Both Harold W. Smith and the Master of Sinanju glowered at Remo as he broke into gales of laughter.
Clearing his throat, Harold Smith returned to his computer. He had to finish maintaining the LANSCII hard disk before it was delivered to Saugus.
Chapter 25
It was supposed to be a simple errand, thought Nicolo "Nicky Kix" Stivaletta. Meet the Jap. Hand the Jap the payoff. Take the hard-on disk. Then whack out the Jap where he stood.
"Simple. In and out. Bing bang boom. And home in time for Hunter," as he told Vinnie (The Maggot) Maggiotto, who had earned his nickname because he'd once been arrested for the heinous crime of dumpster diving. The Maggot's hairless bullet of a head contributed to its longevity.
"What if the Jap ain't alone?" the Maggot wondered.
"Then you got somebody to clip too," said Nicky Kix, who had come by his street name because of his habit of kicking in the ribs and skulls of people after he had brought them down with a sawed-off shotgun.
"Okay, I got somebody to clip too," said the Maggot, who had often boasted to his fellow Deer Island inmates that he had clipped as many guys as he had fingers. In fact, the Maggot had never clipped anything. Including his nails. The Maggot was not renowned for his grooming skills.
The headlights of their Dodge raced ahead of them as they came off the Saugus exit of Route One, north of Boston. They threw the chain-link fence of the Bartilucci Construction Company into sharp relief as the car slid through the open gate.
"Okay," said Nicky Kix. "It's show time."
They got out.
"See anything?" Nicky asked uneasily.
"Nothing. Maybe he ain't showed yet. Maybe he ain't gonna show," the Maggot added, silently hoping he would not have to clip anyone.
Then a low, stern voice seemed to surround them.
" I am here, messengers of the dreaded boss."
"Where? Where is he?"
A figure detached itself from the shadow of the long storage building.
He stepped into the headlight beams, clad in a kimono of dull black silk, his eyes narrowing to slits, his hands unseen in the tunnels of his joined sleeves.
"Put your hands where I can see them," warned Nicky Kix, amazed that the old Jap wasn't blinded by the lights.
"Show me your ransom first," returned the old Jap.
"Okay," said Nicky. "Have it your way." He pulled a thick manila envelope from inside his jacket, fat with greenbacks.
He held them up to the lights so the edges of two twenties were visible. "All seventy-five grand," he added, keeping a straight face. There was actually less than fifty dollars in the envelope sandwiching a dollar-size sheaf of cut newsprint.
"Very well," said the Jap, bringing his hands into view.
One hand-the left-was clutching a black plastic box.
"That's it," breathed the Maggot.
" I know that's it," hissed Nicky. "Now shaddup and let me do all the talkin'. Okay," he said, lifting his voice. "Let's swap. "
The Jap advanced. As he loomed larger and larger in the light, seeming to make no sound as he moved toward them, Nicky Kix lifted the envelope with one hand and reached out with the other to accept the all-important disk.
"When I've got the disk," he hissed to the Maggot, "you shoot him. In the stomach, not the head."
"I thought the head was better," the Maggot breathed back, beads of dirty sweat popping up on his shiny forehead.
Nicky Kix was speaking through clenched teeth so it would look as if he were smiling.
"It is," he said. "If you wanna clip a guy right off. I just want him down so I can kick the shit out of him while he's squirming and bleeding."
"Okay," said the Maggot, swallowing hard.
The old Jap was now less that five feet away. Then four. Three.
He stopped with less than two feet separating him from the outstretched money envelope. The hard disk came up into the moonlight. Nicky Kix laid blunt fingers on it as longnailed fingers simultaneously snatched away the envelope.
To cover for what was about to happen, Nicky Kix said, "You don't need to count it. It's all there."
"You are Romans," said the old Jap. "I need to count it."
And to Nicky Kix's astonishment, the old Jap blatantly ignored underworld etiquette and riffled through the money.
"Now!" he hissed to the Maggot. "He's gonna catch on. Now!"
"But," said the Maggot, his eyes fear-sick, "I forgot to bring a gun."
That was all Nicky Kix needed to hear. He went for his own weapon.
It was a silenced .22 Beretta. He brought it out of a worn shoulder holster. He was going to put one in the old Jap's stomach and then kick him around the yard as Don Carmine had sanctioned.
Nicky Kix made the gun level with his belt, putting the barrel in line with the old Jap's stomach. As he began to caress the trigger, the old Jap's head came up angrily, his dark eyes flashing. He had discovered the newsprint. Too late now, you old riceball, Nicky thought savagely.
Nicky Kix pulled the trigger.
The resulting scream of terror was bloodcurdling.
A wolfish grin started to warp Nicky Kix's face. Until he realized that the scream had come not from in front of him, but to his immediate right. He looked right.
Vinnie (The Maggot) Maggiotto was doubled over on his feet, clutching his paunchy stomach. He was squirming and stamping his feet and making incomplete footprints in the blood that was dribbling down his pant legs to the ground. Then he fell over and began to kick and writhe like his hairless namesake.
Nicky Kix looked down. He saw that his .22 was pointed in a different direction than his brain had thought it was. A long-nailed hand had redirected it with such suddenness that Nicky never felt his own hand move.
Nicky Kix took a quick step backward, the .22 sliding from the light redirecting touch of the old Jap. He brought the muzzle back in line. And fired.
The old Jap twisted on one foot, the other suddenly stamping down in a different place.
Nicky knew he had missed only because his wayward bullet had struck a silvery spark at a fencepost behind the wily old Jap. He tried again.
The old Jap was quicker. He spun, feinted, and ducked.
Nicky thought he had followed every wily move. He was sure he had a solid bead when he drew back on the trigger. He felt the recoil, heard the dry pop of the cartridge separating, and was rewarded with the sound and spark of a slug ricocheting off the idle nibbler machine.
"You have what you want, cheater," intoned the old man. "Go now and I will let you live."
"Screw you," said Nicky, going for a lucky third shot.
He never got a chance to fire again.
From behind the nibbler a tall lean shape plunged.
Nicky Kix didn't stick around to figure out who this new guy was. He might be packing. And Nicky remembered that his job was first and foremost to get the hard-on disk to Don Carmine.
He jumped for the open door of his idling Dodge. Without closing it, he sent the car screeching into reverse, out the gate, and around and into traffic.
He floored the gas pedal, remembering to close the driver's side door only after he was on Route One.
Back at the Bartilucci Construction Company, Remo Williams watched the Dodge back out of the yard as if chased by a junkyard dog.
"Are you okay, Little Father?" he asked anxiously.
"Why do you ask?" said Chiun, stepping up to the squirming figure of the Maggot.
"I heard shots."
"They became excited," said Chiun, resting a sandal on the twisting head of the Maggot. "And are you not forgetting your duty? You must follow that one."
"I will, I will," Remo said impatiently. "I just wanted to be sure you were all right."
"Of course I am all right," said Chiun harshly, bringing down his foot. The Maggot made a cracking sound with his head and a kind of lamb's bleat with his last breath. A yellowish-red squirt of combined blood and brains jumped from each ear. "I am the Reigning Master of Sinanju. Not some doddering ancient."