Holy Terror td-19

by Warren Murphy

  They had.

  "They were here. They were here," said the arch-priest Krishna. "He had a badge," he said.

  "Where are they now?"

  "They just called. They're at a carnival down near Fisherman's Wharf."

  "Do they know where Dor is?"

  "Man, how could they know? I don't even know."

  "If they should return tonight, don't let them know that I was here," said Hunt. "With luck, they won't be returning."

  "Am I supposed to be taking orders from you?" asked Krishna.

  Hunt extracted a folded piece of paper from his wallet.

  Krishna opened it and read the handwritten message from Dor, introducing Hunt as his chief emissary.

  "Heavy, man," said Krishna, handing back the note. "Have you seen him?"

  "Yes."

  "Hail to his Blissful perfection."

  "Sure, sure, sure. When did they leave?"

  "An hour ago. If you see the Blissful Master again, tell him our mission joyously awaits his presence in our city."

  "Right. He'll really be impressed," said Hunt.

  Hunt went back down the high stone stairs of the building. In a parked car across the street, Elton Snowy watched him carefully.

  "What do you think, Elton?" asked one of the two men in the back seat.

  "I don't know, Puling, but I think we ought to follow him."

  Hunt got into his old MG and pulled smoothly away from the curb.

  "Well, then, let's follow him," said Puling. "If it turns out that he's nothing, this here building'll still be here."

  "All right," said Snowy, starting the car and pulling into the street.

  "Follow that car," giggled Puling. The man next to him let out a Dixie war whoop.

  "We gonna stomp that kidnapper." said the man next to Snowy.

  Snowy sighed and drove.

  Hunt saw the big black car behind him but attached no significance to it. His mind was busy with the prospect of what was ahead, and he felt a pleasurable tingle of anticipation suffuse his entire body. He was on his way to a carnival to do what his family had done so well for so many years, and he looked forward to it. It seemed as if his whole life had been pointed toward just this moment.

  "I want to go on the boats."

  "You can't go on the boats. That's a kid's ride."

  "Tell me where it says that," said Chiun. "Just show me where it says that."

  "Right there," Remo said, pointing at a sign. "Kiddy Village. What do you think that means?"

  "I don't think it means that I may not ride on the boats."

  "Aren't you afraid of looking foolish?" said Remo. He looked toward the boats, four of them, bathtub length, in a circular moat, two feet wide and holding six inches of water. The boats were connected by iron pipes to the motor in the center of the moat. A carnival worker with a dirty, ripped T-shirt and a leather band around his thick right wrist operated the motor from the gate four feet away, at which he also doubled as ticket seller and collector.

  "Only a fool looks foolish," said Chiun, "and only a fool twice over worries about it. I want to ride on the boats." He turned toward Joleen. "Tell him I can ride on the boats. You two are both white, maybe you can make him understand."

  "Remo, let the Master ride the boat."

  "He doesn't want to spend the 25 cents," said Chiun. "I have sometimes seen him waste whole dollars at a time, and he begrudges me 25 cents."

  "All right, all right, all right," said Remo. "But we agreed on five rides. This is your fourth."

  "Remo, I tell you this as absolute truth. If you let me go on the boat, I won't even ask for the fifth ride."

  "Okay," said Remo.

  Remo went up to the ticket seller and fished a quarter from his pocket. "One," he said.

  The ticket man smiled a gap-toothed grin at Remo. "Sure it won't be too fast for you?"

  "It's not for me, sweetheart. Now let's have the ticket before I tell the police of thirteen states that I found you."

  "Okay, wiseass," said the ticket man. He ripped a ticket from a thick roll. "Here." He took the quarter.

  "Do yourself another favor," said Remo. "When this ticket is used, don't say anything."

  "Huh?"

  "Don't make any comments and don't try to be a smartass. Just do yourself some good and keep your big mouth shut."

  "You know, I don't like you. I think I'd like to work you over."

  "I know, except you're worried I might be related to your parole officer. Just do what I said. No remarks."

  Remo walked away and handed the ticket to Chiun who looked disappointed.

