He had no time to think about it. Even before Hallahan's body hit the paved yard below, Chiun was helping Remo to the next roof.
Coming across the buildings, from two streets away, Remo heard the sound of fire sirens.
The sounds had died when, a few minutes later, they sat in a taxicab heading for the outskirts of the city. Remo slumped against the hard seat of the cab and tried to close his eyes. Chiun kept looking through the back window, darting his glance back and forth, as if expecting to see a pack of wild animals in full-throated chase of Cab Number 2763-B, fifty cents for the first half mile, fifteen cents each additional fifth. Unless you take the group rate.
Later, in a motel room, Chiun put Remo gently on the bed and said, "The danger has passed."
"They didn't seem like much, Chiun. You handled them kind of easy," Remo said.
Chiun shook his head sadly. "They are tigers," he said, "but not yet tigers. They are cubs but when they are grown, we may all have much to fear. But it will not matter because we will not be here."
Remo turned his head and felt the pain of the movement in his injured throat.
"Oh? Where will we be?"
"We will not be here," Chiun repeated as if that were explanation enough.
"You said that."
"It is time to move on. We have done all we can for this Constitution of yours and now must be on about our business."
"Chiun, this is our business. If these people... these things are going to be as bad as you say when they grow up, now is the time to stop them. Otherwise, we may not be safe anywhere."
Chiun's bland expression convinced Remo there was no flaw in the logic, but Chiun said stubbornly, "We are leaving."
"Wait a minute," said Remo. "It has something to do with the legend, doesn't it?"
"You should rest now."
"Not until I hear the legend," said Remo.
"Why is it, when I want you to heed the ancient wisdom of Sinanju, to read the records and learn the history, you ignore me. But now, when it is nothing, you bother me with foolish questions about a legend?"
"Nothing?" Remo said. "The legend?"
"I suspect I will never rest until I indulge your one-thought mind."
"You said it, Little Father. The legend."
"As you wish. But you know legends are like old maps. They are not always to be trusted. The world changes."
"But Sinanju goes on forever," Remo said. "The legend."
Chiun sighed. "It is really one of our least important legends, concerning as it does people of no worth."
"Then it's about me." Remo said.
Chiun nodded. "Sometimes you learn very quickly. When you do, it always surprises me."
"Get on with it, Chiun."
"All right." He began to mumble speedily, in Korean.
"In English," said Remo.
"The legends lose their flavor in English."
"And I lose their meaning in Korean. In English, please."
"Only because you say please. As you know, you are Shiva, the Destroyer."
"I don't know if I believe that," Remo said.
"See. I told you this legend is foolish and not worth the telling."
"Try me anyway."
"Then be quiet and do not interrupt. Whose legend is this anyway? You are Shiva, the Destroyer, avatar of the god of destruction."
"Right," said Remo. "None other but Shiva, that's me."
Chiun fixed him with a glance that would have curled plate glass. Remo closed his eyes.
"You have not always been Shiva. The story is told of the Master of Sinanju, a wise, good, and gentle man..."
"You, right?"
"A gentle and good man everybody takes advantage of finds among the white barbarians a man who was once dead. This creature is the dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju," Chiun said.
"When did I get to be a god? That's the part I like."
"Only after the wasting of much wisdom on you by the Master of Sinanju did you become Shiva. It is just a legend, after all."
Remo, who had "died" in a phony electric chair after being framed for a murder he did not commit, was resurrected to work for CURE as a man who did not exist. He nodded.
"The legend says you have been through death before and now can be sent to death again only by..." He stopped.
"Only by who, Chiun?" asked Remo.
"The legend is vague." Chiun shrugged. "Only by your kind or my kind."
Ignoring the pain in his stomach, Remo rolled on his side to look at Chiun.
"Now what the hell does that mean? Your kind and my kind? That's white men and yellow men. That means two-thirds of the world can kill me."
"Not exactly," Chiun said. "The legend is more detailed than that."
"Then be detailed. What's your kind and my kind?"
"My kind are from the village of Sinanju. Even the lowliest from my humble village, if given the opportunity, can slay you. Which is as it should be considering what you have allowed yourself to become."
"Can the editorial comment. And what's my kind? Ex-cops framed for murder? Government employees? Everybody from Newark, New Jersey? What's my kind?"
"Not those," Chiun said.
"Who then?"
"Not who, what. The legend says that even Shiva must walk with care when he passes the jungle where lurk other night tigers."
"And you think this Doctor Feinberg and her gang of vampires..."
"They are cubs yet, Remo. I do not want you here when they grow up."
"Chiun, that's the worst pack of bullshit I ever heard."
"I am glad you feel that way, Remo. As soon as you are a little better, we will go somewhere to discuss it. Somewhere far away."
Remo suddenly felt tired, too tired to answer. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. The last thought on his mind was not concerning Sheila Feinberg and her pack, but a deep, abiding desire for a cigarette. Without filter. Packed with lung-rotting tars and nicotines.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He was not to sleep for long.
"Remo, how do you make this thing let you talk to Smith?" Remo opened an eye. Chiun was pointing a long, index finger at the telephone. His finger quivered, as if personally enraged at the thought of having to use the instrument. The finger contained all the outrage in the world, as if it were trying to shame an ant which had just climbed into the noodle salad.
"At this hour?" Remo said sleepily. "You going to start negotiating a new contract? Because tigers aren't covered under your old one?"
"We are not amused at your feeble attempts to be funny. How?"
"It's very easy," said Remo thickly, sleep still fuzzing his brain. "What day of the week is this?"
"Tuesday, Wednesday, the way you name them, who knows?" Chiun said.
"Well, you've got to know before you can call Smith. That's the key to the whole dippy system."
"All right. It is Wednesday."
"And does this month have an R in it?" asked Remo.
"May does not have an R in it. So how do I call Smith?"
"Well, as long as this is Wednesday and the month doesn't have an R in it, you just dial the 800 area code then the first seven digits of my old army serial number. If it had an R in it, you'd have to look in the Wall Street Journal for the total number of shares traded on the Big Board and dial the first seven numbers of that."