin pointed his utterly emotionless face at Remo for a long moment and was about to comment.
"Do you have duck?" Chiun squeaked.
"No, sir."
"Do you, perchance, serve parrot?"
"We do not, sir."
"Then bring me fish, as well," Chiun said offhandedly. "Whatever is more fresh than what you serve him. Prepared the same way."
Martin opened his mouth, closed it and left.
"The plastic guys who model flannel shirts at Sears, Roebuck emote more than that waiter," Remo commented.
"He is attempting some sort of deception," Chiun announced.
The kitchen doors swung open again.
"The fish is off," Martin declared in a monotone as he stood stiffly at their table.
"Give us the fish that is not off," Remo said. Martin, finally, proved that he did have working facial muscles. He looked puzzled, as if he were trying to think through a brain teaser. "Um, all the fish is off, sir." Chiun rolled his eyes.
"Let me get this straight," Remo said. "This is the most upscale restaurant on the island. There's an ocean so close I could probably toss you in it from here. And you're trying to tell me you're out of fresh fish?"
"Um," Martin said, "yes, sir."
"Um, bullshit. Okay, just bring us the rice. Steamed."
"We are out of rice, sir," Martin said finally.
"You served me rice not seven hours ago."
"That was the last of it, sir."
"Um," Remo grumbled. "I see."
"I see a man who is seconds away from death unless he ceases to tell falsehoods," Chiun said in Korean.
Remo nodded and asked Martin, "My father would like to know your recommendations:"
"Your father would like to throttle the help," Chiun added in his native language, but he nodded agreeably.
"The chef has prepared an intriguing pasta Puttanesca," Martin orated.
Remo nodded. "We'll take it"
"And we'll force-feed you on it," Chiun added in Korean. But he smiled when he said it.
Chapter 36
"Bon appetit," Martin declared, presenting plates of steaming, odoriferous pasta.
"Well?" Remo asked when the waiter departed. Chiun looked distastefully at the platter before him. He sniffed very slightly. "Boiled gelatinous wheat flour," he stated. "Chemically solidified oil of corn."
"Yeah?"
"Tomato, smashed and burned for hours. Dehydrated pungencies added to mask the soot. Compressed anchovies to further confuse the flavor. Brine-cured olives mixed in because this is what American palates demand of their 'authentic' Roman cuisine."
"What else?" Remo asked.
"Various forms of curdled cow's milk and enough salt to taint a village well," Chiun said with a nose wrinkled in repulsion. "Also, poison."
"Mine, too," Remo agreed. "Oh, waiter!"
THE KITCHEN DOOR SWUNG open and Remo poked his head in.
"Oh, there you are, Martin."
"Is there something I can help you with, sir?"
"The name of whoever put you up to dosing the dinners."
The cook emerged from a walk-in cooler with a large fish held by the tail. He dropped it and charged Remo a second after Martin made his move. Both of them had large knives conveniently at hand.
Remo smacked Martin's knife away before the steel tips touched his T-shirt. Martin's butcher blade made a vibrating musical note as it embedded itself in an exposed wooden ceiling beam, and Martin looked at it in surprise. He missed seeing Remo's deft swat at the chef, whose scaling knife somehow ended up rocketing across the short space in Martin's direction. The scaling knife sliced thinly into the waiter's scalp before burying itself in the wall behind him. Frozen, Martin's eyes crossed to stare at the humming knife handle and then to watch the blood trickling down his nose and cheeks.
"Talk," Remo said, and he started squeezing earlobes.
"WELL?" Chiun asked.
Remo sat at the table. "They were lying. They did have fresh fish. It's in the steamer."
"I knew it."
"The whole bit about trying to poison our pasta is a mystery to them. They don't even remember doing it, or why or who told them to," Remo added.
"They were lying," Chiun said.
"I would have known if they were lying," Remo insisted.
A very shaky Martin emerged from the kitchen and came to the table. "I came to take away the unsatisfactory entrees." He was whimpering, yet he still managed to retain some of his condescending-waiter attitude.
"The unsatisfactory entrees are no longer here, obviously," Chiun pointed out.
Martin's eyeballs rolled in his head until they focused on two extremely valuable oil paintings adorning a place of honor on a wall behind a velvet rope. They were nineteenth-century Italian portraits, and their combined value was more than that of the restaurant itself. Their value had been much reduced, however, when the Italian duke and duchess were hit in the face with pasta Puttanesca.
Chiun took Martin's wrist and applied pressure. "Did you lie to my son?"
Martin's mouth opened and closed. He had been in pain when Remo interrogated him. Now he was in pain. "No!" he gasped like a suffocating carp.
Chiun frowned at him, then let go of the wrist. "You have cut your scalp open, careless oaf," Chiun told the man. "If you bleed on my fish, I'll throttle you with it."
Martin gulped. "Very good, sir."
Remo wasn't paying attention. "I'm sick of this tiptoeing around," he announced. "I think we should go see the president after dinner."
"Emperor Smith will be displeased."
"Smitty can stuff it."
"Good!"
"Good?" Remo asked. "Why good?"
"I have thought all along we should go interrogate the whelp, despite Emperor Smith's dictates."
"So why didn't you say so?" Remo asked.
"I was waiting for you to make the decision. Now, if it becomes a political brew-a-ha-ha it will be your responsibility, not mine."
"If he's the guilty guy it won't matter," Remo said.
Chapter 37
Dawn Summens was experiencing hell.
Greg Grom wasted no time in creating a repeat performance of the role-playing she had witnessed the night before. Only this time, instead of Amelia standing in as Dawn Summens, he had the real Dawn Summens to play with.