Created, the Destroyer

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

He came to in the back seat of a darkened car. The man who had been tailing him that afternoon sat on his left cradling a revolver in his right hand. He wore a sharp hat well suited for a salesman. It almost shielded a face well suited for a German butcher.

A thin man in front with a homburg was smiling. Then there was the thick neck of the driver. They were obviously parked in the suburbs. Remo noticed trees but no lights from nearby houses.

Remo shook his head, not so much to clear it but to notify his captors he was awake.

«Aha,» said the man in the homburg. «Our guest is awake. Mr. Cabell, you don't know how terribly sorry we are that you suffered that accident back in the hotel. But you know how slippery hotel floors are. Feeling better?»

Remo pretended almost total disability.

The man in the homburg went on. «We will not tell you why we brought you here. We will just explain a few facts.» He brought a cigarette to his lips. He had no weapon in his right hand.

«We have kidnapped you, Mr. Cabell. We could all go to the electric chair for this, correct?»

Remo blinked.

«And if we were to kill you, we could get no worse punishment. But do we want to kill you?»

Remo was motionless.

«No,» the man answered his own question. «We do not wish to kill you. Not necessarily. What we want is to give you $2,000.»

The light from the man's cigarette illuminated his smiling face. «Will you take it?»

Remo spoke. «Since you insist and since you've gone to so much trouble, what could I do but accept?»

«Good,» said the man under the homburg. «We want you to spend it back in Los Angeles where you came from.»

He lifted his left hand-no weapon there, either-and put out the cigarette. «We want you to go back to Los Angeles immediately,» he said. His voice was suddenly harsh.

«If you do not, we will kill you. If you mention this to a soul, we will kill you. If you come back, we will kill you. We will watch you a long, long time to see that you keep your bargain. And if you do not, we will kill you. Understand?»

Remo shrugged. He felt the gun jammed into his ribs. He lifted his elbow casually, slightly above it. «That's perfectly clear and fair,» he said, «Except for one thing.»

«What's that?» said the homburg.

«I'm going to kill all of you.» His left elbow came down on the German butcher's wrist and his left palm snatched the pistol. His right hand lashed out at a mark underneath the homburg, between the ear and the eye. His left hand jammed the pistol butt under the butcher's nose and the driver turned to meet a flat chop right at the base of his skull. Some bones snapped. Remo could feel it. Like blocks of wood at Folcroft.

He could hear Chiun chiding. Swift-accurate, accurate, accurate. The mark. Remo carefully knocked out the butcher, then slid into the front seat. He checked the driver slumped to the corner of the wheel. Blood was coming from his mouth. He'd never come to.

He looked to homburg. Maybe his stroke had been off. He felt the man's head, running his finger tips over the temple. He could feel the separated bones, the oozing warm fluid running from the eyes. No luck, dammit, homburg was dead too.

He returned to the back seat where butcher was reaching for space. He grabbed an arm and waited a few moments. Then he twisted the arm behind butcher's back and lifted until the first sound of pain.

«Felton,» Remo whispered into the cauliflower ear with the tuft of hair growing from it «Felton. Ever hear of him?»

«O-oh,» butcher yelped.

Remo lifted the arm higher. «Yes, yes. Yes.»

«Who is he?»

«I never seen him. He's Scotty's boss.»

«Who's Scotty?»

«The guy you was talking with. Scottichio.»

«With the homburg?»

«Yeah. Yeah. The hat.»

«Did Felton tell him to come here?» Remo asked, jerking higher on the arm.

«Jeez. Please. Oooh. Yeah. That's what Scotty said. That Felton told him he was afraid somebody might be trying to bother his daughter. That's the girl you was with. We was supposed to watch out for her.»

Up went the arm. «Now for your life. Maxwell.»

«What?»

The arm went higher, the shoulder muscles and tendons began to rip. «Maxwell.»

«Don't know him. Don't know him. Don't know him. Jeez.»

Snap. The arm rose over the butcher's head and he slumped forward. Remo reached into his belt. The needle was bent The hell with it, Remo thought. He wasn't lying.

Remo looked at his watch. Forty minutes since he'd left the hotel room. He couldn't be far.

He climbed to the front seat, put his arms under homburg's shoulders and with a grunt lifted him over the seat to the rear. Then he did the same with the driver. Moving them was rougher than killing them. He lifted the keys from the ignition, then hopped out of the car. In the trunk of the car, which he noticed for the first time was a dark Cadillac, he found a tarpaulin. He removed it, shut the trunk and returned to the car. He threw it over the two corpses, then folded it back halfway for one more occupant. He pulled the butcher down onto the pile with his fat face sticking up. Then he killed him, covered all three with the tarpaulin and started the car.

He found he was on a side road and quickly discovered the road that led him back to town. He parked the car on a main thoroughfare. The police were lucky that night. None of them stopped him. Remo locked the car and pocketed the keys. Who knew what they would unlock?