The woman was shaking. "I couldn't help it. I wanted to see if it worked."
"Try it."
She picked up her receiver and said, "Hello?" A notch appeared between her brows. After listening a moment, she handed the receiver to Randal Rumpp, saying, "I . . . think it's for you."
"Who is this?" Rumpp demanded.
"I am Grandfather Frost," said a strange voice.
"Never heard of you." "I am like your Santa Claus. I bring presents to those who are good."
"Yeah? How come I never heard of you?"
"I am secret. You understand?"
"No."
"Let me out and you will understand."
"Are you that crazy guy?"
"No, I am not crazy," the voice insisted. "I am Grandfather Frost. I am able to do amazing things. Remarkable things. Set me free, and you will see with your own eyes."
There was something about the voice-Randal Rumpp realized it was the same voice as before-that intrigued him.
"Amazing things, huh?"
"Yes," said the confident voice. Randal Rumpp was beginning to like this voice. Its smooth tone reminded him of his own.
"Listen, do you know who you are talking to?" he asked.
"No."
"I am Randal Tiberius Rumpp."
"I have heard of you," the voice said instantly. "You are very famous and very, very rich."
Rumpp smiled. "That's me. Impressed?"
"Very. You are exactly the man I have been seeking. You are powerful."
"Right. Good," said Randal Rumpp, growing bored with the conversation. He had the attention span of a flea. And suddenly, he got the idea that the weird voice was about to put the arm on him.
"Listen, pal," he said, his tone becoming brittle, "I have my own problems."
"Which I alone can solve."
"Is that so? Well, right now I'm in my office in the Rumpp Tower and the whole place has gone crazy. The people inside can't get out without falling into the ground. And nobody can touch this place. It's like Spook Central here. I'm inhabiting a haunted skyscraper. How are you going to help me with that?"
"It is not I who can solve your problem," the voice said.
"I thought so."
"You can solve your own problem."
"Yeah? How?"
"Set me free."
"How will that help me?"
"I am cause of problem," the voice said. "I am making your Tower like ghost. You set me free, and your building will return to normal once more."
"Why should I believe you?" asked Randal Rumpp.
"What have you to lose?"
"Okay, I'll bite. How do I set you free?"
"I do not know. I am trapped in telephone. Usually, I come out without any trouble. I think maybe you must pick up correct telephone receiver to release me."
"Do you have any idea how many individual phones there are in the Rumpp Tower, on this floor alone?" Rumpp said hotly.
"I do not care. One of them will release me. You must try, if you desire normalcy again."
Randal Rumpp slapped his hand over the receiver and muttered to his assistant, "This guy doesn't know what he's asking. Wants me to answer every phone in the building."
The secretary simply looked blank. The side of the conversation she was privy to wasn't exactly balanced. And Randal Rumpp was standing there in his monogrammed argyle socks and boxer shorts.
Rumpp pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "Okay. Tell you what. I'll give it a shot, see how far we can take it. No promises."
"Thank you."
"There's one other thing."
"Anything."
"A while ago, you said something about three billion."
"I did."
"I still want it."
"It is yours."
And the weird voice was so smooth and confident that Randal Rumpp, for a wild moment, actually believed it to be sincere.
"I'll be in touch," he said breezily.
"I will be here. In telephone."
Randal Rumpp hung up, and told his secretary, "Hold all my calls. Especially if that loser calls back."
"But . . . what about the promise you made to that man?"
"In my own sweet time. If that chump can un-jinx the Rumpp Tower, I don't want it to happen until after I close my deal with the mayor."
Randal Rumpp closed the door to his office.
His executive assistant stared at the oaken panel for several long moments. Her oval face was stone. Then, without a word, she moved out into the corridor. She began going from office to office, lifting every receiver and whispering "Hello?" into each one.
Chapter 13
Delpha Rohmer was saying, "Shaving your armpit was the absolutely worst thing you could do."
"Really?" shouted Cheeta Ching over the rotor churn. The BCN news helicopter was rising into the Halloween sky. It was very dark now. The hunter's moon hung in the black sky like a sphere of shaven ice.
"Without doubt," said Delpha, arranging her gown. "This hair is called shade. In the old days, those who persecuted my Craft depowered witches simply by shaving their armpits."
"No!"
Delpha nodded. "Yes, Shade has many uses. Tied in a silken bag, it makes an infallible love potion. Thus, if you wish to succeed in love and in life you must let your natural hair grow."
Cheeta Ching was looking at Remo when she asked, "Would that explain why certain people don't succumb to my obvious charms?"
Remo avoided Cheeta's pointed glance. He watched the darkened Rumpp Tower floors drop away, frowning.
"Yes," returned Delpha. "In ancient days females went bare-breasted. It wasn't until men made them cover their natural breasts that the breast became an erotic icon. However, underarm hair has always been one of the most erotic sights a man can see. And one of the most intimidating."
"Is that why they made us shave them?" Cheeta asked.
"Yes. "
"The beasts!" Cheeta huffed.
Seated in the rear, Remo turned to the Master of Sinanju. "Is it just me, or are those two making even less sense than usual?"
"It is you," Chiun sniffed, arranging his kimono skirts absently.
"Did I ask you how the current contract negotiations are going?" Remo asked the Master of Sinanju, knowing the rotor noise would prevent their conversation from being overheard. Even by the cameraman seated beside them.
"You have not."
"So, how are they going?"
"Slowly. Smith is holding my most recent bargaining ploy against me."
"You mean the time when you were going to quit to become Lord Treasurer of California, but your candidate turned out to be a Central American dictator in disguise?"
Chiun made a face. "You are just like Smith. Distorting the truth to further your own designs."
"How else do you explain what happened?"
"I was duped. I would never have allied myself with that villain's court had not Smith exiled us to California in the first place."
"We were not exiled," Remo pointed out. "We were on an assignment. How was Smith to know that the guy we were supposed to protect turned out to be a potential hit?"
"He is emperor," Chiun squeaked. "He is supposed to know these things. And none of this would have happened except for your own negligence."
"Old news," Remo said, changing the subject fast. "When you go round again, put in my request for a new permanent residence. I'm tired of living out a suitcase."
"Do not worry, Remo," Chiun said frostily. "I intend to hold the loss of our precious home against Smith during the final discussions."
Remo folded his bare arms. "Good. I want to settle down again,"
"Too late," Cheeta called back. "I'm already married. And pregnant."
"My hopes are dashed forever," Remo said sourly. "Guess I'll junk my hope chest."
The helicopter reached the serrated roof of the Rumpp Tower. Here, the top-floor apartments had unique, two-sided views of the city. Randal Rumpp had sacrificed floor space for the dual windows. It was considered a bad move, but Rumpp had the last laugh. He simply hyped the view and charged triple rent. Tenants gladly paid extra for an improved view, even with their square footage reduced. Once again, the fantasy had sold.