The Destroyer - 21 - The Destroyer 021 - Deadly Seeds by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir [Murphy, Warren & Sapir, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pulp Action
ISBN: 0-523-41236-3
Publisher: PINNACLE BOOKS
Published: 1975-04-30T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

The first Remo saw the rough sketch of himself was at the Ohio demonstration. The surrounding fields were green with corn and Fielding had explained that he also had to show the process worked hi good, moderateclimate soil as well as bad. The field was raised on a little hill surrounded by a chain-link fence.

Maria Gonzales, carrying a Russian passport because her country did not have relations with the United States, spoke with a French agronomist who noted his country had large farming sections with climate and soil like Ohio.

Chiun engaged several cameramen from television networks, asking why there was so much violence and filth in daytime dramas nowadays. Obviously one had replied with a sharp answer because Remo saw ambulance attendants lifting the portable TV camera from a man's shoulder and placing him on a stretcher.

Newsmen worked in shirt sleeves. The Miami County Sheriff's office wore open-necked short-sleeved shirts and carried heavy sidearms, the sheriff having vowed that there would be no Mojave-type incident here in Piqua, Ohio.

"We're not like those people out there," said the sheriff.

"Out where?" asked a reporter.

"Out anywhere," said the sheriff. Sweat ran down his face like glycerin beads over packaged lard. Remo scanned the crowd looking for any possible attack on Fielding. He caught Maria's eye. She smiled. He smiled back. Chiun walked between them.

A soft breeze caught the corn in a neighboring field and made the lazy summer day smell like life itself. Remo caught an exchange of glances between a man in a Palm Beach hat and another in a gray light summer suit. They were across the field from each other. And both looked at a paunchy man with large shoulders who glanced at something in his hands, then looked at Remo. When Remo looked back, the man tucked the object into his trousers pocket and became very interested in what was happening in the field. The three men had the field triangulated. Remo sidled to the paunchy man hi the white suit.

"Hi," said Remo. "I'm a pickpocket."

The man stared straight ahead.

"I said hello," said Remo. The man's alligator shoes pressed into the newly turned Ohio soil under the weight of 280 pounds of muscles and flesh and a twoday growth. He had a face that had been banged here and there by fist and club and a whitish lumpy line which was the completed healing process of a long-ago blade. He was slightly taller than Remo and had shoulders and wide fists that had obviously done some banging themselves. His body oozed the odor of yesterday's scotch and today's sirloin.

"I said hello," said Remo again.

"Uh, hello," said the man.

"I'm a pickpocket," Remo repeated. The man's hairy heavy hand moved down to his right trouser pocket.

"Thank you for showing me which pocket I should pick," said Remo.

"What?" said the man and Remo cut two fingers down between fatty palm and hefty hip, making a neat tearing slice down the right side of the man's trousers.

"What?" grunted the man who suddenly felt his undershorts under his right palm.

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