Feeding frenzy, p.13
Feeding Frenzy, page 13
Remo moved between the thick trees, stopping every so often to shake off the ants that seemed to like to drop off tree limbs and into his hair like hyperactive fleas.
He came out close to the black limousine that carried Senator Clancy’s mother. The same security guards stood watch.
The back door was open and Mrs. Clancy sat inside, her paralysis-twisted features looking like something out of an old Creature Feature.
Her eyes happened to be looking in Remo’s direction, so he thought what the hell and stepped into view.
Mrs. Clancy’s eyes popped in their sockets and she began bouncing in her seat, obviously agitated. She brought her hands up to her mouth and her forefingers began gesturing crazily.
Nalini’s voice called, “What is it, Adji? What is wrong?”
“It’s just me,” said Remo.
The guards snapped to attention and pulled Uzis from under their coats.
“It is okay,” Nalini cried, stepping out from the other side of the limo. “It is okay! This man is not an enemy.”
Reluctantly, the Uzis were lowered–but not reholstered.
Remo started for the limo.
Mrs. Clancy wriggled her fingers even more crazily.
One of the rusty ants leaped up from the ground and landed on Remo’s bare wrist. Another came off a tree. Remo flicked them away without thinking.
Nalini ducked her head into the back of the limo and bulged her eyes out, bringing her fingers up to her mouth. She made the same crazy finger wriggling, and Mrs. Clancy settled down.
Her face tight, Nalini came to greet Remo.
Remo smiled. Nalini did not.
“Hi!” he said.
“What are you doing here, Remo?”
“Investigating. Nice job of humoring the old dingbat.”
“Please do not call her that. She is Adji. I call her that because she is like a grandmother to me since I come to this country.”
“Sorry,” said Remo.
“And what you call crazy, is a form of signing.”
“Signing?”
“You have heard of sign language? The deaf use it.
“She’s deaf too?”
Nalini shook her covered head. “No. But she cannot speak and so must communicate some of her thoughts with her fingers.”
“Right,” said Remo. “Listen, I’ve been looking for you.”
“And I, you.”
“Want to have dinner later?”
“That would be nice.”
“Good. Because after today, I have a feeling I’m going to need some R&R.”
Nalini looked blank, then confused. Her face actually darkened in what Remo took for a blush.
“That means rest and recreation,” he said quickly.
“Oh.”
“Where can I meet you?” Remo asked.
Nalini reached up and drew him off to one side, her fruity perfume filling Remo’s nostrils pleasantly.
“We are staying at Ukiah, but it would be better that I meet you at your motel. Are you staying at the little place of bungalows as I suggested?”
“Yeah. Unit sixteen. How’s eight sound?”
“Eight o’clock will be fine. Now I must go. Adji does not enjoy being left alone.”
“Catch you later,” said Remo, fading back into the trees. He paused, took a look at Nalini as she slipped into the back of the limousine, and closed the door shut. Remo moved on.
He spotted Chiun floating away, a wraith of sky blue silk.
When Remo caught up, Chiun spat, “You smell worse than before.”
Remo smiled. “Oh, I kinda disagree.”
“You allowed her to touch you?”
“Don’t sweat it. She used her right hand.”
“You are a fool that goes wherever his aroused manhood points. It is a wonder you have not walked off a cliff to your doom before this.”
“Aw, come off it. I just put up with your mooning over Cheeta Ching for what seemed like forever, and here I meet someone nice and you act like I caught leprosy.”
“It is too early to tell if you have caught leprosy or not. The fingers do not fall off right away.”
“You should have seen her, Chiun. That old bat Pearl Clancy was acting like a lunatic and Nalini settled her right down. You know how?”
“By acting like another lunatic,” spat Chiun.
“Yeah–no. I mean, she tried to talk back in her own language. Some kinda sign language. It seemed to work.”
“Lunatics understand one another and you are impressed.”
“We got a date tonight.”
“Wear a condom. If you can find one that fits over your empty head.”
