Warren Murphy: Fade to Black

"What about the President?" Remo asked. "Is he ticked at us for icing his buddy Tortilli?"

"He may be," Smith replied with sincere indifference. "That is not a concern to this agency. We have neutralized a threat not only to his life, but to the safety of other Americans. That is our charter."

"You don't have to sell me, Smitty," Remo said. "In any event, with Bindle and Marmelstein gone, Taurus Studios is in turmoil. Apparently, they converted a great deal of what is arguably Taurus property to their own use. From what I understand, their relatives are suing. The litigation will most likely drag on for years. It looks as if the legacy of Bindle, Marmelstein and Quintly Tortilli is the certain end of Taurus Studios."

From somewhere distant, Remo heard a horrified shriek. The Master of Sinanju. As he listened to Smith, Remo rolled his eyes to the kitchen door.

"That's great, Smitty," he said, trying to hurry things along. "If that's everything, I've got to get going."

"Is something wrong?"

"By the sounds of it," Remo said, still looking worriedly at the door. "And from what you just told me, I have a sneaking suspicion what it is."

Hanging up the phone, Remo grabbed Chiun's script from the counter. Hopping to the floor, he made his way into the hallway. He mounted the stairs to Chiun's special bell-tower meditation room.

The Master of Sinanju had gone out to collect the mail not long before the phone rang. Walking through the door to the glass-enclosed room, Remo found the tiny Korean seated on the floor, the day's mail spread out before him. Brilliant yellow sunlight spilled across a neatly typed letter that had been unfolded between Chiun's crossed knees.

"They are vultures!" the Master of Sinanju hissed as Remo came into the room.

"Bad news?" Remo asked. He noted the name of a California law firm at the top of the business letter.

"My movie is not to be released. All projects in that madhouse of a studio are being held captive by lawyers, the only creatures on earth lower than Hollywood executives."

Crouching beside Chiun, Remo scanned the letter.

"I've heard of stuff like this happening before." Chiun looked at him, hope touching his hazel eyes. "How long will it take to resolve?"

Remo frowned somberly. "Beats me. Sometimes it's years. Sometimes never."

The Master of Sinanju's eyes became twin daggers of cold fury. "Even in death, they have lied to me," he fumed.

Remo straightened back up. "It's probably just as well," he said. He had been holding Chiun's script in his hand. He dropped it to the floor now. "I just finished reading this thing. Who'd you say wrote it?"

"I did," Chiun dismissed haughtily.

"You wrote Assassin's Loves, or whatever you called it. Who wrote that?" Remo pointed at the screenplay.

"I do not know. The lying Tortilli. Friends of the cretinous Bindle and Marmelstein. Why does it matter?"

"It matters because I spotted at least twenty other movies that were ripped off in yours. You've got elements of Dirty Harry Serpico, The French Connection, The Godfather, Batman, the Indiana Jones movies and a ton more. And I don't even see that many movies. That was the most derivative piece of drivel I've ever read."

Chiun frowned. "This is a surprise," he said.

"Didn't you read it?" Remo asked.

"Of course I did," Chiun sniffed, annoyed. He rose delicately from the floor, bearing his script with him. "I am only surprised by your persistent jealousy. If you do not let it go, it will consume you, Remo." Tucking the script in the crook of his arm, he began marching to the door.

"I'm telling you, Little Father, someone would have been sued over that thing. And your name is on the cover."

"It is disgraceful that you are so envious," Chiun said. "As punishment, I will not mention your name when I receive my Academy Award." He breezed from the room.

"If the movie is ever released," Remo called out.

"It would already be out if this industry was not teeming with vipers," Chiun shouted back.

Remo smiled sadly at the empty room. Warm sunlight touched the dusty corners. "That's showbiz, sweetheart."