Warren Murphy: Acid Rock

The red carpet in the lobby was worn, and tan threads showed through it as Gunner Nilsson walked on dry shoes toward the front door. His mind was far away. He would have to call Switzerland again and tell them that anyone else who moved on the Vickie Stoner contract would end up like the man in the hat. He would have to find out where the Maggots, or whatever their names were, would be performing next, because he would follow them until the girl's bodyguards arrived. When he found them, he would extract his revenge. And then. .. but only then ... the girl.

These things went through his mind as he walked toward the front doors of the theater and his mind was not fully on his surroundings and he did not notice the young white man coming through the door until he had bumped into him.

"Excuse me," Nilsson said.

The white man grunted.

Nor did Gunner Nilsson notice the old Oriental standing off to the side of the lobby, looking at still photographs of movies that were coming Tuesday and Wednesday back in 1953.

The Oriental noticed Gunner Nilsson however.

"Come on," Remo said to Chiun. "We've got to keep an eye on Vickie if she's here." He noticed Chiun's eyes following the man who had just bumped Remo. "What are you staring at?" Remo asked.

"That man," Chiun said. "What about him?"

"He bumped into you but did not blink," Chiun said.

"So what?" Remo said. "He didn't burp either."

"Yes, but he should have blinked."

"Maybe his blinker broke," Remo said, still looking out toward the street, where the man now stepped off into the rain. "What difference does it make?"

"To a fool, nothing makes a difference," Chiun said. "Just remember, that man did not blink."

"I'll carry the knowledge with me to the end of my days," Remo said. "Come on." He turned and walked rapidly toward the orchestra section of the theater. But Chiun lagged behind, still looking out toward the street, still thinking of the man who did not blink.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Good-bye, Remo."

Chiun and Remo had worked their way backstage. The policeman who guarded the stage door entrances in the private side aisles had been confused when the two men approached. The elderly Oriental spoke to the two officers and pulled their eyes to him and the white man who was with him vanished. Just vanished. And when they turned to look for the white man, he was nowhere to be seen. They looked back to the Oriental to question him and he was gone too.

On the other side of the door, Remo and Chiun looked around. Remo felt relieved when he saw Vickie Stoner leaning near a lighting control panel. Stoned but alive, he thought.

He started to move toward her, but Chiun held back, looking in wonderment at the busy backstage, people scurrying about, perhaps apparently in logistical support of the creatures who were out on the stage now, making subhuman electrical noises.

It was then that Chiun said, "Good-bye, Remo."

"Good-bye? What Good-bye?"

"The Master of Sinanju tarries no place where people sing mugga, mugga, mugga, mugga."

"Don't listen. Block your mind," Remo suggested.

"Easy for you, since your mind is always blocked. I am returning to our hotel."

"Chiun, dammit. Who knows what might happen here? I might need you,"

"You will not. Whatever is going to happen has already happened."

"You know that for a fact?"

"I do."

"Who told you?"

"The man who did not blink." With that, Chiun turned and walked back through the door to the hallway, politely saying "excuse me" to the policemen who had almost convinced themselves that the two men they had seen before were merely apparitions, hysterical visions brought on them by the heavy music of Maggot and the Dead Meat Lice.

Remo watched the door swing shut behind Chiun; he shrugged and moved to Vickie Stoner's side.

"Great, aren't they?" he said.

"Bitchen, man. Bitchen." She looked around. "Hey, it's you. My one and only lover." Her face showed real happiness to see Remo.

"If you loved me so much, why'd you run away?"

"Hey, I had things to do and I know you wouldn't let me. Besides, somebody was laying a lot of shit on me about his television shows."

"From now on, you just stay with me. Don't get between Chiun and his television set and everything'll be all right."

"Whatever you say, Remo." She put an arm over his shoulder. "You missed all the fun."

"What fun?"

"Somebody shot the throat out of Big Bang Benton."

"That's fun?"

"Ever hear his radio show?" Vickie asked.

"No," Remo said.

"Him without a throat is fun."

"Anything happen to you?" said Remo, suddenly cautious and moving around in front of Vickie to shield her from the upstairs box seats which he noticed had a good view of backstage.

"No. I just been listening to my Maggot. Gotta ball that Maggot, you know."

"I know," Remo said. "I'm going to fix you up with him."

"You are?"

"Sure. But you've gotta come up with me now so I can get my plans underway."

"Well, man, I'd like to, but tomorrow's the Darlington Festival."

"What's that?"

"Just the biggest rock bash in the history of the whole world."

"You couldn't miss that, could you?"

"No way. No way."

"Okay, we'll go there tomorrow." Remo started to say more, but realized he could no longer even hear his own voice over the sudden roar of sound from the audience. Their voices had been a steady background rumble since he arrived, but now there was a new sustained, high-pitched unison scream. And then, prancing offstage came Maggot, wearing his white suit with the steaks and liver pinned to it, followed by the Three Lice wearing the same costumes, but with less gold braid.

Vickie took her arm from around Remo's shoulder and stepped forward toward Maggot.

"Hey, Maggot," she called. He looked toward her. "Come here. You've got to meet a man."

Maggot took one cautious step toward Vickie and Remo. "What happened to Big Bang?" he asked.

"Oh, don't worry about him," she said. "Nothing serious. This is Remo. I want you to meet him."

Maggot looked at Remo. He did not extend his hand. Neither did Remo. The three Lice moved up close behind Maggot.

"Pleasure, fellow," Maggot said.

"Likewise," Remo said. "By the way, that's a great outfit you're wearing. Who's your butcher?"

Maggot smiled fixedly, saying nothing. One Louse asked, "Vickie, is this guy a friend of yours?"

"My lover. My favorite lover," she said.

"Him? He's like ancient, man. And look at his hair."

"You make love with your hair?" Remo asked. "Well. .. maybe you do."

Out front, the screaming was growing more intense. "Gotta go back," Maggot said. "Quiet down the animals."

"Throw them some raw meat," Remo said.

Maggot looked at Remo shrewdly for a split second, then led the three Dead Meat Lice back on stage. The screaming doubled and redoubled. Maggot bowed. The three Lice bowed. The audience screamed louder.

Maggot waved his hands for silence. The wave produced chaos, and a surge of bodies toward the thin blue line of policemen who ringed the front of the stage.

Maggot waved again. Another surge. From his chest, he ripped a two-pound porterhouse steak and held it high over his head. In the hot lights, the blood and juice was shiny and slick against the meat. More screams. Like a Frisbee champion, he scaled it out into the audience. Frenzy. Chaos.

Then in an orgy of meat distribution, Maggot and the Lice tore the chops and steaks from their clothes and tossed them out over the audience's heads. As the meat splunked down toward the floor of the theater, little pockets of girls knotted and began fighting for the morsels. It looked like T-bone day at the Salvation Army kitchen. But there were more girls than there was meat.