"Give Mother my apologies," he said, his consonants blurring.
"Of course, Senator. But she appears very angry."
"Remind her that it's the thought that counts."
Clancy hung up. "I knew dragging that old bat along was a mistake," he snarled.
It was not easy being the elder heir to the greatest political dynasty on earth, mused Ned Clancy. If the truth were to be known, he would have retired from the Senate two or three scandals ago. But the Clancy clan had been growing exponentially even after the deaths of Ned's older brothers, Jimbo and Robbo.
They had sired some thirty offspring between them. Neddo, as he was called in his young carefree days, had sired an equal number on his own, despite not having married until late in life.
Between the need to support the orphan Clancys and the illegitimate Clancys, the family fortune-never wisely invested in the first place-was dwindling fast. And since virtually every Clancy seemed to be chronically unemployable outside of public service, the trust funds were not keeping pace with government payroll salaries.
Ned Clancy took solace in the fact that he would not live to see the family fortune completely squandered. He also took solace in hard liquor. As the capillaries burst in his bulbous nose and the facial mottling of the habitual drunk more and more colored his much-photographed face, he had come to be called-always behind his back-Blotto.
Affectionately, of course. Because everyone loved Blotto Clancy. And Blotto loved them back. In any way he could.
He stopped loving a big group of them-specifically Californians-when his limousine caravan rounded a hill and ran smack into the end of a bumper-to-bumper traffic jam.
"What are these people doing here!" he shouted at the passenger-to-driver intercom.
"They're probably going the same place we are, sir," the limo driver patiently explained. "Nirvana West."
"But they're blocking a U.S. senator. They can't do that. Get on the horn to the State Police and have them all towed. That'll teach them."
"But, Senator, we're not in Massachusetts anymore."
Clancy looked confused. "We aren't?"
"No, this is California."
"Is that a state now?"
"It is, Senator."
"Well, who are their senators? I'll call them and pull rank. Use the old boy network for what it was meant."
"The two senators are women, Senator."
"Do they give head?"
"I wouldn't know, Senator."
"Because I think I might let them do me in return for the favor. It'll give them something to impress their girlfriends with. Just don't tell my wife. Or my mother. Especially my mother. She doesn't understand sex. How she managed to have sixteen kids, beats the hell out of me."
The phone buzzed again and Senator Clancy picked it up.
"Yeah?"
"This is Nalini. Your mother is becoming difficult."
Clancy clutched the phone tightly. "Is she saying anything?"
"You know she hasn't been able to speak since her last stroke. But she is jumping up and down in her seat, and that usually means she's growing impatient."
"Well, change her diaper or something. I have to pull a few strings before I can break this logjam up ahead."
"They are probably the media, Senator. If you step out of your car and present yourself, they might clear the way."
Ned Clancy's beet-red face swelled with pleasure. "They'll also want to interview me. That means ink. And face time. The milk and honey of my racket. Listen, Nalini, ever think of becoming a senator's aide?"
"Your mother needs me more, Senator."
"I need you more than more. Know what I mean? Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge."
"It is time for your mother's medication. Excuse me, Senator Clancy." The line went dead.
"Bitch," muttered Clancy, hanging up. "See if I ever let her stroke my love serpent."
He unbuttoned his blue blazer so that when he emerged he could rebutton it. His handlers told him he always looked more senatorial that way. It also distracted people from noticing his weight problem.
Senator Clancy stepped out. Instantly, the third limo in the caravan popped all its doors and his aides leapt out. They came running, forming a circle around him. This helped to hide his weight problem too. They also made perfect bullet catchers in case of assassins.
"Let's see if we can't break this gridlock," he said, grinning. "That would be a switch, wouldn't it?"
Brother Theodore Soars-With-Eagles ran through the old-growth forest fleet as a deer. His heart was racing. This was it. His first test. If he survived the media spotlight without screwing up, he was home free.
Brother Theodore slowed down and recovered his wind. It would not look good for a pure-blooded Chinchilla to burst on the national scene panting like a hound dog.
When he emerged into the press area, he saw that Senator Ned J. Clancy had already found the podium erected for his own press conference.
"Media hound," Brother Theodore muttered under his breath. Then, straightening his warbonnet and wig, he stepped into the ring of press.
"I have come to palaver with my white brother!" he shouted.
No one heard him.
"I said," he yelled through his cupped hands, "that I have come to speak with the honorable senator from Massachusetts!"
That didn't help any either, so Brother Theodore jumped up and down, trusting his feathers to catch people's attention.
The feathers did the trick. Senator Clancy caught sight of him and lifted a hand. He said in a solemn voice, "How!"
"Hail, white brother from the eastern land of enlightenment," Brother Theodore called back. He tried to keep his face straight.
At a gesture from Clancy, the crowd parted. Cameras flashed in his face. Videocams whirred.
When Theodore reached the podium, Senator Clancy grinned broadly and threw one arm around him. He said, "Thank you for inviting me to your toupee, blood brother."
"That's tepee," whispered Brother Theodore. For the press, he said, "It is a sign that the Great White Father in Washington takes the promise of the mighty thunderbug seriously that you have come, my brother."
