"We've been trying to find out who's behind it, but all we've been able to find is who the street action is being handled by."
"Don't tell me, let me guess," Remo said. "Kids."
"Yeah, kids," Danny said. "If you know all this, why come to me?"
"Up till now I was just guessing."
"Well, whoever's running these kids is really cutting into our action, and we're looking for a way to fix that. If you can help us out, it would be worth a lot of money to you."
"Sorry, but I've got my own business to worry about."
"Which is?"
"Can't go into that right now, Danny."
"Well, if you can see your way clear to nudging some of these kids off the street while you're taking care of your own business, you could still find a nice chunk of change coming your way."
"I'll keep it in mind."
As Remo started for the door, Danny said, "That's it? That's all you wanted?"
"That's it."
"You mean I gave up an incredible piece of ass for this?" he asked, spreading his arms out helplessly.
"Sorry."
"No big deal," the pusher said. "She's gone, but she'll be back. She needs her candy, and I's de candy man, bro." He showed two rows of gleaming white teeth.
"Maybe she's lost her sweet tooth," Remo said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Remo left Danny the Man's building. There was no sign of the girl. She had probably gone off somewhere to enjoy her new high.
Anxious to find out if Smith had come up with anything, Remo found a pay phone. It was an old-fashioned booth, with a door and a light that didn't work when he closed it behind him. To his surprise, the phone did work.
He dialed the necessary digits and got Smith on the line.
He didn't notice the group of black youths that was following him.
At the same time a similar group of youths— these white— were moving down the hall toward Remo and Chiun's hotel room. White youths were as unnoticeable in the hotel as blacks were in the ghetto.
There were six of them. Many more, their leader thought, than would be needed to take care of one old chink.
They clustered around the door and, using the mass of their weight, broke it open and burst into the room.
They were not quite prepared for what met them.
"I've got a common denominator, but I'm not sure I understand it yet," Smith told Remo.
"Tell me about it," Remo said. "We'll figure it out together."
"Well, the figures on drug arrests are down in all three cities," Smith said. "For that to be the case in three major cities in the United States— especially those the size of New York and Los Angeles— is quite improbable. But nevertheless true, according to my computations."
"It's true."
"What do you know?" Smith asked. "Specifically."
"Kids, specifically. This whole thing seems to be about kids."
"Well? Who killed Billy Martin?"
"I still don't know that, but I think I know why he was killed."
"All right, that's a start. Tell me why."
"According to the detective who made the arrest, the Martin kid was promising to spill some pretty big beans in exchange for a deal, but he got killed before he could tell them what it was."
"And you know what it was?"
"I think so. I think what he was going to tell them about was a whole new way of dealing drugs."
"Explain."
"They're using kids— minors— and when these kids get arrested, they go up on juvenile charges, which wouldn't show up in the drug statistics."
"And that's why the figures seem to have gone down."
"Right."
"Then the figures really haven't gone down at all. They just seem to have."
"Right again."
"Well, what good does that do?" Smith asked, puzzled.
"Smitty," Remo said, as if he were talking to a child, "it makes it look like the police are doing a fabulous job. The figures look like they've gone down, and you know police work is all stats. If the stats look good, so do the cops."
"Wait, let me confirm this with the computers while I have you on the line."
"Hey, it's your money," Remo said.
While Smitty played with his machines, Remo became aware of movement outside the phone booth. He was annoyed with himself that he hadn't noticed it earlier. On the sly he checked out the situation; anyone looking into the booth would think he was totally involved with his telephone call.
"This confirms it," Smith said, coming back on the line.
"What does?"
"The computer shows that all of the other juveniles who were killed in those three cities had come into a lot of money recently, and they all had police records."
"Involving drugs?"
"As you said, it wouldn't show up, but the mere presence of the record and the money is enough to indicate that your supposition is correct."
"Pretty smart for an assassin, huh?"
"I beg your pardon?" Smith asked.
Remo sighed. Smitty had the sense of humor of a bowling ball. "Forget it. I'm going to break this thing, if only to get Chiun off his somebody-is-killing-the-children-of-the-world kick."
"He takes that very seriously."
"Chiun takes everything very seriously. Have you got anything yet on that guy I asked you to check out?"
"Not yet."
"Well, I've got something else you can put your machines to work on."
"What?"
"I want you to run a background check on a minister who calls himself Lorenzo Moorcock. He runs something calld the Church of Modern-day Beliefs, based here in Detroit."
"What's he got to do with this?"
"I'm not sure. He's flitting around the edge of the whole thing, and I'd like to know more about him."
"I'll take care of it."
"Good. I'll get back to you."
Remo hung up and knew that the phone booth was surrounded by a half-dozen surly-looking kids with blades. But what really bothered him was that he knew he was going to have to go through them without killing one, because he'd never hear the end of it from Chiun.
CHAPTER NINE
When Remo got back to his hotel room, the door was open and the place was virtually littered with broken and battered bodies. Chiun was seated peacefully in the midst of the carnage.
"Are they all dead?" Remo demanded accusingly, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Of course. Some of us do not have faulty technique."
"Oh, great," Remo said. He walked around the room checking bodies, hoping to find at least one live one they could question. While doing so, he noticed something that surprised him.
"Chiun, these are all kids," he said. "They're all young, and you killed them."
Chiun made a sound of disgust and said, "You look, but you do not see."
Remo checked the faces again and saw what Chiun meant. Although all of the dead men were young, there wasn't one of them who wasn't of legal age. As far as Chiun was concerned, they were no longer children.
"I guess that's what happens to the kids when they get too old to be pushers," Remo said. "The organization makes them into killers."
"Trash."
"Maybe, but if we'd gotten even one of them alive, we might have found out something."
"Pah," Chiun said. "You left me alone here all day so that my serenity was shattered by these amateurish oafs, and now you bother me with trivialities. You know nothing about suffering."
"I do too. As a matter of fact, I ran into a gang of goons myself."
"You were attacked?"
"Sort of," Remo said, feeling that he had put his foot in his mouth.
"And you questioned them?"
"Well, um, no."
"Yet you didn't kill them?"
"They kind of got away from me." Chiun made a face. "Well, what could I do?" Remo went on. "They were kids, real kids. And I knew I'd never hear the end of it from you if I killed even one."
"So what did you do?"
"I scared them away."
"Oh? That's interesting. How?"