Total Recall td-58

by Warren Murphy

  "He takes that very seriously."

  "Chiun takes everything very seriously. Have you got anything yet on that guy I asked you to check out?"

  "Not yet."

  "Well, I've got something else you can put your machines to work on."

  "What?"

  "I want you to run a background check on a minister who calls himself Lorenzo Moorcock. He runs something calld the Church of Modern-day Beliefs, based here in Detroit."

  "What's he got to do with this?"

  "I'm not sure. He's flitting around the edge of the whole thing, and I'd like to know more about him."

  "I'll take care of it."

  "Good. I'll get back to you."

  Remo hung up and knew that the phone booth was surrounded by a half-dozen surly-looking kids with blades. But what really bothered him was that he knew he was going to have to go through them without killing one, because he'd never hear the end of it from Chiun.

  CHAPTER NINE

  When Remo got back to his hotel room, the door was open and the place was virtually littered with broken and battered bodies. Chiun was seated peacefully in the midst of the carnage.

  "Are they all dead?" Remo demanded accusingly, slamming the door shut behind him.

  "Of course. Some of us do not have faulty technique."

  "Oh, great," Remo said. He walked around the room checking bodies, hoping to find at least one live one they could question. While doing so, he noticed something that surprised him.

  "Chiun, these are all kids," he said. "They're all young, and you killed them."

  Chiun made a sound of disgust and said, "You look, but you do not see."

  Remo checked the faces again and saw what Chiun meant. Although all of the dead men were young, there wasn't one of them who wasn't of legal age. As far as Chiun was concerned, they were no longer children.

  "I guess that's what happens to the kids when they get too old to be pushers," Remo said. "The organization makes them into killers."

  "Trash."

  "Maybe, but if we'd gotten even one of them alive, we might have found out something."

  "Pah," Chiun said. "You left me alone here all day so that my serenity was shattered by these amateurish oafs, and now you bother me with trivialities. You know nothing about suffering."

  "I do too. As a matter of fact, I ran into a gang of goons myself."

  "You were attacked?"

  "Sort of," Remo said, feeling that he had put his foot in his mouth.

  "And you questioned them?"

  "Well, um, no."

  "Yet you didn't kill them?"

  "They kind of got away from me." Chiun made a face. "Well, what could I do?" Remo went on. "They were kids, real kids. And I knew I'd never hear the end of it from you if I killed even one."

  "So what did you do?"

  "I scared them away."

  "Oh? That's interesting. How?"

  "Let's just say we owe the city of Detroit one phone booth."

  When the phone rang, Remo raced for it, just to terminate Chiun's questioning.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Randisi," the desk clerk said, using the name Remo had registered under.

  "Mr. who? Oh, yeah. What is it?"

  "There's a policeman here to see you."

  "Now?" Remo looked around the corpse-strewn room. "Tell him we're not in."

  "I'm afraid he's already on his way up, sir."

  "Terrific." Remo sighed. "That's just peachy. His name's Palmer, I suppose."

  "Why, yes, sir. He said—"

  Remo hung up and ran immediately to the bodies lying sprawled around the room, propping them up on chairs and daubing at the crusted blood on their faces with wet tissues.

  "Come on, Chiun. You've got to help make these guys look like they're alive."

  "The Master of Sinanju does not perform laborers' tasks," Chiun said.

  "But geez, it's the cops," Remo said, dashing frantically to stop one of the bodies as it fell forward off a chair. "They'll pull us in for murder, for Pete's sake. Smitty'll have a hemorrhage."

  "I am an assassin," Chiun said loftily. "I do not bring the dead back to life. That is the work of a magician. If Emperor Smith wished evil persons to remain alive, he would not have hired—"

  "Grab him, will you?" Remo pointed to the body, which was slowly lolling forward. Chiun flung out his left arm. There was the crunch of neckbones as the body jolted back into an upright position.

  Detective Palmer pounded on the door.

  "Hold it a second," Remo yelled irritably while pressing together the skin on another dead man's forehead to cover a hole made by Chiun's index finger.

