Remo looked at the collection "plates" on either side of the center aisle and saw two collection "barrels" that looked as large as the ones the forty thieves had hidden in.
He watched as the people left, and damned if everyone who had been sitting in the first three rows didn't drop five bucks or more into the jugs.
Moorcock walked with some people to the rear of the "place of meeting," obviously trying to coax more money out of them. When he saw Remo, he wished his flock members a good evening and approached him.
"You came," he said.
"Apparently."
"To scoff?"
"I came to ask questions."
"Ah, you seek wisdom."
"In a manner of speaking."
"Walk with me," Moorcock said, and started back down the center aisle.
"Aren't you going to take in your collection?"
Moorcock threw a glance at the urns, then said, "No one will steal from me."
"That may not be a modern attitude, but it's different."
"What wisdom do you seek?"
"I'm looking for someone."
"Who?"
"A white kid, about ffteen, or a black kid the same age," Remo said.
"You have no particular preference?" Moorcock asked. Remo saw that his eyes were the same as they had been in the Martin house, dark and intense, with a lot of white showing.
"Either or," Remo said. "There were two of them. One or both might have ducked in here."
"You were chasing them?"
"I was watching them, and I lost them. They came this way."
They reached the front of the church and stopped. Moorcock turned to face Remo.
"They did not come in here."
"Would you tell me if they had?"
"Why were you chasing them?"
"They were consummating a drug deal."
"Are you a policeman?"
"No."
"Why do you care, then? If they, or anyone, wishes to indulge in drugs, why should anyone stop them?"
"Is that one of your modern beliefs?"
"A minor one. That our bodies are ours and we may do what we wish with them."
"Oh, that's good. Original."
"You came to scoff."
"I came here looking for two kids," Remo said with exasperation.
"And I told you they are not here."
Remo considered pressing the self-styled minister a little harder, but at that moment he saw something move behind the man.
"Is there a back door to this place?"
"Yes, but…" Moorcock started to say, and then glanced quickly toward it.
"Thanks," Remo said, rushing past him.
Whoever had been hiding behind the rear door was gone. It had to have been one of the two kids, but which one?
It didn't really matter, he decided. The black kid was just a junkie, and the white kid— Lou's kid— he could find again whenever he wanted. Just then he had another idea.
He went back to the alley where the drug deal had been made. Starting from that point, he began to walk the ghetto streets, looking for a junkie or a dealer, whichever came first.
He drew a lot of looks and some sotto voce remarks, but there was something about this white man that kept anyone from approaching him. The way he walked, he seemed to be just waiting for someone to make a move on him. The eyes riveted on Remo seemed to say that this was one crazy white dude, and nobody wanted a piece of him.
It wasn't long before Remo found a junkie, a wasted-looking man in his twenties with a runny nose, sitting in a doorway.
"Hey, yo, man," the junkie said. He was so dirty, he might have been white or black. "Got any money, man? A dollar? A dime?"
"Neither one will buy you the high you need, friend," Remo said, crouching down to the junkie's level. "I've got a high you can get without a needle. A high you'll never believe."
"Shit," the junkie said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
"I'm serious. But it doesn't come free."
"Aw, man. I ain't got no money," the junkie said in obvious despair.
"This high doesn't cost money."
"You ain't shittin' me? What's it gonna cost me?"
"A name."
"What name? Mine?"
"A dealer."
"Aw, man… I can't give up my source." His tone of voice had gone from despair to anguish.
"I don't want your source," Remo said. "I want any source, any name you care to give me."
A cunning glint came into the man's previously dull and listless eyes, and he said, "Anyone?"
"As long as he's a dealer," Remo said. "But if you give me a phony name, I'll come back for you, and instead of a high, I'll give you the worst crash of your life."
Remo touched the junkie briefly, and a shadow of pain crossed his face. It was so fleeting, the pain, that the junkie wasn't even sure he'd felt it, but it prompted the truth from him.
"Try Danny the Man."
"Danny the Man. What's his last name?"
"I don't know. All anybody knows is Danny the Man."
"Where do I find him?"
The junkie gave Remo an address and then gave him directions for getting there.
"Just don't tell him I gave you his name."
"I don't even know yours. But I'll find you if this isn't true."
"It's true, man, it's true," the junkie said, grabbing Remo's arms. "Where's my high, man? You promised!"
"So I did," Remo said. He pulled his arms free of the man's frantic grip, reached around behind him, and touched him on the back of the neck. A euphoric look came over the junkie's face, and he leaned back against the door.
"Oh, wow," he breathed.
"Yeah," Remo said. "You don't know it, but you've just taken the cure. After this, you'll never find another high to match it."
"Oh, wow."
"Thanks for the info."
Remo left the junkie flying high in his doorway and started following the man's directions. The junkie had said it was close enough to walk.
When he reached the building he was looking for, he was surprised to find that it was a fairly decent-looking apartment house, located on the fringes of the ghetto. Close enough to his clientele to deal, but far enough away so that he could persuade himself that he didn't live with them, Remo said to himself.
