‘Just,’ said Chiun. ‘Just. Just. Just. You do not see. You do not hear and you do not think. Just. Just. Just.’
‘Just. Just helpless,’ and Remo repeated how he had started his mission to save CURE. He had gotten all that a frightened man could tell him.
Although Chiun was deeply offended, he nodded that this had been correct.
‘And he gave me the name of another man.’
Chiun nodded that this, too, was correct.
‘But that man was dead.’
Chiun nodded again, for there was still the alternative.
‘So I waited for them to come after me.’
Chiun nodded, for that, too, was correct. That was the alternative.
‘And no one has come.’
Chiun thought deeply and raised a long-nailed finger. ‘It is very difficult, my son, when your enemy will not help you. This is rare, I must admit, for most conflicts are won by those who help their foe the least. This I have taught you. Is there another person connected with this that you know?’
Remo shook his head. ‘Only one,’ he said. ‘The mayor. And if I should attack him, I would destroy myself, because it would mean that all his stories about CURE and Folcroft have been true. So I would gain nothing.’
Chiun thought deeply again, and then he smiled.
‘I have the answer. It is as simple as knowing who you are.’
Remo was awed. The Master of Sinanju had seen through a difficult problem again.
‘We have lost,’ Chiun said, ‘and knowing that, knowing that our current emperor has lost his kingdom, we will seek a new emperor, as Masters of Sinanju have done since there was a Sinanju and since there were emperors.’
‘That’s your answer?’
‘Of course,’ said Chiun. ‘You have said it yourself. We are assassins, not just assassins. Any man with a good mind can become a doctor, and being an emperor is an accident of birth, or, in your country, an accident of voters, and being an athlete is just the happenstance of body combined with effort, but to be an assassin, a Master of Sinanju, or a student of Sinanju—ah, that is something. That is not for everyone.’
‘You’re as helpful as a hangover, Chiun.’
‘What is your problem? That you are what you are?’
Remo felt frustration mount to the border of rage.
‘Little Father. If the world were any sort of decent place to live, then I wouldn’t be doing this… this.’
‘So that is it. You wish to change the world?’
‘Yeah.’
Chiun smiled. ‘Better to stop the hurricane with a string. Are you speaking truth to me?’
‘Yes. That’s what this organization that pays our salaries is about.’
‘I did not know that,’ said Chiun in amazement.
‘Changing the world. Then we are truly lucky that we leave this kingdom, for surely its emperor is mad.’
'I'm not leaving. I’m not letting Smith down. You can leave if you wish.’
Chiun waved a finger, signifying that he would not do this. ‘I have spent ten years transforming worthless, meat-eating self-indulgent flab into something almost approaching competence. I am not leaving my investment.’
‘All right, then,’ said Remo. ‘Do you have any usable suggestions?’
'For a man who wishes to change the world, no suggestion is usable. Unless of course you wish to stop the hurricane and transform it into little streams that feed the rice fields.’
‘How?’ Remo said.
‘If you cannot make your enemies fight your fight, then you must fight their fight, even if they should win. Because it is truly written that an unjust man finds success to be the greatest failure of all.’
‘Thanks,’ said Remo in disgust. He left the apartment and went downstairs, where the aged residents were discussing the hurricane and how hurricanes like this never happened in the Bronx, but Miami Beach was so much nicer, wasn’t it?
Most of the people in the building were retired New Yorkers. Remo sat down in a sofa in the lobby to think. All right. He forced his mind clear. Farger had been a link, but he knew nothing. Moskowitz, the link after Farger, had been broken with an ice pick. Normal tactics called for Remo to go after Cartwright, but with Cartwright continually screaming that the government was out to get him, an attack by Remo would just lend weight to the charge, and CURE would be dead. Remo felt a finger poke his arm. It was a chubby old lady in a print dress with a warm smile. Remo tried to ignore her. The finger poked again.
‘Yes,’ said Remo.
‘You have such a lovely father,’ said the woman. ‘So sweet and gentle and kind. Not like my Morris. My husband Morris.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Remo. How could he make his opponents fight?
‘You don’t look Korean,’ said the woman.
'I'm not,’ said Remo.
‘I don’t mean to be nosey, but how could that sweet loveable human being be your father if you’re not Korean?’
‘What?’ said Remo.
‘You’re not Korean.’
‘No. Of course, I’m not Korean.’
‘You should be nicer to your father. He’s too nice for words:’
‘He’s a real sweetheart,’ said Remo sarcastically.
‘I detect a tone of disapproval.’
‘He’s wonderful. Wonderful,’ said Remo. Could Remo attack other officials in the city government? Ones not involved with the League papers? No. It would still be too close.
‘You should listen to your father more. He knows best.’
‘Sure,’ said Remo. What could make the politicians come after him?
‘Your father’s given you so much. We all cried when we heard what you had done to him.’
Remo suddenly tuned into the woman.
‘I’ve done something to Chiun?’ he asked. ‘You have spoken to Chiun?’
‘Oh, everyone speaks to Chiun. He’s so sweet. And to think his son won’t carry on the tradition.’
‘Did he tell you what the tradition was?’
‘Religious something or other we didn’t understand. You help support starving babies or something. Overseas relief. Right? But you don’t want to do that for a living, right? You should listen to your father. He’s such a nice man.’
‘Please,’ Remo said. ‘I’m trying to think.’
‘You go ahead and think and don’t let me bother you. I know you’re not an ingrate like everyone in the building says.’
‘Thank you for your confidence,’ Remo said. ‘Please leave me alone.’
‘That’s no way to talk to the only person in this building who doesn’t think you’re an ingrate.’
Remo looked at his hands. They were useless.
‘You should treasure your father. You should listen to him.’
All right, lady. All right. I’ll listen to Chiun. What did he say? If you can’t make your opponents fight your fight, then fight their fight. What in the hell could that mean? Wait! Just suppose. Suppose Remo had a candidate for mayor, and he could elect him. They’d either have to come after Remo, or else lose the power they were fighting to keep. Of course, because if Cartwright lost, he’d wind up in jail. Once you’re in, you can always nail those who are recently out.
Okay. One for Chiun. But how? Could Remo lean on every voter? Absurd. What about a candidate? Anybody. But money? What about money? Remo no longer had access to CURE finances. All he had were his hands. His worthless hands.
For the first time in a decade, he had money troubles, a lot of them.
‘… leaving that poor sweet old man alone upstairs what with all the robberies that have been taking place.’
Remo tuned back in on the conversation. Beautiful.