He fell on the floor and clutched himself. He screamed louder. He coughed through the scream and the resulting sound was quite disgusting. As he curled up on the floor like a maggot that has been doused with lighter fluid and set afire, he noticed that his right arm hadn't joined his left in the necessary action of clutching himself at the point of maximum pain. It was hung up on something.
With tearing eyes, Dr. Dooley looked up. His wrist was pinched between the thumb and forefinger of the little Asian gentleman. The man's face was a thundercloud of wrath.
"I will ask again," the Asian said evenly. "Direct us to the room of Horton the Turd."
"Do us both a favor," the white man interposed casually. "He's in a rush and I'm in a hurry. Don't piss either of us off."
The thought, clear as a surgical needle going through Dr. Dooley's brain, penetrated with amazing clarity. If the Asian was inflicting this much agony before he was pissed, how much pain would he inflict when he crossed that terrible threshold?
Dr. Dooley decided not to find out. Better to risk a malpractice suit from the patient. Besides, he was not Horton Droney's personal physician. He was just the doctor on duty when the television host was rushed into the Emergency Room. Suddenly Dr. Dooley felt absolutely no obligation to his patient.
"Room thirty-seven," he groaned. His hand suddenly fell to the floor, landing beside his nose, as flaccid and lifeless as a dead tarantula.
"Thank you," a voice told him as he picked his hand off the floor. It was as if it was separate from his body. He couldn't even feel the arm that still linked it to his shoulder. "Don't just stand there, nurse. Get a doctor!"
"Which ... which one?"
"A good one, dammit."
"I hope he's conscious," Remo told Chiun as they approached the hospital room. "At the studio, they said he was stuck pretty deep."
"If he is not conscious, I will awaken him," Chiun promised.
"And if he's dead?"
"Then we will search out the poor unfortunate girl without his aid."
"I wouldn't call her unfortunate. She handled herself pretty well, especially in front of that bully."
"She was terrified. And that lummox refused to listen to her."
"What could he do? She didn't speak English."
"Yes, all the good languages are forgotten."
"Don't tell me, Chiun. You understood her gibberish?"
"I will not."
"Good."
"But I did."
"Sure," Remo said as he looked around.
The Master of Sinanju paused before the door marked thirty-seven and pushed it open. Remo followed him in. It was a private room. Horton Droney III lay on an immaculate bed. Intravenous tubes led from his arm. A blood bag hung over his head. His eyes were half-closed dreamily.
"Excuse me," said the attending nurse, rising from a chair.
"You are excused," snapped Chiun.
"But-
"He said you've been excused," Remo said gently, leading the nurse out the door. When she protested, he added, "Here, take my wallet as security. It contains my life savings and my ID. If we do anything bad, you'll know who to report to the police."
Then he closed the door after her. He held the doorknob in place while she vainly tried to turn it from the other side. Her poundings woke Horton Droney III.
"Who are you jerks?" he roared when he saw Chiun.
"I am Chiun and I would keep a civil tongue in my mouth."
"Hey, I don't take crap from Japanese. I haven't forgotten Pearl Harbor. So get lost, you Toyota-loving riceball."
"Now you did it," Remo said.
"Remo," Chiun said evenly, "would you excuse us?"
"Little Father, why don't you let me handle this?" Remo began, still holding the doorknob against the nurse's frantic struggling.
"Did he call you a Japanese?" Chiun demanded.
"No, but I don't think he knows any better."
"I know that if we don't stand up for our rights," Horton Droney screamed, spittle flying from his yawning mouth, "the Japanese are going to buy America out from under us."
"Remo," Chiun repeated.
"Okay, Little Father, I hear Security coming up the hall. Just, please, don't kill him. He's a television personality, for Christ's sake."
"Kill?" said Horton Droney III, looking at Chiun's wrinkled face. And then he threw his head back in laughter. He howled the word "Kill" in between spasms of hilarity.
The laughter stopped almost as soon as Remo closed the door behind him. The nurse landed on her white rump when the door she was straining against suddenly came toward her.
Two security guards came running up the hall. "What is it? What's the trouble?" they demanded.
"She is," Remo said, pointing at the hapless nurse.
"I am not!" the nurse said indignantly.
"Who are you, buddy?"
"Horton Droney IV." Remo bared his teeth to the gum line, hoping to create the effect of a family resemblance. The guards hesitated.
"The big guy's son?" one of them asked uncertainly.
"That's right. And it's a good thing I came along when I did. I found this nurse going through my father's stuff. And when I asked her what she was doing, she gave me a lot of double-talk and lifted my wallet."
"I did not!" the nurse cried.
"That's my wallet in her hand right there. Check it out."
"He gave it to me," the nurse protested.
"Hah!" retorted Remo. "A likely story." He hoped he sounded as self-important as Horton Droney IV would sound-assuming that there was a Horton Droney IV.
One of the security guards retrieved the wallet and was about to go through it when the Master of Sinanju glided out of Horton Droney's room.
"All set, Little Father?" Remo asked.
"I have what I want," Chiun replied.
"Good," said Remo, snatching his wallet from the guard's hand.
"Hey," the guard said. And suddenly he found himself on the other side of a closed door. He experienced a moment of profound disorientation. He remembered the hand snatching the wallet from him and then the guy's other hand hooking his belt buckle. Then he was in here. He didn't remember any intervening action. When he noticed the man with the caved-in mouth on the bed, he realized he was in Horton Droney III's room. Then he wasn't alone anymore. His fellow guard sprawled on the floor beside him. The nurse came running in on her own. She closed the door and leaned up again it, her skinny chest heaving spasmodically.
"What are you afraid of?" the guard asked her.
"Everything," she sobbed.
Out on the street, Remo trailed after the Master of Sinanju. Chiun was storming along First Avenue, oblivious of the crowds surging around him.
"Did you get what you wanted?" Remo asked.
"That, and more."
"Tell me about the 'that.' "
"The one known as Shane Billiken lives in a place called Malibu. We are going there."
"I'd better hail a cab," said Remo. He put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. A cab pulled up and Remo opened the door for Chiun.
The Master of Sinanju settled into the rear seat and the cab was in motion before Remo had the door closed after him.
"Kennedy international," he told the driver. And turning to Chiun, he asked, "What was the more?"
"This," said Chiun, pulling a huge set of false teeth from one voluminous sleeve. Chiun held it in a hospital towel to keep his hands clean.
"I guess his secret is out. What are you going to do with them?"
"I do not know," Chiun said casually, and balling the dentures inside the towel, he flipped them out the window. They hit the street, where a bus ran over them. The crack brought a satisfied smile to Chiun's face.
"That's a relief," Remo said. "I thought you were going to kill him."
"Another time, perhaps." said Chiun.
As they approached the airport, Remo suddenly remembered something.