Blood Ties

"My computers. They couldn't find a record of another Remo Williams having lived in the U.S. That made me suspicious of the name. It was too pat. And then the business of the woman being shot. Ballistics then said she was shot with the same gun being used in Detroit so I came here to run a check on these graves."

Smith referred to a notepad. "There was a D. Colt, but he died in 1940 and has no living relatives. That left the DeFuria family plot and once I learned that DeFuria was connected with organized crime, it all sort of came together."

Remo said nothing for a long time.

"They're going to bury him here? In this grave?"

"That's right," Smith said. "But that shouldn't concern you. He's not family."

"You know, Smitty, somewhere I've got family," Remo said.

"I researched your background thoroughly before bringing you into CURE," Smith said. "If you have parents, they would be impossible to trace."

"I want to know for sure," Remo said. "Smitty. Put your computers to work. You find out for me."

"And then what, Remo? You don't exist. You're standing on your own grave as far as the world is concerned. You can't have a family."

"I just want to know," Remo said. "I want to know if I belong to someone."

"You belong to Sinanju," Chiun said.

"I know, Little Father. And I know that I belong to you also. But this is different. It's just a loose end that I want to track down."

"Remo-" Smith started.

"Just find them, Smitty. Find them or I walk."

"I won't be blackmailed, Remo. I can always have Chiun train another person."

"I would not soil my hands with another," Chiun said. "Especially a white. Especially if I don't get Disneyland." Smith locked his briefcase. A stony expression clouded his face.

"All right, Remo. I'll look into it. I'll be in touch."

As he walked away, Remo called, "Smitty?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for clearing this one up for me."

"You're welcome, Remo."

After Smith left, Remo said, "Well, Chiun. Another day, another dollar."

"There will not be many more dollars if you do not return to training," Chiun said. "You are getting fat around the middle and your stroke when you dispatched that Mafia person was an abomination to see."

"We'll train tomorrow," Remo said. "I want to thank you too, Chiun."

"For what?"

"For caring."

"Who else would care for you? You are hopeless. And don't think I have forgotten your promise to get Nellie Wilson to sing a concert for me. And don't think that I have forgotten . . ."

Chiun recited a litany of complaints as he walked from the grave, but when he looked back, Remo still stood there, and Chiun was silent and walked away, leaving Remo standing over his own grave with the dead dry autumn leaves swirling around him, alone with his thoughts and his longings.