Here I come, Danny the Man.
Danny "the Man" Lincoln had grown up in the ghetto, and somehow living on the edge of it gave him great satisfaction. He was living there because he wanted to, and he could leave anytime he wanted. He had enough money, and that was something his mother and father never had— enough money to get out.
Danny the Man wasn't expecting company. In fact, he already had company, a willowy black beauty who was stretched out on his bed, awaiting his pleasure and eager to fulfill it.
"Come to bed, Danny."
"What's your hurry, baby?" he asked from the doorway of his bedroom. Of course, he knew what her hurry was. The sooner she made him happy, the sooner she got some "candy," to make her happy. The kind of candy that mainlined you straight to heaven.
"I just want to make you happy, Danny," she said, batting her eyes and dropping the sheet so he could see her full, ripe breasts. "You know how I can make you happy."
"Oh, I know, all right," Danny said.
He was taking off his jacket when there was a knock at the door.
"Now who the hell—"
"Don't answer it," the girl on the bed said. If he answered it, she knew she wouldn't get her fix, and she couldn't wait any longer.
"Just be calm, Laura," he said. "I'll be right back."
He shrugged his jacket back on and walked to the door. There was another knock, and then he reached the door and opened it.
The man who opened the door was tall and black, in his late twenties, wearing a red smoking jacket.
"What can I do for you, my man?"
"Are you Danny the Man?" Remo asked.
"That's me."
"Somebody to
ld me you're a pusher."
Danny laughed and said, "What are you, a cop? Is this a new approach? Get lost, man." The black man started to slam the door, but Remo moved his foot and kept it open.
"I'm not a cop," he said, "I just need to talk to a pusher."
"About what? You looking to get into the business? Everybody wants in on the act."
"That's what I want to talk about," Remo said. He pushed past Danny and entered the apartment.
"Hey, man—"
"You better shut the door, Danny boy, so we don't attract any unwanted attention."
"And how we gonna do that, slick?"
"I'm going to ask you some questions, and if I don't get some straight answers, I'm going to bounce you all over these walls."
"Huh," Danny said contemptuously. It was a demonstration of his contempt that he did shut the door and then folded his arms defiantly. "You're a tough dude, huh? Big man?"
Before Remo could answer, the girl came out of the bedroom, naked.
"Danny—"
"Get back inside, bitch!" Danny the Man snapped.
"Danny, I just need—"
"I got somebody here, stupid. What are you coming out here like that for?"
Looking as if she had just been slapped in the face, she said, "Gee, honey, I just wanted—"
"You just wanted your fix, huh, bitch?" He walked up to her and slapped her viciously across the face. "You don't come walking into a room buck naked when I got company, you dumb cow! Go back in the bedroom and get dressed, and then get the hell out. I don't ever want to see you again!"
"But Danny, I need—"
"I know what you need, and you can go get it from somebody else. But you better have plenty of cash because they might not take a mediocre piece for it like I did."
He gave her a push that propelled her all the way into the next room.
"You're a sweetheart, aren't you?" Remo said.
"She's just a dumb junkie bitch," Danny said. "In an hour she'll be sitting in some alley someplace sniffling and shaking. She'll give some john a good time for five bucks."
He turned on Remo then and said, "We got some business, huh? You wanna ask me some questions and get straight answers?"
"That's right."
"Well, let's get past that part, white boy, because I want to get to the part where you bounce me off the walls." The black pusher smiled and produced a switchblade from his pocket. He flicked out the blade. "That I gotta see."
The girl came out of the bedroom then, half in and half out of her clothes, crying, but somehow exhibiting a defiance of her own.
"Big man, Danny the Man," she said with contempt. "You ain't a man, Danny boy, you ain't even a good—"
Danny took one step and brought his hand up to deliver a smashing backhand blow that would have rattled the girl's teeth and dislodged some of them if it had landed.
It didn't.
Danny felt an iron grip wrap itself around his wrist, and then he couldn't move his arm at all.
"Not this time," Remo said.
"Let go of my hand," Danny said coldly. He looked as cool as could be, but inside he was wondering what the white man's grip was made of. The man was no bigger than he was, but he couldn't move his goddamn arm!
"Back away from the girl," Remo said, "and then we'll continue our conversation."
Danny the Man's eyes bored into Remo's, and then he took a step back. As Remo let go of his wrist, Danny backed up a couple more steps. The girl, who had flinched in anticipation of the blow, looked at Remo.
"Thanks, mister."
"You'd better leave, miss."
"But, I need—"
"You don't need anything that he can give you," Remo said. "Come on, I'll walk you to the door."
He kept an eye on Danny as he walked with her to the door, and without letting the black drug pusher see what he was doing, he touched the girl on her back, by the fifth vertabra. The girl almost staggered from the jolt of pleasure that shot through her, but he steadied her, opened the door, and guided her into the hall. He left her leaning against the wall, still reeling from her new experience, one she'd never be able to match with any drug.
