Warren Murphy - Total Recall

"Is that the man who killed my father?"

"Yes, Walter, that's him."

Walter Sterling took one step forward and kicked Jack Boffa viciously on the side of the head.

"Kid, he's dead," Remo said, hoping he wasn't telling Walter anything that would upset him greatly. "He didn't feel a thing."

"That's okay," the kid said, "I did."

Remo turned to face a couple of those massive car carriers and said to Chiun, "Ask the kids if those cars are loaded down with drugs."

"They are."

"Well, then, they have to go too," Remo said. "And they're going to go big, Chiun, so take the kids out front to meet the cops. They ought to be here soon. When I come out, I'll be bringing Boffa with me, with his broken knife. The cops'll find traces of blood on it. Oh, and get me a bag of heroin, and then have the kids throw the rest of the stuff into those cars before they go."

"Anything else?" Chiun asked, with a sarcastic bow.

"Let's just get this over with."

Chiun seemed to agree with that and went off to talk to his flock. There were about a dozen kids of fifteen and sixteen. They filed over to the carriers and started dumping the remainder of their supply into the open windows of the cars. Chiun brought Remo a nickel bag and then again herded the kids away from the area. Remo bent over and stuffed the bag into the pocket of the dead foreman. Then he said, "Get lost, Walter. These cars have some gas in the tanks, and they may blow."

"Can't I help?"

"Do you have any matches?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll use your matches."

Walter took out a box of stick matches, handed them to Remo, and then went off in the direction that Chiun had taken the others.

Remo searched the area and came up with some rags, which he soaked with gasoline. He undid the gas cap on one car from each carrier, stuffed his makeshift fuses in, and then lit them and backed away a respectable distance.

He was aware of sirens in the distance just as the first car blew. Again, the domino effect came into play as car after car on the first carrier also burst into flames. By the time the police arrived, both carriers were a mass of flames, and now, of course, there was the danger that the full gas tanks of the carriers would explode.

Well, Remo thought, you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.

"I'm wondering," Detective William Palmer said to Remo and Chiun, "why I always manage to be one step behind you."

"We sent people to call in," Remo said. "Maybe they stopped for coffee on the way."

"Yeah," Palmer said, "maybe."

"Besides, what's the difference?" Remo said. He looked over to where some uniformed police were handcuffing all of the kids under the watchful eye of Chiun. "You've just about got the whole thing wrapped up now."

"So you say," Palmer said. "I've got a fire in a church and a fire here at the plant. Luckily, the fire trucks got here before the gas tanks on those carriers blew, or the whole plant would be gone."

"Omelets and eggs," Remo muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"I've got a dead preacher with his pockets full of smack, and I've got a dead foreman with his pockets full of smack. I wonder who put it there?"

"They did?" Remo sugggested.

"They aren't saying," Palmer said pointedly.

"Well, I wish I could help you, Detective," Remo said, "but every time we showed up, it was just a little bit late. We sent word to you as soon as we could."

"I'd like to believe that, but I'm afraid you and your friend are going to have to come with me and answer some questions. My ass could be in a sling because of this."

"I don't think so."

"Oh, and why don't you think so?"

"Well, you've got the whole story in your hands," Remo said. "All you've got to do is ask those kids."

"Those kids?" Williams asked. "Those kids all have rap sheets as long as your arm, mister."

"All juvenile stuff, right?"

"So?"

"You talk to Walter Sterling," Remo said. "He'll give you the straight story, and then let him talk to those other boys."

"You know, I don't know who you are, and I don't know why I keep sticking my neck out for you…."

"It's the little boy in me," Remo said. "The little boy."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Remo showed up at Folcroft, he was alone.

"Where's Chiun?" Smith asked.

"Oh, he said he had something to attend to," Remo hedged.

"Well, I guess I don't need to hear the whole story from both of you. Is it wrapped up?"

"With a pretty bow," Remo said. "Moorcock cooked up the whole scam after he saw how his minister bit was going over. He was pulling in a lot of money and decided to put it to work for him. His Iranian contacts didn't hurt, either."

"Well, I'm sure the Iranians weren't helping him out of the goodness of their hearts," Smith said. "They must have seen this as a means to undermine the youth of the United States."

That was exactly what Chiun had said before he went off on his private little quest, Remo thought, only Chiun hadn't said "undermine." He had said "destroy."

"Well, anyway," Remo continued, "it all started to fall apart when some of the kids working for him started to get an attack of conscience. If it wasn't the kids, it was the parents, like in the Martin case."

"So people started getting out of line, Moorcock started getting rid of them, and we noticed."

"Right," Remo said. "The beginning of the end."

"Fortunately for us," Smith said.

"All of the kids we turned over to the cops in Detroit started talking right after Walter Sterling did," Remo explained, "so the police pretty much have a picture of what went on. What they don't know, they can pretty well reconstruct."

"And you're out of it?"

"We got lucky with that cop, Palmer," Remo said. "He recognized something good and noble in me."

"You don't say."

"He was also working the case from a different angle, as it turns out," Remo said.

"What angle was that?"

"Moorcock had paid the judge who set the bail for the Martin kid."

"But the judge set the bail exorbitantly high."

"Right, and who would suspect the minister of a half-assed church of putting up the money? That was just a little extra insurance to make sure nothing got back to him."

"He was pretty thorough, wasn't he, this minister?" Smith said.

"Not thorough enough," Remo said.

* * *

In a Mexico City hotel room, Rafael Cintron was waiting with his two colleagues, Antonio Jiminez and Pablo Santoro, for some Iranian diplomats to arrive for a conference.

"It is unfortunate what happened to Señor Moorcock in Detroit," he said to the other two, "but we are fortunate that the Iranians wish to seek another avenue in order to keep our, er, business flourishing. After all, they paid us quite a lot of money to carry their drugs during our trips to the United States and are willing to continue to do so."

"We are with you, Rafael," Jiminez said. "You have no need to convince us."

Cintron looked at the other man, Santoro, who nodded his agreement. "Excellent," he said. He had gotten used to the life-style he had been enjoying on the money the Iranians paid him and was very happy that he would not have to choose between his wife and his mistress but could continue to support both.

When the knock finally sounded at the door, he jumped up from his seat and said, "At last!" The others watched as he walked eagerly to the door and swung it open.

"Welcome, my friend—" Cintron started to say, but as the man in the doorway started to fall forward, Cintron was forced to leap out of the way. "What…" he said, and they all gaped at the fallen man, who was obviously dead.

"Watch out!" Jiminez shouted, and Cintron turned to see that there had been another man right behind the first, and now he was falling forward too. Cintron jumped out of the way in time to avoid the second man, then did a dance step to avoid being hit by a third.