Ah, if only Chiun could tell this story to the world in word pictures. Then, others might understand the plight of a sweet, beloved old man.
The door to the hotel suite opened. The Master of Sinanju would not lower himself to petty haggling. The door slammed shut.
"Chiun. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. If you kill 'em, you clean 'em up," said Remo.
The Master of Sinanju refused to be drawn into the haggling.
"What with the Supreme Court decision, there's now only one crime in America punishable by death. Turning off your sloshy little soap operas."
The Master of Sinanju would not be provoked to name-calling.
"Will you answer me? Did you do a job on these guys because they turned off your soap opera?"
The Master of Sinanju refused to indulge in recriminations.
"Chiun. This has got to stop. I mean it."
The Master of Sinanju would overlook the disrespect shown.
"Will you help me get them into these trunks?"
The Master of Sinanju refused to do cleaning chores of a woman after being thoroughly insulted.
"Sometimes, Chiun, I hate you."
The Master of Sinanju had known this all along, otherwise why should the ungrateful pupil care so little for the few meagre pleasures of an old man. Ah, to be a writer.
CHAPTER TEN
At 12.12 p.m. in Chicago that day, two men reported upstairs. Remo open-coded Smith over the telephone, informed him that he saw an alternate to the extreme plan and would like to proceed.
"I think I can get to the core of the apple and manipulate the seeds without having to make the whole thing into apple sauce," said Remo.
"Go ahead," said Smith.
Gene Jethro had received the report from Pigarello and Negronski.
"I didn't even hear him get in the car, and I was driving," said Negronski.
"Two good men were in the cab of that truck," said the Pig. "Good stand-up guys. They knew what they were doing, too. They lowered the plate real good. I had some guys check later. Everything from bottles to garbage cans was mashed in that alley. Except the kid, that Remo Jones."
"So what are you telling me?"
"I'm telling you I don't want to go against that guy again."
"Same here," said Negronski.
Jethro played with his love beads. He had lost three men on the nutritionist, too. It was weird. It approached powers he could not handle. He thanked Pigarello and Negronski, saying he would get back to them later. He made a fast dash by car to the new building. He said the proper words and was let in. He took the elevator to the main basement floor by pressing the combination of numbers.
The sign under the map was illuminated with spots from the ceiling. If the far wall were slid open, as it could be when the last electrical wiring was fixed, it would open to a meeting room just smaller than convention hall.
Jethro did not see the need for such a secure hall at such an expense, but thoroughness was thoroughness. Now was not the time to alter plans.
His footsteps clicked on the new linoleum as he walked past the special room, hardly giving it a glance. Just before the sliding wall was a door. Jethro knocked three times. Nothing. He knocked again. Nothing.
He opened the door and entered a small oasis of greenery, of pleasantly tinkling air chimes, of cool incense wafting to his senses. A waterfall over carefully placed rocks gurgled into a pool. He shut the door behind him and searched the indoor garden. Nothing. Artificial sunlight without heat illuminated the room with a bluish cast. Jethro blinked his eyes.
"You have eyes, but cannot see," came a voice.
Jethro peered into heavy shrubbery near the waterfall.
"Ears, but cannot hear."
Jethro tried to follow the voice.
"Over here by the pool."
Jethro looked again, surprised that he had not seen him the first time. He sat, his legs crossed, on a large rock. A book was in his lap. He wore a conservative gray suit, with white shirt and striped tie. Jethro should have spotted him immediately. The face was flat and smooth and Oriental.
"Uh, I came to tell you we can't go at that guy Remo again. We'll just have to live with him."
"Did he accept your offer?"
"No."
"Then why do you come here?':
"To tell you."
"You were supposed to enlist him or eliminate him. You have not been able to enlist him, so really you have only one other course of action."
"We failed."
"Then try again. What success was ever achieved without a failure? I tell you success comes from learning what will not work. If every man surrendered to the happenstance of fate, we would all be living in caves because the first house fell down."
"I'm afraid of this man."
"Good. It shows you have a mind."
"I do not wish to send men against him again."
"You mean you find it unpleasant."
"Yes."
"So is birth and so even are the better forms of love at some point in love-making. I tell you there is nothing of worth that does not try your soul. Go ahead and do this thing. Earn the power you will receive."
"Yes, Nuihc," said Jethro, but while the words made sense they did not convince his heart. "Yes, Nuihc. I will do as you say, as always."
Sigmund Negronski morosely played with his iced sherbet as Jethro told the assembled wives of the driver leadership that 'behind the man who is behind the man who drives the truck is the woman."
"A union wife is one of the most important assets an officer of a local can have. She is the one to whom we look to make the International Brotherhood of Drivers the most successful union in the history of the labour movement. I thank you."
Applause, at first polite then growing, then resounding.
Gene Jethro, draped in beige polka dots, blew the women kisses. They blew kisses back.
He sat down near Negronski on the speaker's dais, still smiling at the driver wives.
"Pretty good, huh, Siggy?" he said, still smiling and blowing specific kisses to specific wives. His own girl friend had worn a modest sheath, the consistency of cheesecloth, and she was braless. She smiled silently at his side.
"I'm worried. What do we need this Remo guy for? Those guys they pulled from the horse of the tractor trailer had their heads crushed."
"I know… I know. I don't want him, either."
"Then let's forget about him."
"We can't."
"We gonna go at him again?"
"We'll have to."
"But why? He seems as though he is willing to be left alone. He doesn't bother you unless you bother him."
"I know. You're right. I think you're 100 percent absolutely correct. I'd like to ignore him also."
"Then why don't we."
"Because we can't. We got to do what we got to do. And don't think I'm not a wee bit scared now, also."
Jethro rose again and, blowing kisses, yelled:
"Love ya. Love ya all."
A waiter made his way behind the speaker's dais. He carried no tray. His hands were at his sides. He slipped Gene Jethro a crumpled piece of paper.
"Telephone message, sir."
Jethro took it, and the artificial smile became suddenly warm and real.
"Siggy. We don't have to go at him again," Jethro said. "He says he wants to join."
Dr. Harold Smith threw up his lunch and part of what he believed was his breakfast. He staggered back from the sink in his Folcroft office to the television set, then pressed for a rerun of the news show. That done, he pressed for a rerun of the three major network news shows. Then he ran back to his office bathroom. He flooded his mouth with a strong disinfectant and played the Thursday evening news shows again, just to make sure he had not gone insane and was hallucinating.