They walked along. Remo kept his eyes peeled for more of the flealike ants.
He spotted one on a branch, seemingly staring at him with two eyes like black spots set in front of its ramlike head.
It jumped. Remo faded back and the ant went sailing by. It landed on a leaf with a dry skittering sound.
Moving on, Remo brushed away a single strand of spiderweb draped between two trees and encountered no more of the ants.
They came upon a group of print journalists and Remo asked one of them, “I’m looking for Thrush Limburger’s people.”
“The Tell the Truth RV is around here somewhere. It’s the red, white, and blue one.”
“Thanks,” said Remo.
Rejoining the Master of Sinanju, he said, “Limburger’s van is red, white, and blue. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”
It wasn’t. They found it parked at the north entrance to Nirvana West, a young man sitting on the rear bumper, looking miserable.
Remo stepped up to him.
“You belong to Thrush Limburger?”
The man jumped up. “Are you press?”
Remo offered a card and said, “Remo Zimbalist, Jr., FBI.”
“He’s disappeared!”
“So we heard.”
“No, he really, really disappeared,” the man said excitedly. “I keep telling people this, but these so-called journalists refuse to believe me.”
“Start from the top,” said Remo, trying to sound official.
“I’m Cody Custer, Thrush’s chief of staff.” He blinked. “Aren’t you going to take notes?”
“Photographic memory,” said Remo.
“And who’s he?” Custer asked, indicating Chiun.
“That’s my Korean crime-scene photographer.”
“Where’s his camera?”
“He’s got a photographic memory too. Let’s hear your story.”
“We pulled into town about ten o’clock. Thrush stopped in at the local funeral parlor.”
“Esterquest and Son?”
“Yeah, that was the name. He went in and talked to him a while and came out all excited. Thrush said he had the whole thing figured out, and told me to drive straight here.”
“Then what?”
“On the way, we were stopped by the California Highway Patrol. They said they were quarantining the area, but we could go through once they explained the risk.”
“Yeah?”
“I told them I was okay with it, and they went in back and talked with Thrush. Not more than a minute or two. I drove on, pulled into here, ran Thrush’s ballyhoo tape like he told me to. But he never came out.”
“Okay, let’s look at this logically. You sure he got back on in town?”
“Positive. When Thrush gets on or off this thing, believe me, you know it. We gotta replace the shocks every six months.”
“And you didn’t stop except for the police.”
“Yeah. It’s the only way it could have happened.”
“What is?”
“The highway patrol kidnapped Thrush Limburger. They must have.”
“You know how that sounds?”
“Yeah, but I think they weren’t really police. One of them had a ponytail tucked up under his cap.”
Remo looked to the Master of Sinanju. The Master of Sinanju stepped up to Cody Custer and looked him straight in the eye with hazel orbs like cold lasers.
Custer looked at Remo and asked, “What’s he doing?”
“Taking your picture. Just hold still.”
“He is telling the truth, Remo,” said Chiun, stepping back.
Remo frowned. “Great. As if we don’t have enough to do, we’ve got a kidnapping. Maybe we’d better talk to the coroner.”
“That’s what I kept telling the press. Talk to the coroner. But all they’re interested in is food service trucks and bugeaters. In that order.”
Chapter Thirteen
There was a crowd outside the Esterquest and Son funeral parlor. Police cars were pulled up before the door and an ambulance stood waiting, its rear doors open.
There was also a contingent of press. Minicams and print journalists jostled one another for position.
“I don’t see anyone who might recognize us,” Remo said, easing the car into a parking slot.
“Something is wrong,” said Chiun. “I smell death in the air.”
“I just hope it’s not what I think it is.”
They got out and sauntered up to the edge of the waiting crowd. A sheet-wrapped body was being carried out. The electronic press crushed close as if the anonymous body on the gurney were the most important figure on earth.
“Don’t they normally take bodies into a funeral parlor?” Remo said, loud enough for anyone to hear.
