"Everything all right?" asked Remo when his plate was nearly clean and Stacy had begun to eat with visible reluctance.
"Fine," she said. "I'm just not used to so much health food all at once."
"Americans eat garbage," Chiun declared, his chopsticks moving deftly, cleaning up the last few morsels from his plate. "Red meat and entrails. All things fried in pig's fat. Too much sugar, chocolate, grease-all poison to the body. No surprise that you are fat."
Stacy recoiled, as if Chiun had slapped her face or called her by a filthy name. She wore a low-cut cocktail dress that fit her like a second skin, and Remo noticed with amusement that she sucked in her stomach, perhaps unconsciously, as she replied to Chiun. "You think I'm fat?" She sounded horrified.
"I speak of Americans in general," Chiun said offhandedly. "White women feel they need huge breasts and buttocks to attract a man. Of course, white men encourage same, with their attraction to obesity."
"Obesity?"
Stacy resembled an incipient stroke victim. Remo knew better than to step in now. He ate his rice. "White women are beset by too much leisure time," Chiun said, continuing his lecture to a redfaced audience of one. "Watch too much television. Eat too many bonbons, cupcakes, dildos."
"Dildos?"
"He means Ding Dongs," Remo interjected. Chiun made a dismissive gesture with his chopsticks. "Ding Dongs, dildos, it is all the same."
"That's not exactly-"
"Of course, my son is the perfect example of the crude white male."
"Your son?" Stacy squinted at Remo. "He's really your father?"
"Not biologically," Remo explained.
"I'm surprised he is taken with you," Chiun rambled on. "You're one of the rare white women whose proportions have not been exaggerated through surgery or gluttony. Usually Remo likes his women to be balloon breasted."
"Congratulations, you've just been complimented," Remo said.
"That was a compliment?"
"As good as Chiun gives."
"Of course, the other extreme is just as repulsive," Chiun said. "Those emaciated, bloodless females who feel the way to attract a man is to look like a starving mongrel waif. I cannot understand where this attraction comes from. Starvation is not enticing. In fact, the starvation of the villagers of Sinanju-"
"Little Father?" Remo said.
"So does this character think I'm fat or not?"
There was a dead silence. Remo said, "She's talking about you, Chiun."
"I am not a character. I am Chiun. Young woman, you are reasonably proportioned for your race."
"Thank you," Stacy Armitage said, satisfied. "But your hips are too narrow," Chiun added.
"My hips are just fine!"
"They will constrict your birth canal."
"What?" She almost screeched.
"I assume you plan to coerce Remo into giving you his seed, but I must warn you that his offspring will give you a difficult birthing."
Stacy sputtered. No words would come. She looked at Remo for help, and he became very interested in the bland scraps of steamed fish on his plate. "I am out of here!" she blurted finally.
"One look at Remo's grotesquely huge skull should be warning aplenty," Chiun pointed out helpfully. "Would you attempt to pass an offspring with a head proportioned like his?"
She made a final furious sound and slammed the hand-hewed oak door behind her.
"Terrific," Remo muttered. "You couldn't have saved that for another time?"
"She clearly was not being too observant, or she would have come to this realization on her own. Your head is quite the monstrosity, my son."
"You might consider cutting her some slack, if not me," Remo said. "I'll go and try to calm her down. Pablo needs his dinner, while you're at it."
"So, I am a servant's servant now?"
Remo knew it was hopeless. Rising from the alcove where he sat, he followed Stacy topside, found her standing at the starboard rail, arms crossed, lips set in a thin, angry slash.
"You all right?" Remo asked.
"Obviously not," she snapped. "I'm lazy and obese from sitting on my ass all day and eating dildos. Not to mention my inadequate birth canal."
"Chiun has trouble with the language sometimes," Remo lied.
"Is that my problem?" Stacy asked him. "Is there any reason you can think of why I ought to take the heat because he has a thing about white women?"
"Welcome to my world. He dislikes whites in general," said Remo. "In fact, he dislikes virtually all races, creeds and nationalities."
"Except Koreans?"
"He pretty much despises Koreans, too, although less than everybody else."
"Does he even like his own villagers?"
"Not so much."
Stacy turned to face him, leaning on the rail provocatively. "So, as one persecuted honky to another, do you think I'm obese?"
"What difference does it make?" asked Remo suspiciously.
She frowned, a pouty look that had a feel of having been rehearsed about it. "Hey, we're man and wife, remember? Even if it's just for little Pablo's sake. A husband ought to show some interest, don't you think?"
She glanced up toward the flying bridge, then back at Remo.
"Strictly for the mission?" Remo asked her.
"Absolutely."
"Well, in that case..." Remo leaned in close enough that he could smell a hint of peppermint on Stacy's breath and wondered where it came from. "Why don't you go on ahead," he urged. "I want to have a word with Pablo."
"Don't be long."
He watched her go and had a fair idea what he was passing up. Already having second thoughts, he didn't intend to complicate the situation by engaging in a shipboard romance or even just a lusty romp.
He went aft, climbed the ladder to the flying bridge and met their pilot with a smile. "My turn," he said. "You've earned a good night's sleep."
"If you are sure?"
"I'm sure," said Remo. "See you in the morning."
Was there something devious behind the young man's smile as he made way for Remo at the console, or was that simply imagination working overtime? Remo could not be sure, but he was positive about one thing: if there were pirates waiting for them in the darkness, up ahead, he didn't want the new man at the helm.
Besides, he had schemes of his own to carry out. Carefully, so as not to touch any of the helm electronics, he lifted the satellite phone and dialed home. Dialing home consisted of leaning on the 1 key until somebody answered.
"Basique Boutique."
Remo honestly couldn't tell if it was a male voice or a female voice. It sure did lilt a lot. He said, "Give me Smith."
"We have a Judith working tomorrow." Remo realized that he was, in fact, talking to a computer. "Also a Maximillian."
"I want Smith."
"Well, actually, there's a new stylist starting tomorrow. Not sure of his name. You realize we're closed now, don't you?"
"If I don't get Smith, Harold W., in the next five seconds I'll call up Armitage, Senator Chester, and let him handle this problem."
"Remo, it's me," Smith said, coming on the line abruptly.
"Hey, Smitty, I don't appreciate having my chain jerked by your fruity little mainframes."
"It's a new system, Remo. Just be a little patient. It's not always easy to get a positive voice ID, especially on the poor audio signal a telephone provides."
"Is this screening really necessary?"
"My old methods of screening out bad calls just aren't as effective as they used to be," Smith explained curtly. "If I could convince you to learn a few basic code numbers-"
"Forget it," Remo sniped. "Where's the ferry?"
"On its way. Let's see. ETA twenty minutes."
"Who's handling the pickup?" Remo asked. "DEA."