  Softly Chiun spoke. "You had better answer the door."

  "I will, already."

  "You had better answer it now." Chiun was staring at the door, Remo followed the old man's gaze. The door was falling forward.

  "The hinges came off during my altercation with these persons," the old Oriental said. "For aesthetic purposes, I reattached them to the wall."

  Indeed, the hinges were embedded beautifully in the plaster. The only trouble was that they weren't attached to anything.

  Remo rushed for the door, stopped it before it slammed to the floor, and righted it. Then, using a lot of muscle, he creaked it open a hair as if he were opening it normally.

  "Nice," Palmer said.

  Remo shook his head. "I've been calling the hotel maintenance department for hours."

  Palmer tried to peek through the narrow opening. "Mind if I come in?"

  "Yes," Remo said emphatically. "That is, we were asleep. We're not dressed for entertaining."

  "I just counted six guys in there."

  "Well…" Remo thought for a moment. "They're asleep too."

  The detective gave Remo a disgusted look. "Oh, I get it. A pajama party."

  "Ummm…"

  Chiun's wrinkled face peered out beneath Remo's elbow. "Silence, please," he hissed. "I am conducting a séance. My associates are in deep trance." The face ducked and vanished.

  Palmer folded his arms over his chest. "Okay," he said. "What the hell's going on here?"

  "Shhh," Remo whispered. "You heard him. The trancees can't be disturbed."

  Palmer tried again to look past Remo, but Remo blocked his vision. Palmer feinted left, then right, then jumped. Each time, Remo matched the move.

  "If I had a suspicious nature, I'd say you didn't want me to see what's in there," Palmer said.

  "The confidentiality of the trancee-medium relationship must be honored," Remo said weightily.

  "Is that so?" Suddenly Palmer dropped to his stomach. Remo did the same. Then Palmer raised his head. "Aha!" he shouted before Remo could block his line of sight again.

  At the sound, a troublesome body fell forward, crashing headfirst into the coffee table.

  Palmer stood up, dusting himself off. "Those guys in there don't look too healthy," he said, giving Remo the once-over with his eyes.

  "Hey. We don't ask for a certificate of health, okay? So what are you here about, anyway?"

  Palmer pursed his lips, as if deciding whether or not to arrest Remo on the spot. Then his mouth relaxed, and his face formed into its normal ferocious scowl. "Ah, what the hell," he said. "It's been a lousy enough day. We came by to tell you about your car."

  "Car?"

  "The rental. It blew up, remember?"

  "Oh, yeah." The car had been the last thing on Remo's mind. "What was wrong with it?"

  "What do I look like, a mechanic?" Palmer said crankily. "It had an extra part. A bomb."

  Out of the corner of his eye, Remo saw another body keeling over.

  "Uh… that's fine."

  "Palmer's face reddened. "Oh, it's fine, is it?"

  "No. I mean, it's not fine," Remo stammered. "It's terrible. What's the world coming to? A damn shame, that's what it is…."

  Palmer checked his watch with a sigh. "Five o'clock, and I need this? Come on, Madame Zelda. You and your friend are going to the station." He reached an ar
m through the opening of the door.

  Remo touched two fingers to Palmer's wrist and paralyzed it.

  "Wha—"

  Remo tapped the detective's throat. No further sound came out.

  "Listen," Remo said. "I know this looks suspicious, but we can't explain anything except that we're on your side. You can believe us or not, but you can't take us in. Physically can't."

  As the detective gaped at Remo in mute surprise, his arm stiffly outstretched, Remo said, "But I'll tell you what we know. One, somebody killed the lawyer named Weems. You probably already knew that, and you've probably guessed that it's got something to do with the Billy Martin murder. Two, we think Billy was part of a drug ring that uses kids as street pushers. The top guys in the ring aren't kids, though, and we're trying to find out who they are. But we're not going to find out anything if cops are always hanging around us, so we'd appreciate it if you'd get lost for a while."

  Then he touched Palmer's throat to release the paralyzed muscles.

  "Why, you—" the detective began. Remo tapped the muscles again, and Palmer fell into an angry silence.

