Warren Murphy: Mob Psychology

From a pay phone in the foyer of a nearby Chinese restaurant, Remo was explaining what had happened to Harold W. Smith.

"Just to make sure, we shattered every computer in the place," Remo was saying. "Believe me, there were a lot of them."

Thorough but unnecessary," said Smith approvingly. "But they were already useless. I had programmed the LANSCII disk Chiun stole with a computer virus called a time bomb. Once Don Carmine had it reinstalled, it has been silently replicating itself over and over until it filled all available memory in every system in the LCN network, literally paralyzing it."

"Was that the hard dynamic abort I saw?" Remo asked.

"It was."

"Well, it set Don Carmine off. He shot up his own system when he couldn't get it working. He nearly nailed Chiun and me while we were moving in on him."

"Without knowing how much memory we were dealing with," said Smith, "there was no way to predict when system-wide paralysis would be achieved. Besides, you and Chiun are too quick to be stopped by mere bullets."

"Not at that particular moment, we weren't," said Remo, noticing the Master of Sinanju through the glass doors. "Okay, that's a wrap. I've gotta get Chiun back to civilization fast. "

"Why do you say that, Remo?" Smith wondered.

"He's found out how cheap real estate is up here. If I don't get him across the state line soon, he's going to have us living here. "

"It is not a bad idea, Remo."

"It is a terrible idea, Smitty. Put it out of your mind."

"We have several important matters to address," Smith said levelly. "Your new face. The disposition of your home. The-"

Remo hung up, saying, "The sheer pleasure of our wonderful working relationship."

He joined the Master of Sinanju outside the restaurant. Chiun was gazing across a busy artery, his eyes fixed on a tall condominium complex with unlighted windows.

" I am given to understand that that entire building is for sale at a reasonable price," Chiun said.

"It must be practically free for you to call it reasonable," Remo said dryly. "It's ugly, too."

"But cheap," Chiun pointed out.

"More ugly than cheap," Remo countered.

"You have not heard the price."

"Tell you what, Little Father. I'll agree to take a look at it if you come clean with me."

The Master of Sinanju lifted his wrinkled little face up to his pupil's own, his expression quizzical.

"Tell me what you had the plastic surgeon do to my face," Remo said.

The Master of Sinanju passed a pale hand the color of a pecan down his wispy beard, his hazel eyes thoughtful.

"You are right, Remo," said the old Korean flatly. "It is ugly."

Remo blinked. "The building or my face?"

"Both."