Bay City Blast

Chapter twelve

Denise looked up from her receptionist's desk as Remo came through the door from the mayor's office.

"Lunch?" she said.

He shook his head.

"Dinner? Breakfast in bed?"

"Sorry," Remo said. "Work."

"For that, I need you?"

"An assignment from the Mayor," Remo said.

Denise sat up straighter in her chair.

"He said for you to get as much help as you need. Then get the addresses of all the apartment buildings in town and the phone numbers of the superintendents. Start calling them. Tell them you're from the mayor's office or you're calling for the county nuthouse or whatever you want to tell them. But find out if they've rented an apartment recently to a tall man — way over six feet tall — wearing woman's clothes."

She looked up, nodding her understanding. "The TV who delivered that envelope?"

"You got it," Remo said. "Now this is important. If you find the address, you call me. I'm at the motel over in Jersey City."

"Better than that. When I get it, I'll deliver the address to you."

"I've got a roommate," Remo said.

"Awwww."

"But he goes to bed early," Remo said.

"Ooooh."

"But he's a light sleeper."

"Awwww."

"But I can always rent another room for our conference," Remo said.

"Stop it," she giggled. "You're making me crazy. I'll deliver that address. If I have to visit every apartment in Bay City myself."

Remo touched her on the shoulder. He felt her tingle. "Thanks. It's important."

Her smile almost warmed his back as he left her office.

Inside, Rocco Nobile was hanging up the telephone. He shook his head at Remo.

"You can control the news but you can't control the rumors."

"What was that?" Remo asked.

"One of my contacts in California. He'd heard that we were having some trouble."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Just a fire. The usual thing in an old city."

"He buy it?"

"I think so, but we've got to get that lunatic Eraser off the streets."

That afternoon, Remo rented another motel room next to his own and that night, when Rocco Nobile was finished at the office, Remo drove his limousine to the Bay City Arms penthouse apartment. In case anyone was watching, they went into the lobby and entered the elevator. But they stopped at the second floor and walked down a back stairway to the basement, and out a back door where they got into Remo's car.

After Remo had Nobile safe in his motel room, he went to his own room where Chiun was sitting on the floor, waiting. In front of him was the box of ping pong balls.

"Not again, Chiun."

"Again and again until you move correctly. Small errors left unchecked grow into large errors and large errors are what fatalities are made of. And if you are killed, what will people think of me? Hah, there is Chiun who trained someone so badly that he was killed. I do not deserve that, Remo."

"Gee, Chiun, I'm really sorry for your troubles."

"Thank you. Just do not add to them. You have moved badly lately, and we will correct it now."

Chiun was up and put the box of balls on the table alongside him. Remo took his stance ten feet away. Chiun threw. The ball started out far to the right, then hooked sharply just before it reached the wall and swerved back toward Remo's head. Remo put his hand up, edge first, caught the ball and slashed down through it with a hacking motion. The ball split neatly down the center and both halves slammed against the wall with two sharp cracking sounds.

"Good?" said Remo.

"Better," said Chiun. "Again."

He tossed another ball at Remo, this time with an easy deceptive underhand motion. The ball started out low, traveling no more than eight inches above the carpeted floor.

Remo watched the ball, waiting, but it did not rise and he glanced at Chiun with a look of superiority on his face. He looked back down just as the ball swooped and caught Remo under the chin. It fell softly to the rug. Remo rubbed his chin, which smarted from the pain. He bent over, picked up the ball and angrily slammed it with his hand. The ball split. Its two halves slammed against the plywood wall, where their ragged-cut edges bit and stuck.

"Very good," Chiun said. "Get angry at the ball. But not at yourself who is the fool who allowed yourself to be hit."

Two rooms away, the rapping of the ping pong balls against the wall was not lost on Mark Tolan.

"That's it," he said. He pulled a T-shirt over his heavily muscled torso.

"Where are you going?" Sam Gregory asked.

"I'm going over to stick those ping pong paddles up some asses," Tolan said as he walked toward the door. "I already warned them about that racket."

"We've got work to do," Gregory said. "We're going out soon to hit that headquarters."

"I'll be back. Don't start the war without me," Tolan said. As he walked through the door, he thought, yeah, start the war without me and you've got nobody to fight it. Nobody except a drunk and a fake and a millionaire chart-maker. But when you need the purity of killing, you need Mark Tolan. Yeah.