“Not when the body is the owner,” a print journalist said.
Remo winced. “Esterquest?”
“That is the name over the door.”
“What killed him?” Remo asked.
“No one knows the what, but the police have a pretty good idea of the who.”
“Who?”
“Thrush Limburger. He paid the guy a visit less than an hour ago, and now he’s croaked.”
“Yeah, and Limburger’s missing,” added another reporter.
“Which proves he’s guilty,” said a third.
“How does one thing prove another?” asked Remo.
“It ain’t coincidence.”
“Yeah,” echoed the first reporter. “The only question is where Limburger went to.”
“My guess is Argentina,” yet another reporter ventured.
“Argentina?”
“Yeah.” The man chuckled. “Argentina has a lot of beef and at three-hundred odd pounds, it’s a cinch Limburger isn’t about to hide out in a country where he has to eat bugs.”
“Can I quote you on that?” the first reporter wondered.
The other shrugged. “Sure, just don’t use my name.”
The first reporter raised his voice and looked around. “Anyone else hear that Limburger took off for Argentina?”
A sharp-faced woman perked up and said, “Yeah. Just now.”
The first reporter scribbled something on his notepad. “Good. That gives me two sources. My editor won’t squawk.”
“Wait a minute!” Remo said. “He just floated that rumor and now you’re going to print it?”
“Now, it’s rumor. After they print it, it will be news. Don’t you know how this game works?”
“I’m getting an education,” Remo growled. “Listen, while you’re in the rumor-mongering business, I caught Senator Ned Clancy porking Jane Goodwoman in the back of Clancy’s limo.”
The reporter made a disgusted face.
“We can’t print that!” he exploded.
“Why not?” asked Remo.
“It’s unsubstantiated.”
Remo cocked a thumb at Chiun. “My friend here also saw it.”
“Yes, it is true,” said Chiun. “The pig Clancy was porking the other pig Goodwoman.”
“That makes two of us,” said Remo. “And Clancy’s a married man now, isn’t he?”
The reporter made a face. “That’s a character thing. We don’t do character issue stories. They’re no fun anymore.”
“I give up,” said Remo. He searched for a pay phone and finally found one. It was an old-fashioned glass booth, which meant he could call Harold Smith with a modicum of privacy.
“Smitty? Remo. This isn’t getting any better. Everywhere Chiun and I go, we meet a face from our past. Remember that coroner I mentioned? He just turned up dead. And get this, before he disappeared, Thrush Limburger dropped in on him too. According to Limburger’s assistant, he came out all excited, claiming he’d figured out HELP.”
“It is possible,” Smith said slowly.
“Maybe. But get this: I saw Limburger’s van rolling in when I was pulling away from the coroner’s place. I thought it was another politician, at the time.”
Smith’s voice grew concerned. “Obviously, Limburger spoke with the man just after you did.”
“Yeah, but when I left him, Esterquest didn’t have a thing. The way I figure the timing, Limburger couldn’t have spent ten minutes with the guy–and he has HELP all figured out?”
Smith’s dry voice grew doubtful. “Odd. For all his showmanship, Limburger has a reputation for telling the truth.”
“Why? Because he calls his network Tell the Truth? Isn’t that like a used car salesman calling himself Honest John?”
“This is very odd,” Smith said. “Perhaps Limburger is not what he seems, after all.”
“Well, Limburger’s assistant seems to be telling the truth that Limburger was kidnapped, if the press’s reputation for missing the real story still holds. But here’s another flash: the assistant claims a California Highway Patrol roadblock stopped Limburger’s van just before he turned up missing.”
“He suspects them?”
“According to him, one of the cops had a ponytail tucked up under his uniform cap.”
“California Highway Patrol officers must adhere to a strict grooming code,” Smith mused.
“That’s what I figured.”
Across three thousand miles, Smith seemed to lean closer. “Remo, this whole affair is becoming very strange.”
“Yeah. Any minute now I might start believing that Nirvana West is under a hole in the ozone, myself.”