He closed the door and turned to face Danny, who was staring down at his hands. He was wondering why he had totally forgotten the blade in his left hand when the white man grabbed his right wrist.
"Now, about those questions," Remo said.
"You can ask," Danny said, "but that ain't saying that I'll answer."
"Well, we'll try it the easy way first."
Danny studied Remo for a few moments in silence, then folded up his blade and tucked it away.
"You want a drink?"
"No, thanks. Just some answers."
"Well, go ahead and ask."
The black man walked to a small portable bar, and Remo waited until he had a drink in his hand.
"I want to know about the drug business, Danny," he said. "Specifically in this area."
Danny sipped his drink. "Business ain't exactly booming."
"Why not?"
"There's some new action in town, and it's cutting into business. Not just my business. Everybody's."
"Who are they?"
"We've been trying to find out who's behind it, but all we've been able to find is who the street action is being handled by."
"Don't tell me, let me guess," Remo said. "Kids."
"Yeah, kids," Danny said. "If you know all this, why come to me?"
"Up till now I was just guessing."
"Well, whoever's running these kids is really cutting into our action, and we're looking for a way to fix that. If you can help us out, it would be worth a lot of money to you."
"Sorry, but I've got my own business to worry about."
"Which is?"
"Can't go into that right now, Danny."
"Well, if you can see your way clear to nudging some of these kids off the street while you're taking care of your own business, you could still find a nice chunk of change coming your way."
"I'll keep it in mind."
As Remo started for the door, Danny said, "That's it? That's all you wanted?"
"That's it."
"You mean I gave up an incredible piece of ass for this?" he asked, spreading his arms out helplessly.
"Sorry."
"No big deal," the pusher said. "She's gone, but she'll be back. She needs her candy, and I's de candy man, bro." He showed two rows of gleaming white teeth.
"Maybe she's lost her sweet tooth," Remo said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Remo left Danny the Man's building. There was no sign of the girl. She had probably gone off somewhere to enjoy her new high.
Anxious to find out if Smith had come up with anything, Remo found a pay phone. It was an old-fashioned booth, with a door and a light that didn't work when he closed it behind him. To his surprise, the phone did work.
He dialed the necessary digits and got Smith on the line.
He didn't notice the group of black youths that was following him.
At the same time a similar group of youths— these white— were moving down the hall toward Remo and Chiun's hotel room. White youths were as unnoticeable in the hotel as blacks were in the ghetto.
There were six of them. Many more, their leader thought, than would be needed to take care of one old chink.
They clustered around the door and, using the mass of their weight, broke it open and burst into the room.
They were not quite prepared for what met them.
"I've got a common denominator, but I'm not sure I understand it yet," Smith told Remo.
"Tell me about it," Remo said. "We'll figure it out together."
"Well, the figures on drug arrests are down in all three cities," Smith said. "For that to be the case in three major cities in the United States— especially those the size of New York and Los Angeles— is quite improbable. But nevertheless true, according to my computations."
"It's true."
"What do you know
?" Smith asked. "Specifically."
"Kids, specifically. This whole thing seems to be about kids."
"Well? Who killed Billy Martin?"
"I still don't know that, but I think I know why he was killed."
"All right, that's a start. Tell me why."
"According to the detective who made the arrest, the Martin kid was promising to spill some pretty big beans in exchange for a deal, but he got killed before he could tell them what it was."
"And you know what it was?"
"I think so. I think what he was going to tell them about was a whole new way of dealing drugs."
"Explain."
"They're using kids— minors— and when these kids get arrested, they go up on juvenile charges, which wouldn't show up in the drug statistics."
"And that's why the figures seem to have gone down."
"Right."
"Then the figures really haven't gone down at all. They just seem to have."
"Right again."
"Well, what good does that do?" Smith asked, puzzled.
"Smitty," Remo said, as if he were talking to a child, "it makes it look like the police are doing a fabulous job. The figures look like they've gone down, and you know police work is all stats. If the stats look good, so do the cops."
"Wait, let me confirm this with the computers while I have you on the line."
"Hey, it's your money," Remo said.
While Smitty played with his machines, Remo became aware of movement outside the phone booth. He was annoyed with himself that he hadn't noticed it earlier. On the sly he checked out the situation; anyone looking into the booth would think he was totally involved with his telephone call.
"This confirms it," Smith said, coming back on the line.
"What does?"
"The computer shows that all of the other juveniles who were killed in those three cities had come into a lot of money recently, and they all had police records."
"Involving drugs?"
"As you said, it wouldn't show up, but the mere presence of the record and the money is enough to indicate that your supposition is correct."
"Pretty smart for an assassin, huh?"
"I beg your pardon?" Smith asked.
Remo sighed. Smitty had the sense of humor of a bowling ball. "Forget it. I'm going to break this thing, if only to get Chiun off his somebody-is-killing-the-children-of-the-world kick."
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