He pounded on Remo's door with his heavy fist.

"Open up this goddam door."

"It's open," a soft voice replied. Tolan pushed the door open. Inside, he saw a small Oriental man, holding a ping pong ball. The man was wearing a dark green kimono. He was smiling.

"Yes?" the Oriental said.

"Where is he?" Tolan demanded.

"Who?" asked Chiun.

"This wiseass I told to stop playing or else I'd give him his."

Remo stepped forward from the end of the room. "You mean me, ugly?" he said.

Tolan looked around the room. He saw no weapons. And this white guy was skinny. Tolan had him by forty pounds.

"You playing ping pong again?"

"Yeah. You want lessons?"

"No, I come to give you a lesson. I thought I told you to knock it off."

"That was yesterday," Remo said. "This is today."

"Yeah?"

Remo looked at Chiun who shrugged, shaking his head, unable to understand the western mind which did not want people to practice their balance using ping pong balls. If they did not want that, why did westerners bother to invent ping pong balls, Chiun wondered.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Remo. said. "Yesterday was yesterday and today is today."

"I told you to stop. I meant for good," Tolan said.

"We'll keep it in mind," Remo said. "Now go away. You're annoying me."

"Yeah?"

"You're really good at dialogue," Remo said.

"Yeah? Well, you're pretty good at lipping off. You want to step outside?"

"Why? Is it nicer out there than in here?"

"More room to mop you up in," Tolan said.

"That's good," said Remo. "I'd give you about a sixty-seven on that one."

"You coming outside or do I mop you up in here?"

Remo thought about Rocco Nobile in the next room. If he heard any noise outside, he might be inclined to look out and someone might just notice him. Remo chose not to go outside.

"You'd better do it here," Remo said. "The afternoon air might chill my ping pong muscles."

Tolan growled and charged into the room. He felt something hook his ankles. He looked back as he was falling. It was the Oriental's foot. The old man had tripped him up. He looked at the Oriental. The old man still had the same simpering smile on his face.

Before he had a chance to reach out and grab that little yellow face in his hands and crush it like an egg, he felt himself being lifted up by the seat of his pants. The skinny white guy had him and was swinging him back and forth. Then he let him go and Tolan swung out through the open door onto the sidewalk in front of the motel room. He felt the skin scraping off his hands and knees as he slid. He heard the door slam behind him.

He rolled over and looked up at the door. The door opened again and a ping pong ball came out and landed in front of Mark Tolan's nose.

He heard the white man's voice. "Come back after you have a chance to practice."

He heard the door lock.

When he stood up and dusted himself off, he again heard the infernal tapping of the ping pong balls off the wall. He started for the door again, but stopped when Sam Gregory came out of his room two doors away. Behind him was Al Baker, looking around carefully before stepping outside. The Lizzard, dressed again in woman's clothes, stood lingering in the doorway.

"Come on," Gregory said. "We've got to leave."

Yeah, it would be fun beating up on the guy, Tolan thought. Taking a ping pong paddle and shoving the handle down the skinny guy's throat. But that wasn't nearly as much fun as spraying the Bay City Improvement Association with bullets. The skinny white dude would have to wait. Tolan followed Gregory to the car.

Gregory drove.

"Where we going?" Tolan asked.

"To our safe apartment," Gregory said. "We'll time our move from there."

"You got my guns?" Tolan asked.

"The Lizzard has them in his pocketbook," Gregory said.

"Hey, faggot," Tolan called into the backseat. "Don't go getting them smeared with lipstick."

The last ping pong ball had been smashed when there was another knock on Remo's door ninety minutes later. Remo thought it might be the hard-faced guy coming back. He hoped it was. His muscles ached to hit something more substantial than a ping pong ball.

It was Denise. She held a paper in her hands and she smiled when she saw Remo.

She handed it forward.

"Here it is. Three-sixty-four Barrack Street. A big transvestite rented it two days ago."

Remo took the paper and hugged her.

"Oooooh," she said.

"Come on, Chiun, let's go," Remo said. He thought of Rocco Nobile next door. Maybe he should be in at the finish too.

"You going somewhere?" Denise asked. Disappointment crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"Have to now," Remo said. "But there's plenty of time for us."

He got her into her car and then roused Rocco Nobile who was napping, and together with Chiun they drove back into Bay City, toward Barrack Street, toward the Bay City Improvement Association, toward their long-awaited meeting with The Eraser.