Warren Murphy - Last Rites

Remo looked back to the Master of Sinanju.

"You were not near the village of Sinanju, brother of my ancestors," said Chiun. "But in Sinanju town, a lesser place. And on the night you describe, the Chinese ran because to do otherwise was to die."

"What do you know about that?" Sunny Joe asked. Chiun pulled himself up in the saddle proudly. "On that night I left my village called Sinanju at the edge of the West Korea Bay, and descended upon the Chinese, driving them back to the Yalu."

"You and what army?"

"I and no army. Just I."

"Is he kidding?" Roam asked Remo.

"No," said Remo.

"The noise of battle was keeping the women and children awake at night," Chiun explained. "Besides, I did not like the Chinese in my land. It had too many squatters already."

"What about the Americans?"

"They looted and raped no one, and so I suffered them to live."

Sunny Joe grinned crookedly. "Well, you saved my butt that night. If what you say is true."

"It is true," Chiun sniffed.

"Anyway, during our retreat I finally got to see Sinanju. It was a typical Korean town filled with frightened refugees. I talked to the locals. Nobody had ever heard of Ko Jong Oh. Or Sun On Jo, or any of it. It had to be the second-biggest disappointment of my entire life." Then, glancing at Remo, he amended, "No, make that third."

Remo looked away.

Sunny Joe continued. "Well, the war finally ended and I went home. Landed back in Hollywood. I didn't know what to do with myself. My father had passed on while I was at war, and as I saw it, I had failed to find the land of Sun On Jo. So I fell back into stunt work. TV was coming in, and there were Westerns galore. I doubled for the best of them. Worked my way up to stunt coordinator and eventually did some acting. I played black hats and white hats. Spoke my first line on a 'Rifleman' episode. It wasn't all glory, though. I took a lot of falls and broke a lot of bones.

"Around that time-guess it was a few years before, now that I think about it-I took me a wife. Figured if I made enough money I could return to the reservation with cash in my pockets enough to make up for my failure.

"Then my wife told me she was going to have a papoose. It was the proudest day of my life. I was hoping for a son. You know, a Sunny Joe to carry on after me."

Remo plucked a needle off a saguaro and rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully.

"Well, she did give me a son. A dark-eyed, dark-haired squalling little boy. I near to have burst. But the birth went bad and she sickened. Within a week she was no more."

Remo sucked in a hot breath. When Sunny Joe resumed talking, his voice was twisted. "It broke me up inside. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I couldn't think. I didn't know what to do. You see, I had made plans, but now they had come apart. I couldn't see starting over. I couldn't see raising a boy without a mother. Not in my line of work. Not with the travel and the hours. There was nothing for me back at the reservation.

"So one night I flew east, picked out a nice Catholic orphanage because my wife had been raised Catholic, laid the boy on the doorstep and walked away with my guts a great big ache and agony."

"That was me," said Remo, his voice dull.

"Now, when I got started, I did my stunt work under a stage name, William S. Rome. Turned 'Roam' to 'Rome,' after the city. Figured it sounded more Continental or something. Didn't want the reservation elders to know it was me. In the back of my head I thought I might go and claim that papoose as my own one fine day. So I gave him a name that no one else would have. I juggled 'Rome' to get 'Remo' and gave him my first name as his last, adding an S for 'Sunny Joe.'"

"What did you name the baby?" Remo said softly. "Truth is, my wife died before we could decide on a name. She wanted to name him after me. But I favored something he could call his own. Hell, if he's still alive, he'd be a grown man by now. He can call himself whatever he wants. He's earned that right."

"So did you not claim that child?" asked Chiun.

"Well, time passed, the work took me here and the work took me there. I got into movies and, when that dried up-and it always did-I went back into TV Black hats mostly. When detective shows replaced Westerns, I played hoods, and when science fiction took over from detective shows, I played Klingons and Cylons and what have you. Producers realized that with my height and thin frame I looked good in a rubber suit, so I played every kind of monster you could imagine. Pretty soon I was stuck as a central casting creature."

"Were you in The Sea Is an Only Child?"

"Yeah. You see that one?"

"No," said Remo, not elaborating.

Sunny Joe shrugged and went on. "One year I was in Italy making Spaghetti Westerns when I read about a Newark cop who had been electrocuted for some two-bit killing. The cop's name was Remo Williams. That told me I had waited too long to claim my only son."

"Didn't sound like you were ever going to," Remo said distantly.

"Maybe I never would have. I won't lie to you. Life had dealt me some pretty sorry hands. I wanted my son to start clean and not end up some Hollywood brat too spoiled for his own good, or worse, a half-breed reservation alcoholic with no culture to call his own."

"That's one way to look at it," Remo said stiffly.

For a long time no one said anything. There was only the soft crunch of hoofs in sand. Remo flung the saguaro needle away. It clipped the stinger off a scuttling scorpion.

Sunny Joe noted this without a flicker of surprise coming to his eroded features. "Well, more time passed," he said, "and I got old. Never did make it big as an actor. Too many broken bones and noses. I saw the tunnel one time too many, and decided to retire among my people, whom I had been supporting. Well, you know what happened. The Japanese came to Yuma and hired me as stunt coordinator. Then all hell broke loose. After the occupation, I started getting offers. It was good work at first, then they revived old Muck Man from back in the seventies and I found myself sweating in rubber suits all over again. Only this time I was a star. Nobody knew my face, but I was a star. I was about ready to pack it in when the death-hogan dust kicked up. So I come back. You know the rest."

Sunny Joe plucked a needle off a saguaro and threw it ahead of him. The tailless scorpion caught it in the head and fell over dying. Remo and Chiun exchanged glances.

"Where'd you learn to ride a horse like that, Remo?" Sunny Joe asked all at once.

"Outer Mongolia."

Sunny Joe Roam grunted. "So what've you been doing with yourself all these years?"

"Government work. Hush-hush stuff."

"Say no more."

They rode a little farther along.

"You haven't asked me why I'm still alive if I was executed back in New Jersey," Remo said.

"I ain't convinced you're that Remo Williams." They came to the long wash of crusty sand. "Of course there's one way to find out."

"How's that?" asked Remo.

Sunny Joe pulled up his horse, and Remo and Chiun followed suit.

"There's an old prophesy of Ko Jong Oh. He said one day a man would come from Sun On Jo and he would be known not by his face or dress or language, but by his ability to do what only Sunny Joes could do."

"What's that?"

"To cross Crying River without making it cry."

"Where's Crying River?"

Sunny Joe pointed to the sandy wash. "That's it right there. In the spring it's Laughing Brook. But when the summer heat sets in, it dries right up. We get some rain, and the sand crusts up. You walk across it, and it sounds like potato chips. They didn't have potato chips back in the days of Ko Jong Oh. So they said the sounds were maidens crying."

Sunny Joe piloted this horse forward. Its hooves sank into the breaking crust, making faint crying noises. Forking his mount around, he faced Remo and Chiun across the dead river.