The Destroyer - 31 - The Destroyer 031 - The Head Men by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir [Murphy, Warren & Sapir, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pulp Action
Publisher: PINNACLE BOOKS
Published: 2010-03-19T14:53:23+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Re­mo felt the skull frag­ment un­der­neath his fin-​ger­pads. Blood came heavy down the fore­head and as he wiped it off, he felt the fa­mil­iar warm wet­ness. He had been too slow. And now he had paid for it. Much too slow.

He let the 30-30 ri­fle drop to the pave­ment in dis­gust. He had reached the man just as he had pulled the trig­ger and was too late. The man had blown his own head off. He had been the pipe that Re­mo might have trav­eled through to get to the source. But now the man was dead and Re­mo had noth­ing.

“That was fast,” gasped Miss Vi­ola Poombs.

“Slow,” said Chi­un. “He let that man kill him­self. You can­not af­ford that. We need­ed that man and we lost him.”

“But he was shoot­ing at ev­ery­body,” said Vi­ola.

“No,” said Chi­un. “He was shoot­ing at me. And at Re­mo.”

“But he hit that poor, poor wom­an. He killed that child.”

“When one us­es a ma­chine for the first time, one tests it.”

“You mean he killed two peo­ple just to see if his gun worked ? Oh, my god,” cried Vi­ola.

“No,” said Chi­un. “He was the ma­chine. When you write your po­em of the as­sas­sins, be sure to men­tion that the Mas­ter of Sinan­ju, fore­most among as­sas­sins, de­cried the am­ateur at work. And he showed how cru­el it was to use one. In­no­cents are killed when fools have weapons. The gun should nev­er have been in­vent­ed. We have al­ways said that.”

“What do you mean, he was the ma­chine?”

“It was in his eyes,” Chi­un said. “Writ­ten there for all to see.”

“How could you even see his eyes?” said Vi­ola, still grab­bing des­per­ate­ly to re­gain some form of pre-​shock think­ing. “I mean, how could you see it? There were shots and peo­ple get­ting killed and it was aw­ful. How could you see his eyes ?”

“When you, beau­ti­ful la­dy, walk in­to a room of oth­er wom­en, you can tell who wears what paint up­on their face while to me it is a con­fu­sion of love­li­ness. But you know be­cause you have seen be­fore and have been trained to see. In such a man­ner are Re­mo and I trained to see. Death is not a con­fus­ing thing but a fa­mil­iar thing. You might want to men­tion al­so when you write your sto­ry that not on­ly is Sinan­ju ef­fec­tive but we have the most pleas­ant as­sas­sins that one can ev­er meet. If you don’t count Re­mo.” And Chi­un fold­ed his long fin­ger­nails and del­icate hands back in­to his ki­mono on that pleas­ant spring af­ter­noon in front of the new mas­sive FBI build­ing.

In­side, fed­er­al agents were phon­ing their per­son­al lawyers to see if they were al­lowed to make an ar­rest con­cern­ing the killings be­low since tech­ni­cal­ly the side­walk might be city prop­er­ty, not fed­er­al prop­er­ty, and some lo­cal pros­ecu­tor might want to make a name for him­self by pros­ecut­ing an­oth­er fed­er­al ser­vant. In­creas­ing­ly in Amer­ica, no­body ev­er got pros­ecut­ed for let­ting a crim­inal es­cape. The peo­ple were get­ting what they had been as­sured were civ­il lib­er­ties that would ush­er in a new gold­en age of love.

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