Warren Murphy - Total Recall

"All right, Donald," Moorcock said. "Set it up. Arrange the meeting with Mr. Danny the Man. Who knows? Maybe he could be useful to us."

"When should I set it up for?"

"Tomorrow night, I think. I'll want you with me when we meet with the Mexicans."

"You'll want me with— uh, you mean I'm going to meet with him?"

"Who else would I send, Donald?" Moorcock asked. "You are my right-hand man."

"Yes, sir."

"Everything looks all right here, Donald. I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"Yes, sir."

Moorcock took one last glance around and then went upstairs to prepare for evening services.

Donald Wagner didn't like the idea of having to meet with Danny the Man. He didn't like blacks, and in fact it made him very nervous to work in the ghetto. Of course, he'd never let Moorcock know that. He hid his fear through viciousness— and through killing. Killing for the sake of killing made him feel like a man. He wouldn't have minded meeting Danny the Man to kill him, but to talk business with him— that was another matter.

Still, he worked for Moorcock, and everything the "minister" had done up to this point had been successful. The man was strange and probably more than a little crazy, but there was no doubt that he was a genius.

If Lorenzo Moorcock wanted him to meet with Danny the Man, that's what he would do.

After all, what harm could it do?

* * *

When the phone rang, Danny the Man cursed aloud. The young lady beneath him was just lifting her hips in anticipation when he withdrew, rolled over, and answered the phone.

"This better be real good," he said.

"Is this Danny the Man?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"I'm calling to arrange a meeting."

"Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"I'm sure you do. This is a meeting that you've been asking for."

He should have known. If it wasn't that white bastard himself— with his usual timing— it would be his business that the call was about.

"All right," Danny said. "When?"

"Tomorrow evening, after dark. Let's make it nine o'clock," the man's voice said.

"Are you white?" Danny asked.

"What?" the man asked, puzzled.

"You sound white. Are you?"

"Of course I am. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"I was just wondering if you wouldn't feel at a disadvantage meeting a black man after dark."

He got great satisfaction from the flustered sound of the man's voice as he recited where the meeting would be. Since Danny had no intention of being there, he readily agreed to the meeting place.

"Anything else?" he asked then.

"No," the man's voice said petulantly, "there's nothing else. Just be there."

"I will if you will," Danny said. For a moment he thought the man would answer, but then the line went dead.

The girl on the bed said, "Jesus Christ, Danny, I was almost there."

Her hands reached out for him, and he crawled back on top of her, saying, "The least you could have done for me, bitch, was keep your finger in my place."

In Mexico City three Iranian diplomats were meeting with three Mexican officials who would be flying to the United States the following morning.

Rafael Cintron was the leader of the Mexicans, the one who had recruited the other two, Antonio Jiminez and Pablo Santoro.

"This will be the largest shipment we have ever carried, Rafael," Jiminez said. "Should we not take more precautions?"

"What would you suggest we do, my friend?" Cintron asked. "Take an armed guard? No, our methods work so well because they are simple. Just three Mexican officials carrying their diplomatic pouches. That is what makes the plan so beautiful."

"Si, I know that—"

"Well, if you know that, then stop worrying."

There was a knock on the hotel-room door, signaling the arrival of the merchandise.

"Answer the door, Pablo."

Santoro opened the door, and the three Iranian diplomats entered, one of them carrying a black attaché case. They all knew what was in the case.

Heroin with a street value of over three million dollars.

The Iranians stayed only long enough for the merchandise to change hands. Names were not even exchanged. The mere fact that they were all in that one place at the same time meant that it was right.

The handoff was made, and the H was on its way to the United States of America— or, to be more specific, the city of Detroit.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The following morning Remo was gone by the time the call came in from Danny the Man.

"Are you his friend?" Danny asked when Chiun explained that Remo wasn't there.

"I am his… companion," Chiun said.

"Well, tell him that the meeting has been set up, like he asked me. I'll give you the place. Get something to write it down with."

"You may proceed," Chiun said.

Danny the Man recited the address, then added, "Your pal better wear some blackface if he hopes to pass as a black man, even after dark. "They're expecting me, so if they see a white face, they might start shooting first."

"I will tell him. I'm sure he will be touched by your concern."

"And tell him that if he needs any more favors, he should try somebody else for a change. I'd like at least one night of uninterrupted pleasure."

"I will tell him."

"Hey, you white? You don't talk like no white man."

Chiun hung up the phone and said, "Perish the thought."

Remo was standing across the street from the Church of Modern-day Beliefs, in a doorway from which he couldn't be seen. He was expecting Moorcock to leave the building fairly soon in order to meet the incoming Mexican delegation, but was surprised when a long black limo pulled up in front of the church and three men who were obviously Mexican stepped out. One of them, carrying a dark attaché case, said something to the driver, who then left. The three men entered the church.

"Welcome, my friends," Lorenzo Moorcock said. "I'm glad to see you again."

"Señor Moorcock," Rafael Cintron said, accepting the minister's outstretched hand. The Mexicans not only accepted Moorcock as their business partner, but as a minister as well. "We are honored to be in your house of worship."

Cintron realized that Moorcock's religion forbade the mention of God, and while it puzzled him, he respected it as he was a deeply religious man himself. No matter how odd another man's beliefs were, they were to be respected.

"We can go downstairs, where I will serve you refreshments, and then we can get on about our business."

"Gracias."

As Moorcock led the Mexicans to the basement steps, they noticed two men descending from steps above. Moorcock saw their interest and said, "Just two of my flock. Please, gentlemen, be my guests downstairs."

"Gracias," Cintron said again, and down they went.

One of the two men leaving the church by the rear door was Jim Burger, who was acting on orders from Donald Wagner. He was to escort the second man to a nice, quiet place… and then kill him.

The second "man" was Walter Sterling.

From across the street, Remo could watch not only the front entrance but the side as well. Now as he watched, he saw two people leave that way. The first he didn't recognize, but the second he did. It was the Sterling kid. He watched as the first man led Walter Sterling to a car. When the kid saw three other men in the car, he balked, but they forced him into the car, and then it drove away.

Remo broke from his doorway and ran across the street. He was in time to use his ultra-keen hearing to listen to what was being said in the car.

"Where to?" one man said.

"The junkyard," another man said. "The big one on Maple."

As the car drove away, Remo knew he had a choice to make. He could stay and watch the church, waiting for Moorcock or his guests to come out, or he could go after the men in the car and save Walter Sterling's life.