Pearl Clancy crouched in her wheelchair like a mummy refusing to die. Her head jerked around, and her eyes widened. She began bouncing in place.
"This poor woman has been through much," Chiun said.
"She could've done a better job of raising her kids," Remo said, kneeling down to reconnect the battery cables.
The wheelchair motor whined back into life and Pearl Clancy grabbed for the control stick. Since it wasn't there anymore, she made a fist and beat the armrest futilely.
Chiun regarded her with compassion.
"She is a pitiful sight. There is almost nothing left of her but her mind."
"If that," Remo grunted, restoring the silver pen to the universal socket on the wheelchair armrest. "Let's go, Little Father."
And as they started from the room, Pearl Clancy grasped the pen and pushed it forward. The wheelchair whined after them, and Pearl Clancy tried to run them down.
They walked faster.
Then Pearl Clancy bugged out her eyes, bringing her outstretched forefingers to her slack mouth. They began wriggling up and down, in and out.
"She is still following us," Chiun told Remo.
"Big deal."
And from the gray disorder of Pearl Clancy's hair emerged red matchstick heads that split to reveal curving black fangs.
Walking along, Remo felt something in his hair, and brushed it off. He stomped the scuttling red thing into the floor.
"Musta missed one," he muttered.
"You smell of that harlot again," Chiun sniffed.
Then one landed on the bald top of his head.
The Master of Sinanju hissed, "What is this?" and shook his head once sharply.
A jumping spider landed in a corner and skittered out again. It lifted itself up on its rear set of legs and wriggled its fangs in their direction.
And behind them, Pearl Clancy wriggled her forefingers back.
As they watched, the jumping spider crouched and launched itself at her head. It crawled into her hair as two more heads poked out, separating.
"Chiun, do you see what I see?" Remo said.
"She is a Spider Diva too!" Chiun cried.
And Pearl Clancy leered at them, drool leaking from her slack mouth.
Two spiders jumped, one for Remo and one for Chiun.
They fended them off with quick blows, bringing their heels down on the dying things as soon as they hit the floor.
That seemed to be the end of the spiders.
"Remo, do not stand there. Dispatch that evil creature!"
"Hey, I don't snuff old ladies."
"I will not lower myself to kill an old woman."
"Well, I took care of Nalini."
"And you may take care of this one too," said Chiun.
"No way, Chiun. I'm not Dr. Doom."
Remo blinked. The Master of Sinanju looked up into his pupil's face.
"Maybe we'd better call Smith on this one," Remo muttered, keeping his distance from the agitated woman bouncing helplessly in her chair.
When Remo finished explaining himself, Harold Smith said, "Yes, I know."
"What do you mean, you know?" Remo said hotly.
"I deduced the truth-too late to communicate it to you. But it appears that you have neutralized the situation."
"Except for this old dingbat. I won't do her and neither will Chiun. Sorry."
"Have you secured the house?" Smith asked after a moment.
"There's a guard around somewhere, but that's all."
"Lock him up somewhere and keep Thrush Limburger out of sight," said Smith.
"And?"
"Wait."
"For who?"
Dr. Mordaunt Gregorian answered his beeper at a payphone outside San Francisco. Listening as his secretary informed him of the urgent need for his services in Massachusetts, his cracked dry lips quirked into a thin smile.
"Tell them I am on my way," he said, and drove his hearse to the airport. There was no business in California for him anyway.
He arrived at the walled compound as dawn was breaking. The electric gates opened automatically and he drove up the driveway past a guard in a box who seemed to be asleep, an empty liquor bottle in one hand.
The door opened before he could touch the pushbell.
"What kept you?" a man's voice said impatiently.
"Why is it so dark in here?" Dr. Gregorian wondered, looking around. There was a tall man standing in the gloomy vestibule. His face was indistinct. It was very dirty, as if smeared with coal dust.
"Power outage. It's straight ahead. Past the two doors. Here's a pillow."
"Pillow?"
"She specifically asked to be suffocated with her favorite pillow."
"But I have brought my medicide machine. Most people prefer to be eased across the River Styx chemically, I have found."
"Not this time. If you can't grant a dying woman's final wish, we'll get someone who can."
"That would be illegal. I offer physician-assisted suicide, not murder."
"I guess I had you wrong," the man said with a hint of flat amusement in his voice.
"I could do both, I suppose . . . ."
"Now you're talking."
"I will need to be alone with her," Dr. Gregorian said. "There must be no witnesses."
"Be gentle with her. She's as old as the hills."
"This should have been done long ago, you know. To allow a person to reach this state of debilitation, it's just criminal."
"Couldn't agree with you more," said the faceless man.
Dr. Gregorian stepped through the door and closed it behind him.
Thirty minutes later, he emerged, flushed of face, his eyes feverishly bright, his medicide machine tucked under one skinny arm.
"How'd it go?" asked the male voice.
"She struggled more than I expected."
"You look kinda funny. Hope you didn't catch anything."
"No, no," Dr. Gregorian said absently. "I always use a condom."
"What?"
"I mean, I always take precautions against infection."
"You dried-up old ghoul! No wonder you snuff only women!"
"You misunderstood me, I assure you." Dr. Gregorian suddenly passed a hand over his face. "I don't feel very well."
"Uh-oh."
"What is it?"
"The old bat had contracted HELP. Hope you didn't catch it."
Dr. Gregorian blinked. "HELP? But I have eaten no bugs."
"Not even one? Back at Nirvana West?"
"How did you know I have been to Nirvana West?"
"The same way I know you've killed your last little old lady. I was there and I saw a lot of HELP victims. You look just like one."
Dr. Gregorian took an involuntary step backward. "You-you mean I'm dying?"
"Your eyeballs are still white. That means you've got forty-eight hours."
"But I have so much work to do. So much suffering to end. My life's work will die with me." Dr. Gregorian looked back at the closed doors. "Should I-should I go back for seconds?"
"Not a good idea since the police are going to be here any minute now."
"What good will they do?"
"For you, not much. But when they find out you snuffed Senator Clancy's mother without family permission, they'll probably lock you up for Murder One."
"But I have your permission. You told me over the phone it was your mother."
"Not me. You must have talked to somebody else."
"I was asked to come here."
"You got that in writing?"
Dr. Gregorian's black eyes went dull. "No."
"Malpractice lawyers love guys like you."
Dr. Gregorian looked at his medicide machine.
"I think I need some of my own medicine. Could you help me?"
"Sorry, I have better things to do."
Woodenly, Dr. Mordaunt Gregorian sat himself down on the hard pine floor and hooked himself up. He was about to trip the switch that would pour the painless barbiturates into his own bloodstream when a tiny old Asian stepped from the shadows and said, "Next time, demand a fair price for correct services."