“Unlikely,” said Smith. “But there is another thing you should know.”
“What’s that?” Remo asked.
“Before he went off the air, Thrush Limburger pointed out that there is no such thing as a Chinchilla Indian. The tribe is actually called the Chowchillas. Theodore Soars-With-Eagles is a fraud.”
“That part I already figured out,” Remo said dryly.
“Remo, I have looked into his background. His real name is Theodore Magarac.”
“Doesn’t sound very Chowchilla to me.”
“It is Latvian. Magarac is Latvian on both sides of his family. It is strange that the press hasn’t uncovered this fact, given the intensity with which they are covering this event.”
“Nothing the press does or doesn’t do is strange,” said Remo, eyeing the reporters filming the departing ambulance. “Chiun and I will deal with Magarac–if we can get close to him.”
“Any who stand in our path will die!” the Master of Sinanju cried in a loud voice.
“For God’s sake, Remo. Do not let Chiun kill any more network anchormen!”
“I only dispatched two,” Chiun cried. “I was referring to certain politically incorrect pretenders to the Eagle Throne.”
“He means Clancy,” Remo interjected.
“Remo, under no circumstances are you to molest Clancy in any way.”
“No problem, there. He’s not the molestee type anyway.”
“Stay in close contact, Remo.” And Smith disconnected.
Remo came out of the phone booth and said, “For your information, Clancy is politically correct.”
“He is?”
“Uh–huh. At all times.”
Chiun’s parchment face gathered its wrinkles into a tighter web.
“If Clancy is a political enemy of Harold Smith, and Harold Smith runs this country, how can Clancy be correct?”
“Because being politically correct is incorrect and vice versa,” explained Remo.
Chiun’s hazel eyes thinned to steely slits. “Is this like cultimulcherism?”
“Multiculturalism,” Remo corrected. “And no. But if it will help you understand then I take it back. The answer is yes.”
“Are we then politically correct, you and I?”
“No. But we are correct.”
“Why is that?”
“Because we’re the good guys and the good guys are always correct.”
They began walking back to the car.
“I’ll explain it on the way,” said Remo.
“And if you cannot?”
“You can ask Theodore Magarac. I’m sure he’ll give you any answer you want–once we promise not to scalp him when the cameras are on.”
Chapter Fourteen
Theodore Soars-With-Eagles Magarac squatted on his “Made in Japan” Navajo blanket in the center of his Naugahyde faux Chinchilla tepee, which when purchased had been advertised as a Hopi wigwam, and meditated.
It was happening. It was finally happening. He was on the threshold of the scam of his life. And all because he happened to overhear a restaurant conversation between Brother Karl Sagacious and his earliest adherents. And was quick to jump in the pool.
At first, Theodore Magarac had been content to grab for a piece of an emerging cult, gather together a few suckers, feed them bugs, fleece them when they least expected it, and blow town.
But when the first adherents of PAPA began dying of Human Environmental Liability Paradox, Magarac began packing. He had been eating the bugs all along too. Not exclusively, like the others. He couldn’t go very long without prime rib and lobster–although the thunderbug was a good cheap lobster substitute.
In fact, once the PAPA angle had been milked to death, Magarac had envisioned marketing the thunderbug as minced lobster salad. He had read somewhere that a fast food chain was able to legally sell octopus and squid as crabmeat, just by adding a small percent of real crab into the meal and paying off a congressman or two to get the legalities squared away.
And he had written the first chapter of The Authentic Chinchilla Thunderbug Cookbook, which he hoped to sell to a New York publisher.
But HELP changed all that. At first for the worse. But then as only the members of the Snapper wing of PAPA began dying, he began to see fresh angles to the scam.
When some blamed HELP on the thunderbug, Theodore Magarac stood up and pronounced it the work of a new hole in the ozone layer. It was the biggest scare in the news that week and inasmuch as some were calling HELP the next AIDS, he knew he would need a bigger scare to offset the AIDS insinuations.
