Warren Murphy - Mob Psychology

"I understand perfectly," Remo said in a reasonable voice.

"You in the life?"

"You might say that."

"What family you with?"

"The Milli Vanilli Mob. Ever heard of them?"

"Yeah," Bruno said vaguely. "I think so. Somewheres."

"When we talk, people really listen. Now, point us to LCN. "

Bruno the Chef started to protest again, but a long-nailed finger simply reached down and seemed to impale his left earlobe.

The pain was instant, extreme, and unendurable. Bruno's eyeballs exploded like hot flashbulbs. At least, that was how it looked to Bruno's brain. He grabbed up a hunk of concrete and shattered several front teeth while biting hard in a vain attempt to control the excruciating pain.

When the seemingly white-hot fingernail withdrew, Bruno was surprised that his fingers came away from his earlobe entirely free of blood.

"That was just your earlobe," Remo said. "I'll bet you have more sensitive parts."

Tears in his eyes, Bruno the Chef violated omerta, giving up his don, his familiy, and his honor. After he had answered every question put to him, Bruno the Chef looked up sadly.

"I guess you're gonna kill me, huh?"

"That's the biz, sweetheart," said the one called Remo, grabbing him by the hair and literally dragging him in front of the idle nibbler.

Bruno the Chef, feeling no strength in his still-spasming muscles, and no steel in his bones, simply lay there and begged, "Please don't turn that thing on me. Be a pal."

" I can do that," said Remo, reaching up to take the articulated arm. "After all, what are friends for?" He brought the arm down with cold suddenness.

When the blunt nib silently flattened Bruno (The Chef) Boyardi's throat like a garden hose, his arms and legs flew up and crashed down again. Then he lay still.

"Not bad, huh, Little Father?" Remo asked, walking the Master of Sinanju to their car.

"Not good," said Chiun coolly. "Not anything. It was adequate. But you are young and relatively unschooled. You will learn."

"Bruno said Don Carmine's surrounded by motion-sensitive alarms like the one that ambushed me at his old headquarters. This is your chance to show me how it's done."

"No," returned Chiun. "This is my opportunity to show you up. Heh-heh-heh."

Chapter 38

Cadillac Carmine Imbruglia was the most secure kingpin in the history of organized crime.

He sat in a windowless room on the fifth floor of LCN headquarters in Quincy, Massachusetts, a fully loaded Thompson submachine gun at his elbow. There was only one exit, a veneer door with a chilled steel core. Beyond the armored door the many terminals of the LCN network glowed in the darkness, their screens like amber jack-o'-lanterns.

Nothing moved in the LCN computer room. Nothing could move because in each corner of the ceiling, boxy devices resembling security cameras looked down. Instead of lenses, tiny wafers of supersensitive quartz silently scanned the room, ready to trigger an alarm at the slightest breeze or change in air pressure.

And in his armored room, Carmine Imbruglia blinked at his personal terminal and stabbed at the keyboard with two stubby fingers, pausing often to correct mistakes, confident that he was as untouchable as Eliot Ness.

It was while updating his ever-burgeoning sports book that he experienced his first brush with computer trouble.

For some reason, the words and numbers on the screen began to duplicate themselves, repeating endlessly until they filled the screen like a million tiny amber spiders swarming behind the glareproof glass.

When the black screen had turned a solid amber, large black letters appeared against the warm brilliant glow.

"What the fug is happenin' now?" snarled Don Carmine Imbruglia, pounding the suddenly dead keys.

Chapter 39

Remo pulled into the deserted parking lot of the Manet Building and remarked, "Bruno said the don's holed up on the fifth floor with an old tommy gun, no less. There's only one way in or out. So tell me how we're going to sneak up on him? Zip through the motion-sensitive field really fast?"

"That would be too easy," said the Master of Sinanju, arranging the skirts of his sable-and-gold kimono. "For you require a lesson that will stick in your white mind."

"You're too kind," Remo said dryly, looking at the silverblue building facade and thinking that it looked like it had been faced with old mirrored sunglasses. "How?"

"It is simple, Remo. Instead of blundering in, we will take our time."

"Okay," Remo said good-naturedly. "Lead and I will follow. "

They popped a window on the ground floor. It was held in place by a black aluminum frame. No studs or fasteners.

As Remo watched, the Master of Sinanju simply laid one flat hand against the center of the pane. It began to bulge inward.

Just when it looked like it was about to shatter from the strain, the Master of Sinanju spoke a single word and stepped back.

The word was "Catch."

Remo saw the mirrored pane explode toward him like an abstract arrow released from a bow. He faded back, bringing both hands up and held flat before his face.

When the raised surfaces of his palms made contact with the slickness of the glass, Remo pivoted in place.

Surface tension, acting as a glue, brought the glass around with him. When it was at the apogee of its turn, momentum transferred in the opposite direction and the pane let go and knifed into a patch of salt marsh like a square blade.

The Master of Sinanju bowed mischievously and gestured for Remo to precede him.

"Youth before excellence," said Chiun, beaming.

"You made your point," Remo said, hoisting himself in through the opening.

"Perhaps," said Chiun, floating in after him. "Perhaps not. "

They found themselves in a room that might have been transplanted intact from Atlantic City. There were roulette wheels and black jack tables and other gambling fixtures. They passed through this into the deserted lobby.

"Okay," Remo undertoned. "Now we hit the fifth floor. So how do we do it?"

The Master of Sinanju stabbed the up button beside the gleaming steel elevator door.

"By taking the elevator," said Chiun.

Remo frowned. He didn't like the cavalier attitude the Master of Sinanju had been taking to a dangerous situation. He decided to play along, and take control if necessary.

They stepped off on the fifth floor into a nondescript curving corridor, except for the undersmell of garlic.

The room they wanted was clearly marked. It said

"COMPUTERTRY. "

"Okay, tell me the trick," Remo hissed.

Instead of replying, the Master of Sinanju took hold of the doorknob. He turned to his pupil.

"You must be very, very patient. And quiet. Can you be both?"

"Sure. "

"Then we will begin. You will do as I do. Nothing more. And nothing less."

Remo watched the Master of Sinanju. But Chiun did not move, or appear to move. His eyes on Remo, his hand on the doorknob, he simply stood there. Several minutes passed. Five. Then ten. Remo frowned. He opened his lips to speak.

Chiun's free hand came up to his dry lips so fast it seemed there was no intervening motion. The hand was at his side. Then it was before his lips, admonishing Remo to silence.

Remo held his tongue. His dark eyes darted to the door. To his surprise, he saw that it was open a crack. He kept watching, interest dawning on his face.

Five more minutes passed. The door was slowly being drawn open-so slowly that even Remo could not detect motion. Only a slow elapsed-time result.

When finally the door was open enough to admit them, Chiun beckoned with a quiet gesture. Beckoned for Remo to follow.

It was twenty minutes later before the Master of Sinanju had eased himself through the door. Remo matched his movements, pacing himself to the extreme slow motion of his teacher's body language.