  "I guess you don't believe the part about not being able to arrest us," Remo said. Palmer narrowed his eyes. Remo reached out and manipulated a spot on the detective's collarbone that caused Palmer's eyes to widen in pain.

  "Do you believe me now?"

  Palmer nodded.

  Remo released the man's collarbone and then his arm. "I'm sorry I had to do that," he said.

  Palmer nodded again, then pointed to his mouth.

  "But do you really believe?" Remo said, trying to imitate Peter Pan.

  The detective rolled his eyes. Remo touched his throat.

  "Ah. Ah," Palmer said, holding his hand to his throat experimentally. "How'd you do that?"

  "It's not easy to explain," Remo said. He told Palmer about the drug arrest figures and the elusive connection between the cities of New York, New Orleans, Los Angeles, and Detroit.

  Palmer mulled over the information in silence for a few moments. "Who do you work for?" he asked finally.

  Remo shook his head. "Sorry."

  "Government?"

  "Can't say."

  "It's government," Palmer said with finality. "No hit man can do the kind of thing you just did." He turned to leave, then turned back. "Just do me a favor, okay?"

  "Shoot."

  "Let me in on your discoveries next time. Just so some innocent rookie don't decide to arrest you and end up in the funny farm."

  "Will do," Remo said.

  "And another thing. You better use a different name the next time you rent a car. That bomb was for you. Somebody's got you pegged."

  "That's okay. We can take care of ourselves."

  "Somehow," Palmer said, rubbing his throat, "that doesn't surprise me."

  CHAPTER TEN

  The following morning Remo put a call in to Smith from the hotel room and filled him in on the attempts on both his and Chiun's lives.

  "Why an attempt on Chiun?" Smith asked.

  "I've been thinking about that," Remo said. "I'm pretty sure it was meant to be an attempt on me. They were just unlucky enough to find Chiun instead."

  "Any problem with the local police?"

  "No. We seem to have stumbled into a fairly good working relationship with the detective who arrested the Martin kid."

  "What kind of relationship?" Smith asked suspiciously.

  "Umm…" Remo knew how Smith felt about outsiders knowing anything at all about CURE. "He thinks we're mediums," he said.

  "The Detroit police use mediums to solve their cases?"

  "Why not?" Remo said lightly. "Anyway, what did you get for me?"

  "Some enlightening information. For one thing, Lorenzo Moorcock is the man's real name."

  "You're kidding."

  "I don't kid, Remo."

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot for a second. Continue, please."

  "He's a failed politician."

  "Well, he's got good training for what he's doing now, that's for sure."

  "He ran for city commissioner in Detroit a few years ago and lost, but the interesting part is where he got large transfusions of money for his campaign."

  "All right, Smitty, I'll bite. Where?"

  "He received large donations from Iranian groups, both legal and illegal."

  "That explains why he was singing the praises of the Ayatollah in his sermon. What other kinds of friends does he have?"

  "Well, since then he's started this modern-beliefs religion, and he's made close friends with some Mexican officials who visit Detroit regularly as some sort of Mexican trade delegation to observe how cars are built here. Apparently, they visit his church for services while they are here. The Mexicans come fairly frequently— several times a year."

  "Iranians and Mexicans, that's an odd pair."

  "Very odd. What do you plan to do now?"

  "I'm not sure. I guess I'll have to keep a close eye on Moorcock for a while and also talk to the other man I asked you to check up on for me. What did you get on him?"

  "Louis Sterling. He's been working at National Motors as long as Allan Martin had been. His son is fifteen. His name is Walter."

  "I'll want to talk to him again too. He was involved in what looked like a drug sale the other night, so he looks like my best bet to get some information on this drug ring."

  "Do you know where to find him?"

  "I'm hoping that he went back home last night, but if he saw me at Moorcock's church, he might be hiding out. If that's the case, I'll just have to hunt him up."

  "Well, do what you have to do, and keep me informed."

  "Always, Smitty," Remo said. He was about to hang up when something occurred to him. "Smitty, when is the next Mexican trade delegation due?"

