"Let's talk about the police conspiracy, Inspector. What do you know about it?"
"That he had launched an investigation."
"Did he give you any details?"
"Yes. He had details for everything. It frightened me."
"Why?"
"Because he almost had me believing it."
"Tell me why you almost believed it, Inspector."
"Well, he listed a lot of deaths of underworld figures. And I knew one of them, Big Pearl Wilson. A ni… black pimp. Very cool. Very smart. I mean, there are a lot of intelligent black people."
"Yes, of course, go on."
"Well, Big Pearl took care of people if you know what I mean. Heavy vig. That means…"
"I know the terms of New York corruption," the Attorney General said in a dry Arizona voice. "Go on."
"Well, who would want to kill Big Pearl? He was careful, smart. The cop theory really made sense."
"Excuse me, Inspector, Congressman Duffy told me he shared this information with no one. How did you get it?"
McGurk smiled. "I'm his closest friend. He didn't consider me someone."
The Attorney General nodded. His face was pitted like the drying desert after a hail storm.
"About Big Pearl Wilson. Why do you think he was killed?"
"I don't know. That's why I say the conspiracy theory almost seemed to make sense. Look. I don't know if you're allowed to do things like this but if you want, I'll take a look into Big Pearl myself. To see if Frankie might have had something."
The Attorney General pondered the offer. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe Congressman Duffy was paranoid when he took his own life. Maybe he didn't take his own life. I don't know. But his story had that ring of truth to it. Do you know what I mean?"
McGurk nodded. "I almost believed it too and this was after the doorman, the farmers, the UJA and the Knights of Columbus."
"If Duffy was right, of all the police officers in the United States, you're the only one I can be sure is not involved."
McGurk cocked an eyebrow. "How can you be sure? You just don't know."
"I know. I've seen your records. I had you checked out. McGurk, they had notes in old OSS files that it was risky to send you and Duffy on missions together because you were too protective of him. I know you're a rock-ribbed conservative. Duffy was a liberal. Yet, you two were like this," said the Attorney General, squeezing two fingers together airtight. "Like this. Only a deep friendship can consider deep political convictions irrelevant. I know. And if you were in this conspiracy, if there is a conspiracy, well, I know Frank Duffy would be alive today."
McGurk swallowed. "I wish there were something like a police conspiracy. I. wish there was someone who had killed him. Because then I could skin that scumbag alive. I mean it."
"Calm down, McGurk. I'm not issuing license for murder. But I want you to walk with me a very hard mile."
"Name it."
"Let's assume a conspiracy exists. I want you to check out Big Pearl's death quietly but completely. If there's a conspiracy and you're found out, you'll be killed. Will you do it?"
"For Frank Duffy, sir, I would die."
"You may have to, Inspector." The Attorney General wrote down a telephone number. "Private. Leave no messages with my secretary."
"Right, sir."
"And Inspector. Let's hope that everything Duffy imagined was the result of alcoholic paranoia, because your life isn't worth a coyote's poop if Duffy was right about this."
McGurk's moon face broke into a slashing grin.
"Why, you shit-kicking farmer, everything after World War II was gravy anyhow."
The Attorney General laughed and offered his hand. McGurk took it.
Funny, thought the Attorney General, a man of such honesty and courage has the cold grip of a liar. Well, that disproved another Western saying: that you could tell a man by his handshake.
The President, reviewing the confrontation that evening, was not impressed by the Attorney General's actions.
"Dammit, you're not setting up a special police force in this administration. There are enough cuckoos running around here playing secret agent and I have to clean up after them. That goes for you. That goes for everyone."
"I think, Mr. President, that you're being unreasonable in the face of such a clear and present danger."
"I'm being President of the United States. Our nation is sustained by laws. We will live within them."
"Sir, we're dealing with something the law can't handle."
"Well, it's almost three-hundred years too late for that, isn't it?"
"You mean the Constitution, don't you?"
"I mean America. Good night. If you want to put that New York City policeman on your payroll, all right. But no secret people, secret vendettas, and secret espionage."
"Yes, sir," said the Attorney General. "Although an organization like that might not be a bad idea."
"Good night," said the President. When the Attorney General had left the oval office, the President solemnly made his way through the White House to his bedroom. His wife was napping and he asked her apologetically to leave. She was a good trouper and she understood. A wife like her was a blessing greater than rubies. Old Testament. They must have had her in mind when they wrote the Good Book.
In the top bureau drawer was the red phone. He dialled. The phone rang once.
"Yes, sir," came the voice.
"Doctor Smith, there are some worrisome things happening. I am wondering if you people have not overstepped your bounds."
"Are you referring to the executions in the East?"
"Yes. This sort of thing cannot be tolerated. Operating with discretion, your organization is intolerable enough. Running amok, it must be stopped."
"That's not us, Mr. President. That's someone else and we are on it."
"It wasn't you, then?"
"Of course not. We don't have an army, sir. And that sort of sloppiness would never be tolerated by our person. We are moving against whoever is responsible."
"You are going to use that person, then?"
"If we can."
"What do you mean?"
"I cannot elaborate."
The President paused, looking at the red phone. Finally, he said, "For now, you may continue. But I think you should know I do not rest easier knowing you exist."
"Neither do I, sir. Good night."
In a motel outside Fort Worth, the customer in Room 12 had a message from his aunt. The room clerk trudged wearily to the door and knocked. The door opened and a voice said, "Yes?"
"It's a telegram for you."
"Who's it from?"
"I don't know."
"Read it."
"Well, okay. It's from your Aunt Harriet in Minneapolis."
"Thanks," came the voice and the door shut in the clerk's face. He blinked, startled, then knocked again.
"Hey, do you want this telegram or don't you?"
"No," came the voice.
"What?"
"I don't want it. You ever get a telegram you didn't want?"
"Ah'll be a toad's tail," said the clerk, scratching his head.
"Fine," came the voice from inside.
When the clerk left, Remo packed his last sock. He pushed it roughly into the corner of the suitcase. Chiun watched him.
"I am worried," said Chiun.
"About what?" said Remo brusquely.
"There are enough people who will try to kill you. Why must you make their job easier by carrying the shackles of anger?"
"Because I'm mad is why. That telegram was the signal. And I'm going in and I don't want to go in."
"I give you this advice. Of all the people you will see, none is worth the giving of your life."
"My life, my life. It's my life, dammit, and I have a right to piss it away if I feel like it. It's not your life. It's not Smith's life. It's mine. Even though the bastards took it away from me ten years ago. Mine."