CHAPTER NINE.

At the same time Johnny Deussio was thinking, Remo was bringing his mighty intellect to bear upon much the same problem: killing.

Who could want Fielding's formula so badly that they would try to get it by first disposing of Remo and Chiun? Since the magic Wondergrains were virtually going to be given away, who would gain by stealing their secret?

Despite the acc.u.mulated ma.s.s of scar tissue and raw knuckles that he and Chiun had been running into, Remo's instincts told him that it was not a mob venture. The mob had other things to worry about besides farming. Loan-sharking was quite profitable enough; so was prost.i.tution, drugs, gambling, and politics, the usual kinds of crime in America.

No. Not the mob. Remo decided that some foreign power was behind the violence that seemed to dog Fielding's steps.

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His first suspicion was India, but Chiun scoffed at that suggestion when Remo made it.

"India would never hire killers, even fat ones, to try to do a job. They would not want to waste a few thousand of your dollars when it could be used to help build more nuclear weapons."

"You sure?" asked Remo.

"Of course. India would try to get the formula exclusively for itself by praying for it."

Remo nodded and lay back down on the sofa in their Dayton hotel room. Who else, if not India? Who else had been at the demonstration?

Of course.

Cuba. Maria Gonzales.

"Chiun," said Remo again.

Chiun was sitting in the center of the hotel living room rug, staring at his fingertips which were steepled together.

"That is my name," he said, not taking his eyes from his fingers.

"Do you know where that Cuban woman is staying? Did she tell you?"

"I am not in the habit of finding out the hotel rooms of strange women," said Chiun.

"I don't know. You kept getting between the two of us, and I was beginning to think that maybe you were ditching Barbra Streisand for her."

"Be cautious," said Chiun, resenting any levity about the great unrequited love of his life. "Even coequal partners must speak with discretion."

"You don't know where she is?"

"She is a Cuban. If she is still in town, she will be in the cheapest hotel."

"Thank you."

106.

The desk clerk downstairs told Remo that the Hotel Needham was the cheapest hotel in town. In fact, not only the cheapest but the dirtiest.

When Remo called the Hotel Needham, he found that indeed a Maria Gonzales was registered there. In fact there were three Maria Gonzaleses registered there.

"This one's kind of good-looking."

"Most of the girls registered here are kind of goodlooking," said a man's oily voice over the phone. "Course it all depends on your taste. Now if you want my advice ...."

"No, I don't think I do. This chick would have checked in just today."

"I'm not in the habit of giving out such information," the voice said as the verbal oil congealed.

"I'm in the habit of giving out fifty-dollar bills to people who tell me what I want to know," said Remo.

"Maria Gonzales checked in today into Room 363. She's different from our other two Marias. She's a Cuban; the other two are spicks. We don't get many Cuban broads around here but I guess she hasn't had a chance to establish herself yet because there haven't been any phone calls or visits or ...."

"I'll be right over," said Remo. "I've got fifty for you."

"I'll wait. How will I recognize you?"

"My fly will be zipped."

The desk clerk at the Hotel Needham had looks to match his voice. He was fifty struggling to look only forty-nine; 195 dressed to look 150; short dressed to look tall, balding but coiffed to look hairy. If Brillo strands coated with spar varnish could be called hair.

"Yeah?" he said to Remo.

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"I'm Pete Smith, looking for my brother John. You got a John Smith registered here?"

"Twelve of them."

"Yeah, but he'd have his wife with him," said Remo.

"All twelve," said the clerk.

"Yeah, but she's a blond in a miniskirt, good legs, big b.o.o.bs, and wears too much makeup."

"Ten of them."

"She's got the clap."

"Not here," said the clerk. "This is a clean place."

"Good," said Remo. "That's really what I wanted to find out. My brother's not registered here. I just wanted to look the place over. IBM might want the grand ballroom for its next annual stockholders' meeting."

"Listen, buddy, do you want something?"

"I want to give you fifty dollars."

"I'm listening, I'm listening."

Remo peeled a fifty from a cl.u.s.ter of bills in his pocket and dropped it on the desk. "Maria Gonzales still in room 363?"

The clerk put the money away before answering. "Yes. Want me to announce you?"