  "Wait, I'll check with the computer." A few moments went by, and then Smith said, "Just by coincidence, they're due in town tomorrow."

  "Bingo. Thanks, Smitty. I'll keep in touch."

  When he hung up, Chiun looked at him expectantly, and he went over the conversation with Smith.

  "This minister has some very strange friends," Chiun remarked.

  "One of us ought to keep an eye on him," Remo said, "while the other one looks for Walter Sterling."

  "I will watch the minister," Chiun said. "He interests me."

  "Then I'll get out there and try to find the Sterling kid. He's the only lead we have on this drug ring, and maybe he can lead us to whoever's in charge."

  "And that will be the person responsible for the killing of the children."

  Remo closed his eyes and said, "Yes, Chiun."

  As they got ready to leave, Remo said, "No matter what happens, we'll meet back here this evening. If I can't find the Sterling kid, I want to follow the good minister tomorrow when he meets his friends from the Mexican trade commission."

  "If you find the boy—" Chiun began.

  "I know," Remo said, "I'll be nice to him. I'll buy him a lollipop and ask him real nice to tell me who his source is."

  Remo decided against saddling himself with another rental car and took a cab to the Sterling house. He didn't bother wondering how Chiun was going to get around, or how the Oriental would follow the minister without being spotted. He knew that if Chiun didn't want to be seen, he could be damned near invisible.

  When he reached the Sterling house, there was no car in front or in the driveway, but then he hadn't expected Louis Sterling to be home. It was Walter he was after.

  He rang the bell, hoping against hope that the kid himself would answer. When there was no immediate reply, he rang again, deciding he'd settle for the kid's mother. When no one answered the second ring, he put his hand on the doorknob, exerted just the right amount of pressure, and popped it open.

  It only took a few moments for him to ascertain that the house was empty, and then he started his search. He was looking for a large stash of money or anything else that might help him. When he found what was obviously the kid's bedroom, he spent
more time there than anywhere else and was rewarded. In the closet he found some loose floorboards and, prying them up, discovered what he was looking for. Not only did he find the cash, but there were some drugs hidden away as well. Still, there was nothing to tell where either had come from, so he left them there and replaced the floorboards.

  He left the house and decided that he might as well go to the plant and talk to Louis Sterling, who might be able to tell him where his son was.

  When he got to the plant, he received a pass from the same receptionist he had seen on his first visit and went looking for Sterling on the assembly line. When he didn't see him, he asked the foreman, Boffa, if he knew where he was.

  "Did you check the lounge?"

  "Yeah, he's not there."

  "What about the locker room?"

  "I don't know where it is."

  Checking his watch, the foreman frowned and then said, "All right, come on, I'll show you."

  Remo followed Boffa to the locker room, where they found Louis Sterling crouched down in front of his open locker.

  "Lou—" Boffa began, but he stopped when he noticed something funny. Remo noticed also that Sterling wasn't crouched. He was slumped against the locker.

  And dead.

  "What the hell…" the foreman said.

  Remo touched the man on the shoulder and leaned over him. In the middle of Sterling's chest was a gaping knife wound.

  Remo left the plant in a hurry, not even stopping to drop off his badge. With Louis Sterling dead, Walter Sterling couldn't be that far behind. Obviously, Remo had gotten too close when he latched on to the Sterlings, and the intention now was to remove them before he could get anything out of them.

  "Call the police and ask for Detective Palmer," Remo said, giving Boffa quick instructions. "Tell him I was here— that's Randisi— but 1 had to leave."

  "Shouldn't you wait?"

  "Louis Sterling is dead, and I think his son Walter is next on the list. Tell Palmer I'll get in touch with him when I can."

  After that, he left the plant and hailed a cab. He wanted to go to the Church of Modern-day Beliefs and check in with Chiun. Maybe the Sterling kid was inside the church with Moorcock.

  Remo was sure that no one had been able to spot Chiun for the simple reason that it had taken him fifteen minutes to spot him himself. The wily Oriental had simply taken up position in the shadows between the slats of the fence behind the alley where Remo had watched the drug deal go down.