"Nothing. I'm looking for Gene Jethro."
"Where's Jethro?" the redheaded girl asked of her mount.
"You get out of here or I'll call the guard," yelled the middle-aged man.
"You're position's wrong," said Remo.
"Bye, sweetie," said the girl.
Remo shut the door. If Jethro were not at the end, then it stood to reason he would be in the middle.
There were five doors in the hallway. Remo opened the third from the end.
"Oh, sorry," he said to the tangle of arms and legs that he judged to be four people, three women and a man. He stepped into the room to examine the man's face. Moving aside a rather pendulous breast, he saw the hard-lined face of a man who was not Gene Jethro. The man had the happy grin of a cocaine high. Remo returned the breast and left the room.
He tried another door. Another orgy. Three rooms, three orgies. One room would have been whoopie. Two rooms, an epidemic of whoopie. But for three rooms, there was a plan behind this. It was simple numbers. And if Remo knew who the men were, he would know why the activity. They were obviously supplied women. Three random men just don't happen to orgy score at the same time. The women were probably assigned to keep them in their rooms.
.Remo looked down the hallway. The crumpled figure of the guard began to stir. They were probably the other union chiefs, kept nice and safe and occupied here in Jethro's suite until tomorrow's announcement of the superunion. And if Remo did not succeed, they would all become gristle and cracked bone between a fallen beam and platform.
The guard staggered to his feet.
"What hit me?"
Remo trotted to him, grabbing him by the collar. He pressured nerves in the neck until the guard emitted a little helpless groan.
"Where's Jethro's apartment?" Remo asked.
"Second from the end."
"Why that one?"
"It's the biggest suite," said the guard.
"Oh," said Remo and put the guard to sleep again.
Jethro's suite was indeed the largest. The plushly carpeted living room, draperies at the windows and paintings on the wall, contained the kind of furniture that could wreck a bank account.
"Is that you, honey?" It was a woman's voice, muffled by a door.
"Yes," said Remo, since he felt very much like a honey at the time.
"I've got soap in my eyes. Will you hand me a towel?"
Of course, Remo would hand her a towel. He wasn't a sadist.
He opened the door whence the voice came and immediately was hit by steam. The mirrors were fogged. The tile walls dripped, and a shower ran full and hot. A delicate hand poked from behind the shower curtain. Remo put a towel in it.
"How did it go today, dear?"
"Okay."
"It looks as if it's all going to work out, doesn't it? I mean you won't have any more trouble from that rotten, awful man."
"No," said Remo.
"What does he want from you anyway? You've done everything you're supposed to."
Remo cocked an ear.
"What?" he said.
"What does he want from you anyway?"
"Who?"
"Who do you think I'm talking about? Mick Jagger? You know, Nuihc."
So there was someone else. So maybe it wasn't this driver leader who designed the building? So why would Remo ever think that a Western man born into Western technology would ever be able to construct a building defended against a force he knew nothing about?
"Did he phone?" Remo would get his whereabouts if he could.
The hand crumpled the shower curtain. A wet, blond head peeked out. It was a beautiful head, with smooth cheeks and blue eyes and voluptuous lips now turned into a smile. The left breast was well formed, too. Firm and rising with symmetrical, light-pink nipple.
"You're not Gene," said the woman. The smile went.
"I see you got the soap out of your eyes."
"Get out of here. Get out of here now."
"I don't want to," said Remo.
"Get out of here or I'll call the guard."
"Go ahead."
"Guard. Guard. Guard," shrieked the woman.
"My name's Remo, what's yours?"
"You won't be around here long enough to find out. Guard. Guard."
"Until he comes, tell me your name."
The beautiful young face was anger and frustration. No guard was coming.
"Will you get out of here? Will you please get out of here?" Now she put on her stern face. It was also beautiful.
"Look. I don't know what sort of kicks you get from watching women bathe, but would you please get out of here?"
Now the supplicating, pained face. Still beautiful.
"All right. What do you want?"
Now the businesswoman.
"Who's Nuihc?"
"I can't tell you. Would you go please?"
Remo shook his head.
"Aw c'mon, mister. If Gene conies back and finds you here, hell kill you."
"Maybe he'll tell me who Nuihc is."
"You wanna find out who Nuihc is, there's a building just outside the city. He's there."
"I've been there."
"Bullshit, you've been there. I know you haven't been there, wise guy. Now get out of here before Gene comes back."
"What's your name?"
"Chris. Now get out of here. At least, let me get dressed."
"Okay, you can get dressed. I'll be outside."
"Gee, you're generous," said Chris.
Remo stole a kiss on her wet cheek, ducking a roundhouse left. He waited in the living room, and waited in the living room, and waited in the living room.
"Are you coming out?"
"Just a second. Just a second," said Chris.
The door opened and Chris, her blond hair flowing like gracious silk, her body sheathed in white transparent filament, floated into the room. Exquisite.
"I can see more of you dressed than in the shower."
"Drives you up a wall, doesn't it?" said Chris triumphantly.
Remo cocked his head. He thought a moment.
"Yes," he said. "Be nice and I'll make love to you."
"Don't you wish you could?"
"I can."
"Don't you wish I'd help you?"
"You will."
"You're pretty sure of yourself."
"It's part of the biz, sweetheart."
"Want a drink?"
"I'm on a diet."
"I'd offer you something to eat but nobody can go in or out without Gene's okay."
"We can."
"No. The whole place is sealed. Until tomorrow at noon, when everyone's going over to that building that you say you've been to."
Remo nodded. "What's your favourite food."
"Are you kidding? Italian."
"I know a great Italian restaurant in Cicero."
"We can't get out of here."
"Lasagna, dripping with cheese and red sauce."
"I don't like lasagna. I like spaghetti in clam sauce and lobster fra diavola and veal marsala."
"I know a place where the clams swim in garlic butter and the veal melts wine-tasty in your mouth," said Remo.
"Let's kill the guard," said Chris laughing.
"Put some clothes on over your clothes."
"I was only joking," said Chris.
"And the lobster swims in a bath of red sauce."
"I'll wear a coat," said Chris.
When they passed the guard in the hallway, Chris put a delicate hand to her soft lips.
"I didn't mean that about the guard."
"I know," said Remo. "He just went to sleep for a little while."
They tiptoed laughing down the steps like youngsters playing hookie. Remo 'borrowed' a car in the hotel garage by jumping the wires.
"You're awful," laughed Chris. 'When Gene finds out, are you gonna get it. Am I gonna get it."
"The bread crackles when you break it to soak up the sauce," said Remo.
"I know a shortcut to Cicero," said Chris. "I was born there."
They talked as they drove, Remo checking his watch. Chris loved Gene, loved him more than any man in her life. She had known many. But there was something just, you know, nice about Gene. Like Remo was nice in a way but too much of a wise guy. Could Remo understand that? Remo could. She had fallen in love with Jethro before he started to change, and when he did start to change about two months ago, she loved him anyway. She couldn't stop loving him. She wanted to stop loving him after the…