  "None for her?"

  "She didn't say she wanted one."

  "Do you want one, girl? Do not be afraid," said Chiun. "Remo is very rich. He can afford it."

  "No, that's all right," she said.

  Chiun nodded, then walked toward the "Splashy-Washy," Remo at his side. "I'm kind of glad she didn't want to ride," he confided. "Screaming women annoy me."

  Chiun handed his ticket to the ticket taker, who looked at the frail old Oriental, then at Remo. Remo raised his right index finger to his lips, suggesting silence.

  "Be sure to fasten your seat belt, papasan," said the ticket taker. "Wouldn't want you falling out and drowning."

  "I will. I will," said Chiun. He stepped forward past the ticket taker and walked around the shallow moat. He got into a blue boat, carefully arranging his robes around him on the narrow seat, then quickly got out and walked toward a red boat. Heading toward the red boat at that moment was a five-year-old girl, her face smiling, long golden hair splashing about her face, short dress bobbing up behind her rump as she skipped. Chiun saw her coming and broke into a run.

  They reached the red boat at the same time.

  Each paused.

  Chiun pointed toward the sky. "Look! Look!" he said in a voice of astonishment. "Look up there!"

  The little girl followed Chiun's finger and looked up. As her head went up, Chiun darted by her, jumping into the red boat. When the girl looked down, he was already settled in the seat.

  Her face wrinkled up, and she seemed about to cry.

  "The blue boat is nicer," said Chiun.

  "I want to ride in the red boat," she said.

  "Go ride in the blue boat."

  "But I want to ride in the red boat."

  "So do I," said Chiun, "and I got here first. Be gone with you."

  The little girl stamped her foot. "Get out of my boat."

  Chiun folded his arms across his chest. "Try the blue boat," he said.

  "No," she said.

  "I will not force you to ride in the blue boat," said Chiun. "You may stand there forever if you wish."

  "Get out of my boat," the little girl cried.

  "Yeah, old-timer, get out of her boat," said the ticket taker.

  Remo tapped the ticket taker on the shoulder. "You forgot already, pal," he said. "Remember what I said? No talk. Do yourself a favor. Butt out."

  "I'm running this ride. He should get out of the red boat."

  "You going to tell him that?"

  "You bet your ass I am," said the ticket taker, standing up.

  "Where do you want the remains sent?" asked Remo.

  The ticket taker stomped off, and took a place alongside the little girl, looking down at Chiun.

  "Get out of that boat."

  "She can ride in the blue one," said Chiun. "And you can ride in the yellow one."

  "She's riding in the red one."

  Chiun turned sideways in the seat so he did not have to look at the man's face. "Start the ride," he said. "I'm tired of waiting."

  "Not until you get out of there."

  Chiun called, "Remo, make him start the ride."

  Remo turned his back so no one would know he knew Chiun.

  "You whites all stick together," grumbled Chiun.

  "No snotty cracks either," said the ticket taker. "If you don't like this country, go back where you came from."

  Chiun
sighed and turned. "That is good advice. Why don't you follow it?"

  "This is where I came from."

  "No, it is not," said Chiun. "Does not your book say, 'From dust you came, to dust you go'?"

  Remo heard that and turned in time to see Chiun rise up in his seat, his saffron robe swirling about him. Before Remo could move, the ticket taker was spread-eagled across the bow of the small fiberglass boat, his face under the water.

  "Chiun, knock it off already," said Remo, moving toward the boat.

  "That's right, take his side," said Chiun, still holding the flailing man's head under water.

  "Let him go, Chiun," called Remo.

  "No."

  "Okay, that's it," said Remo. "No more rides." He turned his back.

  "Wait, Remo. Wait. See. I let him go. See. He is all right. See. Tell him you're all right." Chiun slapped the man's face. "Stop your stupid choking, and tell him you are all right."

  The ticket taker caught his breath and pulled back from Chiun in fright. He looked at Remo who shrugged an I-told-you-so shrug. "Better start the ride," he said.

