Continental Divide by Warren Murphy

Author:Warren Murphy [Warren Murphy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Chiun (Fictitious character) --Fiction., Williams, Remo (Fictitious character) --Fiction.
ISBN: 9781035999958
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

Chapter Fifteen

Remo Williams and Chiun were on the first flight to Memphis International Airport.

“We have this argument every time we land somewhere, Chiun,” Remo said testily as they walked briskly down the concourse toward the luggage carousel. “You’re not going to drive.”

“I am perfectly capable of operating a motor vehicle,” the Master of Sinanju replied, oblivious to Remo’s testiness. “It’s not like I have to even use all the sticks and buttons that stick out of the board dash. Most whites don’t use half of them. Japanese don’t use any of them except the navigational wheel and the acceleration pedal.”

“Still not driving,” Remo said distractedly. His gaze canted toward the men’s restroom, where a custodian was putting up the orange cone block to keep people out while he cleaned. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Chiun asked. “Emperor Smith indicated there was haste to be made, although I do not understand why, since the bridge he wishes us to see has already fallen.”

Remo held up a finger. “Smith is still not an emperor, you’re still not driving, and I will be right back.”

Chiun stood in the middle of the concourse, looking after the departing Remo Williams as he disappeared into the men’s room. The departing and arriving travelers were forced to swerve around the small and seemingly frail Korean as he stood immobile, his arms tucked into the folds of his kimono sleeves. A shuttle cart pulled up to him, its driver beeping for him to get out of the way. Chiun did not seem to move, but the toe of his sandal made contact with one of the front tires. The rubber casing made a loud pop! sending a few nearby travellers rolling out of the doorless sides of the vehicle. He did not take his eyes off the entrance to the men’s room, his wrinkled brow furrowed with worry, his eyes narrowed to slits.

· · ·

Abner Dibble had a good, cushy job. Nobody envied him his job when he told them what it was—plunging toilets and picking up litter at Memphis International. His beige coveralls made him almost invisible to the crowds of travelers, who were usually too preoccupied with their phone conversations to notice anyone else. Or, in this case, too distracted trying to soothe a colicky baby, while a little girl begged for a souvenir from the gift shop.

Abner knew where all the cameras were, and knew all their blind spots. He rolled his wastebasket and his cart of cleaning supplies, using his extensible trash picker to reach for discarded candy wrappers, empty soda bottles, and pocketbooks sticking haphazardly out of the sides of diaper bags.

The latter was usually his cue to clear out one of the johns so he could squirt the commodes with bleach and have a few private moments to take a quick count of his profits. He was doing just that, when a skinny guy in the black t-shirt and chinos came around the tiled privacy wall.

“Restroom’s closed, sir,” Abner said. “There’s another one toward Gate A past the coffee shop.

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