"No, catfish. A rare South American variety, I might add."
Remo visibly relaxed. "So what do I do?"
"First, you get naked."
"I am not getting naked," Remo said firmly.
"It's the rules. No naked, no membership."
"I am not getting naked," Remo repeated.
"He is only saying that because he is ashamed to reveal that he is hung like a duck," Chiun said archly.
Remo shot the Master of Sinanju an ugly look. "I'll get naked," he relented.
"And I will turn my back," Chiun said, quickly suiting action to words. Unseen, he grinned broadly. American slang had its uses.
Stripping off his T-shirt, Remo stepped out of his shoes.
"What do I do after I'm undressed?" he asked, reaching for his belt.
Barry Kranish smiled benevolently. "Simple. You step into the pool, wade to the other end, and come back. I'll give you a little libation and you're officially a member of Dirt First!!"
"Okay," Remo said, dropping his pants. Leaving his underwear at poolside, he stepped into the water, setting himself for what he expected would be a cold and clammy experience.
To his surprise, the water was tropically warm. He slipped in up to his waist and started for the far end of the pool. The vibrations of his approach sent waves that disturbed the catfish at the other end. They ceased their circular swimming activity, paused, and then, as if homing in on a school of fishy mates, made a concerted rush toward Remo.
"This isn't so bad," Remo said. "Here, fishy, fishy."
The fish came at him like speedy brown needles. They seemed unafraid. Probably trained, he thought. Remo advanced to meet them.
The water rose up to his lower ribs. Then it sloshed around his armpits. It felt good, especially on his cork-dusted arms. Remo lost sight of the catfish. But as they swam by, their tiny bodies disturbed the water slightly, just enough to tickle the cilialike hairs on his legs, his natural warning antennae.
"They tickle," Remo said, smiling tentatively.
His expression froze. "Hey!" he said. Then, "What the dingdong hell are they doing!" in a louder voice.
"Just relax," Barry Kranish called. "They won't hurt you. They're only doing what comes naturally."
Remo didn't hear Barry Kranish's words of reassurance. He executed a sudden back flip. It lifted him straight up into the air. He landed barefoot and dripping on the edge of the pool, where he started slapping at his legs. His fingers came away with bright spots of blood. His blood. He felt one slick slimy shape on his inner thigh and ripped it free. He threw it back into the water.
Fists clenched, he advanced on Barry Kranish.
"What the hell were those things?" Remo thundered.
Backing away from the venomous glare in Remo's dark eyes, Barry Kranish sputtered, "Catfish. Just South American catfish. Genus Vandellia. They're called candiru."
"Never heard of them."
"They're an endangered species. Really. The Jivaro Indians of the Amazon have been trying to exterminate them for years."
"Gee, I wonder why," Remo said, grabbing Kranish by one quaking pinstriped shoulder.
"They wouldn't have hurt you," Kranish protested. "They wouldn't have taken very much blood. You see, only one or two could enter you at one time."
"Enter? Enter where?"
"Yes," Chiun chimed in, turning around. "What do you mean by enter my son?" Then, seeing Remo's glistening backside, Chiun averted his eyes. One long-nailed hand went up to his eyes. He peered through the chinks between his bony fingers.
"Those are candiru," Kranish said nervously. "They're wonderfully specialized creatures. They slip into bodily orifices, where they erect spines to anchor themselves to their host."
"They what!" Remo said, face darkening.
"Then they, uh, drink blood. But only a little," he added hastily. "They're quite small, after all. Just babies. Cute little babies."
"Vampire babies," Chiun chimed in.
"Then what?" Remo prompted.
Barry Kranish swallowed. "Well, if they're not removed, they could suck a man dry in a matter of days, but there's a wonderfully wholesome natural way of purging them from the host. It's the libation I told you about." He grabbed an old milk bottle from a nearby cobwebbed shelf. It was filled with a pulpy liquid that was the exact color of pureed apricots.
"See?" he said, holding it up to Remo's face. "Jagua juice." His hands shook. Yellowish pulp dribbled from the open bottle. "One drink of this and any candiru would have expelled itself in a matter of thirty-six hours. No harm done. A blood test would have taken more serum."
Remo looked into Barry Kranish's fear-haunted eyes.
"I've changed my mind," he said at last.
"About joining?"
"No," Remo said harshly. "About screwing around with you Dirt First dirtbags." Remo pushed Barry Kranish up against the wall.
"Come again?"
"No, you go ahead," Remo said, swiping the bottle from his jittery hands.
"Go?" Kranish's eyes went to the pool. They widened with worry. "You don't mean . . . ?"
"Time to get reinitiated," Remo sang.
Lifting the man bodily, Remo plunged him, pinstriped suit and all, into the pool. The aimlessly swarming candiru took instant notice. From all directions, they arrowed after him.
"No, no, I've already done this!" Kranish moaned, splashing frantically. "Once is enough!"
Struggling to the edge of the pool, Barry Kranish tried to lever himself to safety. Remo's bare feet, feeling more like diver's lead boots than flesh and bone, were there to discourage him. Remo stamped on Kranish's fingers. Kranish retreated, the spiny catfish following him like free-swimming magnets.
"What is this stuff?" Remo asked, hefting the bottle of yellowish juice. "Baby poop?"
"Be . . . be careful!" Kranish cried. "Don't drop it."
"Come to think of it," Remo said, tossing the bottle to his other hand, "this glass is kinda slick." He made a pretense of nearly dropping it to the tiled floor.
"Please," Barry Kranish pleaded, splashing the water all around him. "I'll do anything." He might have been surrounded by ferocious goblin sharks instead of the minnowlike candiru, for all the terror that seized his thin face.
"Talk fast," Remo suggested.
"About what?"
"The neutron bomb. Which one of your lunatics has it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Truly."
"The La Plomo incident," Remo suggested. "Your people were there, mucking up the tragedy worse than it was."
"I know nothing about that. Members are on their own recognizance in matters of ecotage."
"What?"
"Ecotage !" Kranish said, doing a four-limbed splash. "It's our term for ecological sabotage. Also known as monkey-wrenching."
"I thought you guys were trying to save the environment, not sabotage it."
"We are! We are! Really! We just liked the sound of ecotage-it's so dramatic. What do you want from me?"
"A neutron bomb was brought to the gas site to make a statement," Remo explained. "It was stolen. We think your people have it."
"I swear to you. If any of my people had a neutron bomb, they would have brought it to my attention. For legal advice."
"Your people check in from La Plomo yet?"
"Yes. They called. They said something about Palm Springs. I think they're planning a sit-in at the Condome site."
"Did you say condo or condom?" Remo asked.
"Neither. Condome. It's a construction project. I'm surprised you never heard of it. It was on the cover of last month's Mother Jones."
"What are they up to?"
"I don't know and I didn't ask. But they didn't sound happy. If they had a neutron bomb, I would know about it."
Remo turned to Chiun. "What do you think, Little Father?"
"He is telling the truth, Remo," Chiun said through shielded eyes. "Now, put on your clothes. You are embarrassing me, parading around like that."