  The ticket taker went back to his chair and turned the knob to the on position. The engine chugged and the boat started. The five-year-old shouted in anger. Remo took a dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her. "Here," he said. "Go buy yourself some ice cream, and you can have the red boat on the next ride."

  The girl snatched the bill from Remo's hand and raced away. Chiun's boat floated gently past Remo. "I see you got rid of that sniveling little wretch," he said. "Good for you."

  "Better make it a long ride," said Remo as he walked back past the ticket taker, to rejoin Joleen.

  By the time Ferdinand De Chef Hunt reached the amusement park, he was sure the black car behind him was following him. So he carefully parked his car in a restaurant driveway a block from the carnival, darted into the side door of the restaurant, through the dining room, and out the door on the other side of the building.

  He carefully made his way along the wooden and concrete piers for another half block until he was opposite the carnival. Glancing behind him, he saw no sign of his pursuers and walked casually across the street toward the park.

  Now to find those two men, what were their names?… Remo and Chiun.

  Chiun leaned over the wooden railing and carefully rolled a nickel off his fingertips. It arced forward, turning over-exactly one revolution, then landed absolutely flat on a platform slightly raised above the asphalt floor. The nickel stopped in the direct center of a small red circle, one of hundreds of red circles painted on a large piece of white linoleum. The circles were only slightly larger in diameter than a nickel. A player won a prize if his nickel landed fully on a red circle, and did not overlap into the white border.

  "Another winner," called Chiun.

  The concession operator looked skyward as if asking for mercy.

  "This time I want the pink rabbit," said Chiun. Behind him stood Remo and Joleen, their arms filled with plush toys, small games, stuffed animals. Remo precariously dangled a goldfish bowl, complete with occupant, from the fingers of his right hand.

  The operator took a small pink stuffed rabbit from a shelf in the rear of the booth and handed it to Chiun. "Okay, here you are. Now why not go someplace else?"

  "Why not is because I want to play this game," said Chiun.

  "Yeah, but you're wiping me out," said the operator. "You've won nineteen prizes in a row."

  "Yes, and I'm going to win more."

  "Not here, you're not," said the operator, his voice rising with his temper.

  Chiun spoke over his shoulder. "Remo, talk to him. Threaten to report him to Mr. Disney."

  "Why don't we leave?" said Remo.

  "You don't want to see me win either," said Chiun. "You're jealous."

  "Right. I'm jealous. All my life, I've wanted my own goldfish, three yellow rubber duckies, seven stuffed pussycats, a plastic checker game, and two armfuls of slum."

  The operator looked up at Remo, recognizing "slum" as the in-carnival word for junk prizes.

  He looked at Remo questioningly. Remo nodded and winked as if sharing a fraternity secret. The operator understood now. Remo was a hustler, preparing to pluck this old yellow pigeon. He nodded back imperceptibly.

  "Sure, old man," the operator said. "Go right ahead."

  "Watch this, Remo," said Chiun. "I will do it with my eyes closed." He screwed his eyes tightly shut. "Are you watching, Remo?"

  "Yes, Little Father."

  "Can you see me?"

  "Yes. Your eyes are closed, not mine."

  "Good. Now watch."

  Chiun leaned forward over the railing, his eyes shut tightly. He flipped the nickel off the fingernail of his right thumb, high into the air, almost up to the canvas roof over the game. The nickel spun rapidly, flipping all the way up, flipping all the way down, made one final turn, and landed flat on its side, directly in the center of a red circle.

  Chiun kept his eyes closed. "I can't look. I can't look. Did I win?"

  Remo nodded toward the nickel. The concession operator put his toe on it and slid it off the red spot, half onto the white.

  "No, you lose," said Remo.

  Chiun opened his eyes in shock. "You lie," he said. He looked at the nickel, half on the red, half on white. "You cheated me," he said.

  "What's worse," said Remo, "you have to give back all the prizes."

  "Never. Never will I part with my goldfish."

  "All except the goldfish," said Remo. He gave the operator back the prizes he and Joleen held. The operator happily put them back on the shelf. Remo still held the goldfish bowl.

