Warren Murphy: Firing Line

"You're not gonna burn, wiseass," said Remo. "You're gonna fry."

The kid paused, then said, "I know you."

"St. Louis," said Remo.

The young boy laughed again. "I knew you'd be along," he said. 'It makes it right sort of."

"You think so?" Remo asked.

"Yeah. It's like I been waiting my whole life for you. Like we got some kind of business, you know, like that."

"We've got business, kid," said Remo. "It's been hanging around for thirty centuries."

"Ninety-second floor," the kid said. 'Til be waiting for you."

"You got it," Remo said. He let the telephone go dead in his hand, then turned to Chiun with a

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quizzical look on his face. "He said he's waiting for me."

"I heard what he said," said Chiun, who was standing ten feet away. "Do you think I'm deaf?"

"He knows the legend, too," Remo said.

"Everyone knows it and believes it but you," said Chiun.

Remo put his hand on Chain's shoulder. "Little Father," he said. "Me, too."

He walked toward a bank of elevators with Chiun at his side. Remo studied the elevator signs in the lobby. There was no elevator to the 92nd floor. They only went as high as the 60th floor. They started to ride up in the silent building.

"I hate this," Remo said.

"What?"

"You can tell a country's gone to hell when they start messing around with elevators."

'This one seems to work fine," Chiun said.

"Naaah," said Remo. "You know, in the old days, elevators used to go from the bottom floor to the top floor. Whoosh. Straight up. Now, they got classes in engineering schools in creative elevator design. They go halfway up. Others go a quarter of the way up. When you get there, you have to get a schedule and switch elevators like switching trains. Trying to get to the top floor is like trying to get to Altoona to see Aunt Alice. Stupid."

"I didn't know you knew so much about elevators," Chiun said.

"Just the way I am," said Remo. "I know a lot about so many things."

"Then here is something you should know," Chuin said. He was interrupted by the elevator door opening. They stepped out and transferred to

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another elevator. It moved up toward the 92nd floor.

"What?" said Remo.

"You are not permitted to kill this child," Chiun said.

Remo spun toward him. "What?"

"He is a child. His life is sacrëd in Sinanju," Chiun said. "A master cannot willingly take a child's life."

"That's Sinanju," said Remo. "This is New York."

"But you are a master. You are bound by the tradition."

"Bulldookey," said Remo. 'Tou think I'm going to let this little sparkplug incinerate me, like Tungsten the Medium?"

"Tung-Si the Lesser," Chiun said. "Rules are rules."

"Good for you," Remo. "Don't go breaking any. And don't go giving any to me. This little swine killed Ruby, and I'm cancelling his library card."

The elevator door opened. Remo stepped out.

Chiun said "I'll stay here." He pressed the close door button.

In the corridor, Remo paused and then heard the sound. It was a fast, crackling noise. He breathed deep, and the acrid smell of burning wood bit into his sensitive nostrils.

Remo ran along the carpeted floor, lifting his head like a dog scenting air. At an intersection of corridors, he moved toward the sound and smell of fire at the southeast corner of the building. He found the offices of the Safety First Grandslam Insurance Company. Through the frosted glass of the door, he could see the tongues of flames. The

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Safety-First Grandslam Insurance Company. Where had he heard that name?

He pushed his way through the locked door. Sure. It was the company that had issued those life insurance policies that the Reverend Witherspool had hoped would make him rich.

The office was burning. Desks were afire, bookshelves were smoldering and, as Remo watched, smoke pouring from open file cabinets was turning red and then exploding into flame. A large computer ran the entire length of one wall. Smoke and flames shot from its opening like a slot machine paying off in fire.

Remo ignored the fires and pushed through the doors into all the connecting offices. Sparky was not there.

He came back out into the main office and looked at the burning computer. He remembered the policies written on those poor families in Newark. He looked at the fire extinguisher on the wall. He looked at the burning computer.

"Screw 'em," he said and walked out into the hall.

Where was the kid?

He ran along the corridors, pausing every so often to listen, but there were no more sounds—no crackle of flame, no whoosh of smoke, no breathing, no footsteps.

The kid had left the floor. Where had he gone?

Remo thought for a split second. He must have gone down. He might be trying to set fires all the way down to the bottom of the building. He would not have gone up because a fire on a lower floor might trap him up high. He must have gone down.

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When he reached the elevators, the walls and the paint on the metal doors were burning. The carpet was ablaze, too. The kid had waited, trying to trap Remo on the burning 92nd floor. Remo ran back along the corridor, found an exit door, and ran down to the 91st floor. He pushed open the hallway door and listened. All was silent. No sound of human; no sound of fire.

He began to work his way down through the building. Ninetieth floor. Eighty-ninth. Eighty-eighth. The kid could be anywhere. There were more fires burning on the 80th floor and again on the 74th. Remo let the fires sizzle. That was for the fire department, assuming they were not on vacation in any month with more than 27 days in it. But there was no sign of Sparky.

Every floor. Checking all the way down.

Remo opened the door to the 67th floor.

As he did, he heard a voice call out, "Took you long enough, sucker."

The sound came from a corridor to his left, and Remo ran along it. At the end of the corridor, he looked right, then left. A door was open at one far end of the hall. He walked slowly toward it.

This was it.

Remo stepped into the office through the open door and saw Kid Blaze standing across the room, near a window.

He looked at Remo.

"Is Solly dead?"

"Just like you're going to be," Remo said.

The boy laughed.

"Why'd you set those fires upstairs?"

The youth shook his head. "They're nothing. Just to keep you interested."

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"I knew they weren't big enough to mean anything."

"That's right. From here down, I take this building apart," Sparky said.

"To do that, you've got to get through this door behind me," Remo said.

"Then I'll just have to." The youth paused. He squinted across the room at Remo's face. "It seems hike we've done this before," he said.

"You wouldn't know about it, but our ancestors did. A long time ago."

"Yeah? Who won then?"

"Your team," Remo said.

'Til have to keep our record clean," the kid said. "First you. Then this building. Then who knows? I'm ready to move on to bigger things. Maybe the White House or Congress. The Pentagon. Who knows? All I know is I don't need Solly stopping me everytLme I'm trying to have some fun."

"That woman you killed in Newark. Was that fun?"

"You betcha. And you're going to be fun. People in the street. Cats, dogs, passing cars. It's all fun."

"You're a freaking looney," Remo said. "Say good night, looney."

He started across the room, just as Sparky McGurl raised his arms. As Remo reached the row of desks in front of the youth, they flashed into flame. Through the flames, he could see the boy sizzling blue, flames crackling like electricity from his fingertips. The desks were incinerating in front of Remo's eyes. Great gouges of wood exploded into flame, popping up into the air, flying past Remo's head, and he backed off.