"You see, Porter invested his life's fortune to find out just what was going on. Like some other men you've known, he thought America was worth not only his fortune but his life."
The two white men crossed the invisible line into Washington's black ghetto, a line not marked by deteriorating houses, but by a growing absence of Caucasians, a border that contracted with the sun and expanded with the dark. A few people looked from their windows, startled to see two white men strolling through their neighbourhood as if the sun were noon high.
Remo kicked a beer can.
"So that was Porter," Smith said. "And that was MacCleary. You remember MacCleary?"
"Yes, very much."
"He believed America was worth a life. Mine, yours, his own," Smith said.
"Where does it stop?" Remo asked.
"Where did it stop for MacCleary?" Smith asked.
"When you killed him," he said, answering his own question. "And he knew why you had to do it."
Remo placed a hand on Smith's shoulder and Smith looked up, a parched face mirroring his parched life. Remo's first assignment had been to kill MacCleary, the man who had recruited him, because MacCleary had been injured and under drugs he might have talked.
"I never killed MacCleary," Remo said. "I never killed him."
"What?"
"I couldn't. He begged me to and I couldn't do it. So he did it himself."
"Oh, no," Smith said.
"Yeah. And when I read about it I figured okay, one assignment. For MacCleary's stupidity."
"I didn't know," said Smith and his voice wavered. "I didn't know."
"Yeah, well, one assignment became another and then another and what with Chiun's training, it was like I was meant to do this and nothing else. And then it became like punching a time clock. You know what I feel when I kill a man?"
"No," said Smith softly.
"Not a damned thing. Half the time I'm thinking about my technique. And they're human lives, and I just don't care."
"What's bothering you?"
"I'm telling you, dammit."
"No, you're not. Why all of a sudden now?"
"It's not all of a sudden. It's all of an accumulation."
"The new faces bother you, don't they?"
"You better believe it," Remo said.
"We'll bring you back close nest time."
"Unless you tell the surgeon to slip because I've suddenly become highly unreliable."
"Unless I do," said Smith.
From the streetlight above, insects swirled a storm of buzzing life as Remo said, "I could go through an operation like that without anaesthesia."
"I imagine you could."
"I know that Chain is one of your triggers if you push the button against me."
"That's obvious. He's a professional," Smith said.
"Even that's more of a reason than I have," Remo said.
Smith propped his briefcase against a street light and flipped it open. Remo made an imperceptible set, ready to move if necessary. But Smith brought out only a tape recorder.
"I want you to listen to this," he said, and flipped the switch.
The next voice was Clovis Porter.
And on that corner in Washington, D.C., under streetlights swimming with bugs, Remo heard an Iowa farmer say goodbye to his wife for the last time—goodbye to the wife he loved because he loved his country more.
And Remo finally said, "Okay, you sonofabitch. Just one more."
CHAPTER SIX
It was enough to make Philander Jackson give up mugging. It certainly was enough to make Piggy Smith and Dice Martin stop walking again and to make Boom Boom Bosely look for some form of employment which did not require the use of his hands.
Not that Boom Boom had ever held a job, and but for brief stints at the Auto-Quicki-Car-Shine, neither had Philander, Piggy or Dice.
Now they all had a legitimate excuse for welfare. This did not comfort them in the emergency room of the Fairoaks Hospital where Piggy blamed Philander for gross stupidity by calling him mother this and mother that. Dice was not about to blame anyone. He had not quite seen what had happened. And Boom Boom was too preoccupied with groaning to blame anyone. If one could decipher his unintelligible mumblings, he might be led to believe that Boom Boom was blaming his wrists for hurting so much.
This was unfair to Boom Boom's wrists. Any wrists would hurt after the bones had been crushed into blood-soaked pumice.
But how was Philander to know? It had looked too good to be true. Two white men standing alone in the heart of the ghetto just before the bars were closing, and those two honkies were grooving on a tape recording of some cat talking funny, real funny.
And Philander, Piggy, Dice and Boom Boom jiving cool and out of bread, man. Those two Charlies were a gift, man. A stone gift. Especially the skinny old one.
So Philander, Piggy, Boom Boom and Dice, just cool, man, made the scene.
"Evenin", folks," Philander had said.
The skinny old Charlie glanced briefly at the crew, then back to the other dude he was rapping with.
"Ah said evenin' folks," Philander said.
"Evening," said Boom Boom, Dice and Piggy.
"Uh, yes. Good evening," said the skinny honky with a briefcase. He didn't look shook at all.
"You all got a penny," asked Philander.
And then the younger honky said:
"Go suck a watermelon."
"Wha you say?"
"I said, go suck a watermelon. This isn't the welfare office."
"Oh, you come down real badass, man. You know where you is?"
"The monkey house at the zoo?"
"You grin, you in. That gonna mean grape to you, Charlie."
Then the older Charlie spoke. "Look. We don't want any trouble. Just leave us alone and you won't be harmed."
Piggy laughed. Dice grinned. Philander chuckled and Boom Boom brought out the little piece he had been packing. The pistol gleamed in the street light as if the metal were sweating.
"Ah kill a honky as soon as ah look at him," said Boom Boom.
"He a badass. A real badass," said Philander confidentially to the two Charlies.
"Ah kill them mothers fore they was born," said Boom Boom. "Ah waste them good."
"Better pump some grape his way, boys," said Philander. "He a mean mother."
And then, surprisingly, the younger white man spoke to the older as if Philander, Piggy, Dice and Boom Boom with his piece were not there.
"All right, it's settled. The general will be first tonight and then I'll check with you in the morning. I'm bringing Chiun up. I don't feel as sharp as I should."
"All right," said the older Charlie. "But now I imagine you understand why it's so important we are involved in this. Everyone else has been compromised because they're known."
"I've got bad news for you," said the younger honky. Boom Boom looked at Philander and shrugged. Dice and Piggy both pointed index fingers at their heads and circled them indicating the honkies were crazy. Standing in the middle of Washington's Harlem, four bloods with a piece looking to waste them, and these two loose ends were talking compromise this and set-up that as if they were going to make it out in one piece.
"Bad news," said the younger honky. "Somebody knows something. I was jumped in Miami. We're not totally clean anymore; we've been tapped somewhere along the line."
The old geezer put his hand to his mouth. "There's only one other person who…"
"That's right," said the young loony.
"My God," said the old skinny honky. "I hope it doesn't mean what I think it means."
Then Boom Boom mumbled a curse and pushed the revolver in the younger honky's face.
"You guys bugged about something, man," said Boom Boom. "Maybe I ain't coming down too clear, But this is a holdup."
"Okay," said the younger one. "How much you want?" Sweet as you please, he said that.