  "You cheated," said Chiun, surprisingly even-voiced. "Tell me the truth. You cheated, didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because we don't need all that junk."

  "I agree. You may need your arms free." Chiun's eyes were narrowed, and he seemed to be sniffing the air. "What's wrong?" asked Remo. "Nothing," said Chiun, "yet. Don't drop the goldfish."

  When he saw the young white man holding the prizes and the elderly Oriental leaning over the nickel toss game, Ferdinand De Chef Hunt knew. He knew that these were his targets. He felt a strange sensation in his throat, a lump of flesh that would not go up or down. It was a new feeling: Was it the feeling that generations of DC Chefs had felt when they were on the prowl?

  While they played, Hunt stopped at a booth across the way. He paid a quarter and was handed three baseballs. He had to knock six wooden bottles from the top of a barrel. Hunt backed off and tossed the first ball underhand. The operator smiled. Like a fairy, he thought. The ball hit the center bottom bottle, knocked all bottles to the top of the barrel. The ball skidded around, bumping against bottles, and knocking all of them off onto the ground.

  The operator stopped smiling when Hunt did the same thing with his second ball. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the two targets and the girl in the pink sari moving away. He tossed the third ball softly toward the concession stand operator.

  "Your prizes," the operator said.

  "Keep them," said Hunt, following the three at a stroller's pace.

  He let them get twenty yards ahead of him. They were heavy into conversation, but he knew they had not realized that he was following them.

  In fact, the conversation was, from Chiun's standpoint, much more important.

  "I only had four rides," Chiun said. "You promised me five."

  "You said if I let you ride the boat, you wouldn't ask for the fifth ride."

  "I don't remember saying that," said Chiun. "And I remember everything I say. Why would I say I would be satisfied with four rides when you promised me five? Can you think of a reason I would say that?"

  "I give up," said Remo.

  "Good," said Chiun. "There's the ride I want to go on." He pointed ahead of them toward "The Flying Bucket," then leaned to Joleen. "You can ride with me. Remo will pay for it."

  "Anything you say," said Remo we
arily. With Chiun leading the way, the three walked into a narrow corridor between concession booths, toward "The Flying Bucket," a Ferris wheel type of ride in which riders sat in a plastic bucket, attached to an overhead wheel by two steel cables.

  As they turned the corner, Hunt lost sight of them. He walked faster toward the corridor they had entered.

  Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look into a red-fatted angry face. Behind it stood four other equally red, equally angry faces.

  "Here he is, boys," said Elton Snowy. "Here's the kidnapper now. Where's my daughter?"

  Hunt recognized the man as the driver of the black car that had followed him from Divine Bliss headquarters. He shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about. You must have the wrong man."

  "Don't lather me with that, sonny," said Snowy. He grabbed Hunt's arm tightly. The other three men moved up, also grabbing Hunt, and quickly they pushed him between tents into a surprisingly quiet grassy area, deserted of people, yet only a dozen feet from the main midway.

  "I don't know anything about your daughter, sir," said Hunt again. He would not spend too much time here; he did not want to lose track of his targets.

  "Boys, what do you say we work him over to loosen his tongue?" said Snowy.

  The four men lunged into Hunt and bore him to the ground with their weight.

  Two were on his legs, and two more on his arms, pressing them down into the mushy turf.

  "Now we make the sumbitch talk," said Snowy.

  The fingers of Hunt's left hand snaked out and curled around one of the triangular metal stakes used to anchor a tent rope. With his fingertips he plucked it from the ground and curled it into his palm. He felt his face being slapped from side to side.

  "Talk, you kidnapping bastard. What you doing at that Blissy Mission? Where's my little girl?"

  Hunt's right fingers scratched at the ground. He came up with a handful of dirt and a rock the size of a grape. He let the dirt trickle through his fingers.

  "It's all a mistake. I don't even know your daughter."

  Snowy, who had been holding down Hunt's left arm, while slapping him, now released the arm with a cry of rage and sprung with both hands toward Hunt's throat to strangle the truth from him.

  His arm freed, Hunt whizzed the tent peg through the air, catapulting it with just a flip of the wrist.