"No, don't bother. Surprises are always such fun, aren't they?"

From inside room 363, martial music was playing. Remo knocked loudly to be heard over it.

He knocked again. The music dropped suddenly in volume. From behind the door, a voice asked: "Who is it?"

"Cuba Libre," said Remo.

The door opened cautiously, still fastened with a chain. Maria peered through the crack. Remo smiled.

"Hi. Remember me?"

108.

"If you have come to apologize for the behavior of your countrymen, you are too late," she sputtered.

"Aaaah, what happened?" asked Remo solicitously.

She glanced downward toward Remo's groin. "At least you know how to behave yourself. You have learned manners from the grand Oriental. You may come in. But behave yourself."

"What's happened to make you mad at us?" asked Remo, stepping inside the room.

Maria was wearing the same clothes she had worn that afternoon, a khaki miniskirt and khaki blouse, both of them filled just right. She looked like a security guard at the local Playboy Club.

She turned toward Remo and put her hands on her hips in a gesture of pout. "I have been here but four hours. Already five men have been pounding on my door, demanding that I let them in. They say unspeakable things. One displayed himself."

"Exposed," corrected Remo.

"That is correct. What kind of country is this where men do that?"

"They think you're a different Maria Gonzales. A hooker."

"What is this hooker?"

"A prost.i.tute."

"Ah, yes. The prost.i.tutes. We had them before Fidel."

"You had sugar harvests back then too."

"Ah, but now we have the dignity."

"And the empty belly."

Maria started to answer, stopped, then nodded abruptly. "Right. And that is why I am here. And you can help me because you are a most important Yankee."

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"How do you know that?"

"The Oriental. He told me, as a Third World comrade, that you were very important. You were in charge of keeping the Const.i.tution safe. He said he was your coequal partner but no one believed he was as important as you because his skin was yellow. Are you in charge of keeping the Const.i.tution safe?"

"Absolutely," said Remo. "I keep it in a footlocker under my bed."

"Then you must tell me how Mister Fielding does his miracle growing." Maria's face was an open appeal.

"You really want to know, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Why? Wondergrain's almost going to be given away."

"Almost is not good enough. My country is a very poor country, Remo ... it is Remo, isn't it? Any cost is too high a cost. All our funds are committed. We owe our souls to the Russians. Can we now give our bodies to the American Yankees? That is why I was sent, to try to find out how Fielding does this thing he is going to do."

"Would you be willing to kill for it?" asked Remo.

"I would be willing to do anything for it. It is for Cuba ... for Fidel . . . for the memory of Che . . . for the socialist revolution."

She raised her hands and began to unb.u.t.ton her khaki blouse. When it was open she pulled it back exposing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She smiled at Remo. "I would do anything for the secret. Even be your hooper."

"Hooker."

"Right. Hooker." Maria sat back onto the bed, removed her blouse, then arranged herself in a p.r.o.ne position as if she were setting a vase with flowers. "I 110.

will be your hooker and then you will tell me your secrets. Is it a deal?"

Remo hesitated a moment. If she had killed people already to find out Fielding's secrets, why would she be trying to screw it out of Remo? On the other hand, if she had nothing to do with the killings, then Remo would be taking advantage of her by pretending to know something about the formula that he did not know.

Remo wrestled with his conscience, which maintained its unblemished scoreless record.

"You'll go to any lengths, won't you?"

"If the lengths, it is depraved, I will do it," said Maria, licking her lips as she had seen done in American films before they stopped being shown in Cuba. "I will do anything for the formula. Even go to the lengths."

Remo sighed. No wonder she and Chiun seemed to get along so well. When they chose, neither could understand English.

"All right," said Remo. "To the lengths!"

Remo figured himself a winner by at least twentysix lengths. This was preordained by some of the first training he had received when he entered the world of CURE and Chiun.

Women, Chiun had warned Remo on that long-ago occasion, were warm-bodied animals, like cows, and as cows would give more milk if they were kept contented, women would give less aggravation if kept in the same state. However, he explained, a woman did not get contentment as a man did, through the pleasures of his intellect or his work. Women must be kept contented through heart and emotions.

"That means they're less worthy than men?" said Remo.