"We will smoke the peace pipe together," Senator Clancy said boisterously. "As a sign that there will be no scalping. But I'm afraid I'll have to pass up the firewater. I'm on the wagon. Witch doctor's orders."
As Senator Clancy took a hit of his asthma inhaler, Brother Theodore thought, This guy knows less about the Red Man than I do. This is going to be a snap.
The questions started flying.
"Brother Theodore, what do you have to say about HELP?"
"HELP is a disease of modern civilization. Only those who are attuned to nature will survive the cataclysm that is Human Environmental Liability Paradox."
"What do you mean by attuned to nature?"
"Only by eating the environmentally untainted thunderbug can the white man shield his fragile skin from the deadly rays filtering down from the ozone layer he has wantonly destroyed."
"Then how do you explain the fact that your PAPA followers are dying of HELP?" he was asked.
"Only Snappers are dying. My Harvesters, who cook the thunderbug in a politically and environmentally correct way before eating them, are as healthy as Hekawis. This is the lesson of HELP. Those who wish to see the millennium must live as my ancestors-pure in spirit and politics. I have spoken."
Brother Theodore looked out over the sea of media faces. They appeared to be lapping it all up. It was all going just as he hoped.
Out of one corner of his eye, he noticed the expression on the face of Senator Ned Clancy of Massachusetts. It was an unhappy expression.
"I'm sure Brother Theodore will have more to say after my remarks," Senator Clancy said hastily. Under his breath, he added, "Knowing when to get off the stage is part of the great art of politics, my friend."
And before Theodore Soars-With-Eagles could protest, the senator's aides were pushing him off the podium and Senator Clancy star
ted taking questions.
"Whose press conference is this, anyway?" he muttered. But no one paid him any mind. They were too busy lobbing questions at the senator, whose broad face grew broader as he spoke, like some some elastic human ego feeding on the attention of the media.
Chapter 8
Getting out of Nirvana West was proving to be difficult.
"Has every nutcase on the planet descended on this ecological disaster area?" Remo was complaining.
The Master of Sinanju shaded his eyes with a thin hand.
"I do not see the President of Vice," he said.
"Maybe he's disguised as a tree," Remo growled.
"If this is so, his head is in dire peril, for there are woodpeckers about."
They had retreated to the hillside from which they had first surveyed Nirvana West. If anything, the press and politicians were thicker than before.
"What's that over there?" Remo said suddenly.
Chiun followed the direction of Remo's pointing finger. The press were gravitating toward a central spot.
"I do not know," he said thinly.
"It looks like one of those nature films---you know, the ones that show honey bees swarming around the queen."
Chiun frowned. "I do not see a queen. Only a fat white in the center talking to other whites."
Remo squinted his eyes. Over the heads of the crowd poked a patch of discolored grayish white hair like bleached seaweed on a reddish rock. Under the bad hair was a bloated face that Remo would have recognized three states away.
"Blotto Clancy," he said unhappily.
"Who?"
"Senator Ned J. Clancy. He's the guy we're trying to avoid, remember?"
"Why do they call him Blotto?"
"Because he's half in the bag all the time."
Chiun's sparse eyebrows lifted. "What bag?"
"The one stamped 'Plastered.' "
"You are making no sense, Remo."
"Remember the Roman emperors who liked to get soused on wine and debauch all day long?"' Remo asked.
"Not personally, but their stories are known to me, through the records of my ancestors. Caligula was a good emperor. Domitian was much favored by the House of Sinanju. But Nero was best. His gold took teeth marks exceedingly well."
"Well, down there is the Nero of the twentieth century."
Chiun lifted up on his black sandals and craned his wattled neck. "Really, Remo?"
"He's not President. Never will be. But he gave it his worst shot. He also gave every female that came within grabbing range his worst shot too. If he were ever elected President, the government would be paying child support for a small army of Clancys."
"Perhaps I should meet him," said Chiun, dropping back to his normal height.
"For crying out loud, why?"
Because if he ever becomes Emperor of America, I will want to be on his good side. Emperors of Nero's caliber have notoriously long memories."
"Pass," said Remo.
"Our vehicle is in that direction," Chiun pointed out.
Remo scowled darkly. "Then we gotta go in that direction. But do us both a favor. Let's not get involved. I've seen enough lunatics for one day."
They came down off the hill and joined the rush of PAPA people who had heard of the senator's arrival. For once, they were not noticed.
"He is obviously very popular," said Chiun as they drew near the growing congregation.
"Everybody loves a clown," said Remo.
They worked their way around, sticking to the trees until they were on the other side of the media swarm.
The shouted sounds of press questions came to their ears.
"Senator, why are you here in California?"
"Officially," came the booming voice of Senator Ned J. Clancy, "I've brought my dear mother, Pearl, because I've heard that these wonderful bugs have medicinal properties that might restore her failing faculties."
"You brought your mother here to feed her bugs?"
Clancy looked pained. Obviously, the subject of his mother was a sensitive one.
"No," he said. "But if she takes them off the plate, that of course is her right."
