Warren Murphy: Feeding Frenzy

That seemed to be the end of the spiders.

"Remo, do not stand there. Dispatch that evil creature!"

"Hey, I don't snuff old ladies."

"I will not lower myself to kill an old woman."

"Well, I took care of Nalini."

"And you may take care of this one too," said Chiun.

"No way, Chiun. I'm not Dr. Doom."

Remo blinked. The Master of Sinanju looked up into his pupil's face.

"Maybe we'd better call Smith on this one," Remo muttered, keeping his distance from the agitated woman bouncing helplessly in her chair.

When Remo finished explaining himself, Harold Smith said, "Yes, I know."

"What do you mean, you know?" Remo said hotly.

"I deduced the truth-too late to communicate it to you. But it appears that you have neutralized the situation."

"Except for this old dingbat. I won't do her and neither will Chiun. Sorry."

"Have you secured the house?" Smith asked after a moment.

"There's a guard around somewhere, but that's all."

"Lock him up somewhere and keep Thrush Limburger out of sight," said Smith.

"And?"

"Wait."

"For who?"

Dr. Mordaunt Gregorian answered his beeper at a payphone outside San Francisco. Listening as his secretary informed him of the urgent need for his services in Massachusetts, his cracked dry lips quirked into a thin smile.

"Tell them I am on my way," he said, and drove his hearse to the airport. There was no business in California for him anyway.

He arrived at the walled compound as dawn was breaking. The electric gates opened automatically and he drove up the driveway past a guard in a box who seemed to be asleep, an empty liquor bottle in one hand.

The door opened before he could touch the pushbell.

"What kept you?" a man's voice said impatiently.

"Why is it so dark in here?" Dr. Gregorian wondered, looking around. There was a tall man standing in the gloomy vestibule. His face was indistinct. It was very dirty, as if smeared with coal dust.

"Power outage. It's straight ahead. Past the two doors. Here's a pillow."

"Pillow?"

"She specifically asked to be suffocated with her favorite pillow."

"But I have brought my medicide machine. Most people prefer to be eased across the River Styx chemically, I have found."

"Not this time. If you can't grant a dying woman's final wish, we'll get someone who can."

"That would be illegal. I offer physician-assisted suicide, not murder."

"I guess I had you wrong," the man said with a hint of flat amusement in his voice.

"I could do both, I suppose . . . ."

"Now you're talking."

"I will need to be alone with her," Dr. Gregorian said. "There must be no witnesses."

"Be gentle with her. She's as old as the hills."

"This should have been done long ago, you know. To allow a person to reach this state of debilitation, it's just criminal."

"Couldn't agree with you more," said the faceless man.

Dr. Gregorian stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

Thirty minutes later, he emerged, flushed of face, his eyes feverishly bright, his medicide machine tucked under one skinny arm.

"How'd it go?" asked the male voice.

"She struggled more than I expected."

"You look kinda funny. Hope you didn't catch anything."

"No, no," Dr. Gregorian said absently. "I always use a condom."

"What?"

"I mean, I always take precautions against infection."

"You dried-up old ghoul! No wonder you snuff only women!"

"You misunderstood me, I assure you." Dr. Gregorian suddenly passed a hand over his face. "I don't feel very well."

"Uh-oh."

"What is it?"

"The old bat had contracted HELP. Hope you didn't catch it."

Dr. Gregorian blinked. "HELP? But I have eaten no bugs."

"Not even one? Back at Nirvana West?"

"How did you know I have been to Nirvana West?"

"The same way I know you've killed your last little old lady. I was there and I saw a lot of HELP victims. You look just like one."

Dr. Gregorian took an involuntary step backward. "You-you mean I'm dying?"

"Your eyeballs are still white. That means you've got forty-eight hours."

"But I have so much work to do. So much suffering to end. My life's work will die with me." Dr. Gregorian looked back at the closed doors. "Should I-should I go back for seconds?"

"Not a good idea since the police are going to be here any minute now."

"What good will they do?"

"For you, not much. But when they find out you snuffed Senator Clancy's mother without family permission, they'll probably lock you up for Murder One."

"But I have your permission. You told me over the phone it was your mother."

"Not me. You must have talked to somebody else."

"I was asked to come here."

"You got that in writing?"

Dr. Gregorian's black eyes went dull. "No."

"Malpractice lawyers love guys like you."

Dr. Gregorian looked at his medicide machine.

"I think I need some of my own medicine. Could you help me?"

"Sorry, I have better things to do."

Woodenly, Dr. Mordaunt Gregorian sat himself down on the hard pine floor and hooked himself up. He was about to trip the switch that would pour the painless barbiturates into his own bloodstream when a tiny old Asian stepped from the shadows and said, "Next time, demand a fair price for correct services."

His last thoughts were a confused question. What did that little man mean?

When the police came, they recognized Mordaunt Gregorian from his TV appearances. No one could tell if he was dead or not, because he looked the same in life as he had in death. Which was to say, dead.

Just to be sure, they cuffed the corpse before they shoved it into the body bag.

Chapter 30

"It is obvious," Harold Smith was saying two days later, "that Pearl Clancy was the true Eldress."

"No way she was traipsing around Nirvana West, whispering in people's ears," Remo said. He was in the kitchen of his home, steaming rice for the midday meal, the telephone receiver cradled under his chin. It buzzed with Smith's lemony tones.

"She was the Eldress, but Nalini Toshi served as her eyes, ears, and when necessary, personal assassin. It was her voice that spoke to Karl Sagacious and Theodore Magarac, precipitating the events that led to the discovery of the so-called thunderbug, the founding of PAPA and all the events that followed."

"The whole thing was loony, trying to get Blotto Clancy back on the presidential fast track."

"It had been a Clancy dream-some might say obsession-to get one of their sons elected President," Smith said.

"At the rate new Clancys are entering politics these days," Remo sighed, "it's bound to happen one of these days."

"Perhaps in your lifetime, Remo. But not in mine. In any case, we need not fear for Senator Clancy running for high office again."

"Why not?"

"It was announced today that Senator Clancy is vacating his Senate seat."

Remo checked the rice. It was almost done. "Grief over his mother's death?" he asked.

"Not from the sound of his plans. He has also filed for divorce and run off to Tahiti with his secretary."

"Guess the only thing keeping him in politics was family pressure," said Remo. "Do we go after him?"

"Not necessary. Acting on statements Thrush Limburger made to the FBI, three of Clancy's aides have been arrested for the Limburger kidnapping. They have confessed and have implicated the senator. Extradition may be difficult, but Clancy appears to be not much more than a drink-sodden pawn to his mother's ambitions. Needless to say, the HELP bill has been quietly killed in committee."

"One thing I don't understand. What was all that finger wriggling about?"

"I have looked into that, Remo. It is believed that arachnids, specifically certain species of jumping spider, communicate through semaphorelike signals using their palpi."