"Is concern for your mother's health the only reason you came to Nirvana West, Senator?"
"While I'm in the Golden State, I thought I'd have a look at the important humanitarian movement called People Against Protein Assassins. In an unofficial capacity, of course."
"Does that mean federal aid?"
"You bet it does," said Remo.
"I never shirk my responsibility to use my political power to help my constituents throughout this great land of ours.""
"Senator, your constituency is limited to Massachusetts. Does this mean you are planning another presidential run?"
"Let me say this about that: No."
"What is your opinion on the HELP crisis, Senator?"
"As I told you," Senator Clancy said, his voice tightening in sympathy with his grimace of a smile, "I'm here unofficially."
"Senator, there are reports that Thrush Limburger is coming here, and that he's prepared to expose HELP as some sort of hoax."
Senator Clancy took up his asthma inhaler and squeezed the canister twice. He immediately began coughing. The thudding of aides' hands on his broad back took several minutes to subside.
"I welcome," Clancy said after his coughing jag abated, "any input into this grave health problem."
"So you think HELP is real?"
"No, I didn't say that."
"Then is it a hoax?"
"That, I cannot say."
"What can you say, Senator?"
"I look forward to Thrush Limburger's arrival here at Nirvana West. Perhaps after he and I have had a chance to chat, I will have more to say on the matter."
The Master of Sinanju said, "That man is a superb politician."
"How's that again?" Remo asked.
"All these people hang on his every word, and he is saying nothing."
"How this guy can have a constituency is beyond me," grumbled Remo. "He can't keep his pants on or his liver dry."
A woman, overhearing that, turned to him and said, "That's an old-fashioned attitude."
"Common decency isn't old-fashioned. Yet."
"I meant that it was true in the old days that we never cared what Senator Clancy did, only what he said. But today we've grown up. We don't care what Neddo says, we only care what he does, and what he does is introduce all our legislation, just the way we write it. What he does in his private hours is his business."
"That's the trouble. None of what he does is private. It's usually all over the front page."
"Regressive," the woman hissed.
"Moron," Remo shot back. He turned to Chiun. "Let's go, Little Father. I've seen enough."
The way to their car was blocked by a clutch of white and black limousines.
"Sorry," a chauffeur said. "You can't pass."
"It's a free country and our car is on the other side of your cars," Remo said tightly.
"We have instructions that no one should pass. Security."
Remo scowled. "Security? Clancy's back there."
"Yeah, but his mother is here."
"And if you keep your voices down, you won't disturb her," Remo pointed out.
Stubby Uzis came up from under the security men's coats.
"We have instructions to shoot potentially hostile persons."
Chiun stepped in front of Remo and said in a plaintive voice, "Please do not hurt my adopted son."
Remo knew Chiun was setting them up for the kill. He hesitated. If any blood was shed, their cover would be blown.
So Remo brought his stiffened fingers up with blurry speed. And before the two guards knew what had happened, their machine pistols were cartwheeling into the underbrush and they were shaking their empty, numbed fingers and sucking air through clenched teeth.
"I didn't know killer bees got this far north," Remo said casually.
Just then a door popped open.
"Is there a problem?" a lilting voice asked.
The woman was slim and the color of a walnut. Her eyes were startlingly large, and so black they might have been constructed of shards of sunglass lenses.
She wore a vivid green sari that shimmered as she approached, topped by a shawl that framed her oval face like a cameo, and all but concealed her lustrous black hair.
The taller guard got control of himself and said, "I don't know who these people are, Miss Nalini, but I told them they can't get close to the cars."
"What is the matter with your fingers?" she asked.
"They sting," the short guard said tightly.
"Killer bees," said Remo. "Maybe they're what's causing HELP. If I were you two, I'd see a doctor."
The two guards just glared. They suspected Remo, but not having seen his hands move, could not accuse him. They recovered their weapons in silence.
"Who are you two, please?" the woman asked.
"It is none of your business," Chiun hissed.
"Little Father," warned Remo. "Let me handle this." He addressed the dusky woman.
"We're with the FDA. We've just been investigating the HELP thing and now we just want to find a decent hotel."
The woman named Nalini looked Remo up and down curiously. Her limpid eyes shone. Then they went to the Master of Sinanju. Their gazes met and locked and a tightness came over each of their faces.
"Allow me to escort you both to your vehicle," she said coolly. She gestured, and the guards lowered their Uzis slightly. They kept their fingers on the triggers.
"Thanks," said Remo.
"It is my pleasure," said the woman. "My name is Nalini."
"We do not care," said Chiun.
"He speaks for himself," said Remo. "I care."
Smiling, the woman lifted slim fingers to take Remo's lean, hard forearm. Remo decided he liked her touch. And her perfume. It was an exotic, musky scent. Usually Remo hated perfume, but this one was both subtle and pleasant. There was none of the flowery excess of manufactured American scents. This had a fruity undersmell to it that reminded Remo of something faraway and unattainable.
"And what is your name?"
"Call me Remo."
Chiun followed with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his kimono and his bearded chin in the air.
"I am the private nurse to Senator Clancy's mother, Pearl," Nalini told Remo.
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