Warren Murphy: Mugger Blood

"Never mind," Speskaya said.

"Is it a deal?"

"No. The device you have is nothing but a low-level biofeedback device that works off induction and is virtually without worth."

"And your two secret weapons?" Remo said.

"They are of great worth. Great worth."

"I bet," said Remo.

"There is a club called The Iron Dukes on Walton Avenue. I will meet you there tonight. I will tell you about my weapons and I will expect your answer about working for us. Nine o'clock."

"I'll be there."

"The Oriental too."

"We'll be there," Remo said.

"Good thing, fella. Look forward to seeing you," Speskaya said. And as the telephone clicked, Remo recognized the voice. It was that jovial "fella" that did it. The man he had met at the excavation at the Mueller's apartment, the man whose knee he had banged up. Tony Spesk, alias Speskaya, Russian colonel and spy.

"Tonight," Remo said to Chiun, just as Ingrid came back into the room. "We'll find out what two weapons he's working on."

"And then?"

"Then we get rid of him and that's that," Remo said.

"You have no idea what his special weapons are?" Chiun asked.

Remo shrugged. "Who cares? More machinery."

"You are a fool," said Chiun.

A few moments later, Ingrid remembered something she had forgotten at the drugstore. She went back downstairs and called a number on a pay phone.

"Anthony," she said. "I just overheard. They plan to kill you tonight."

"Too bad," Spesk said. "They would have been most valuable additions to our arsenal."

"What now?" Ingrid asked.

"Use the white ring. And let me know how it works."

On Halsey Street in Newark, the burly black man found what he was looking for. He had passed up two Volkswagens to find an unlocked car big enough for him to sit in comfortably.

He opened the door of the new Buick and hunched over close to the dashboard, bridging the ignition with a pair of alligator clips he carried in his pocket. From his belt, he unhooked a huge ring of keys, dwarfed by his big heavy hand, and sorted through them until he found one that seemed right and put it in the ignition. He turned it, the starter growled, and the motor started smoothly.

Big-Big Pickens drove into traffic with a smile on his face. He was going home and getting those Saxon Lords straightened out.

Just turns his back, and some honkey and little old chink, they been busting up the gang, and two of the leaders dead, and the Reverend Wadson dead, and about time for all this nonsensery to end. He patted the ice pick he carried in his hip pocket, its business end stuck into a cork. On a whim he removed it and slammed it deep into the car seat. And he smiled again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In the living room Remo had changed into a black tee shirt and black slacks.

"Remo." Ingrid's voice was a soft call from the bedroom door.

Remo nodded and stood. Chiun was wearing a thin black robe. Tyrone still wore the same denim jacket, jeans, and dirty white tee shirt he had worn for three days.

"We'll be leaving right away," Remo said, looking through the window at nighttime New York. "But there's something to do first."

The old man nodded.

Inside, Ingrid sat on the edge of the bed. She had just come from the shower and wore only a thin blue satin robe.

"Must you go?" she said to Remo. With her faint European accent, her voice sounded wistful and lost.

"Afraid so."

"That man is a bad man. He killed Josiah."

"You mean Spesk? Just another agent. No problem."

She put her hands up to Remo's arms and pulled him closer to her, until his knees touched hers.

"I would be shattered if you were hurt… or…"

"Killed? I don't expect to be."

"But he is a killer."

"That's right, isn't it? And you saw him running away after he killed Wadson."

Ingrid nodded. She trailed her hands around Remo's back until they were at the base of his spine. She pulled him to her and buried her face in his stomach.

"Yes." Her voice seemed choked. "I saw him. I will never forget him."

"Tall, lean man. Thinning blond hair. Little scar over the left eye."

He felt her head nod against his stomach. Then he felt her hands at his waist, fumbling with the belt of his trousers.

"Remo," she said softly, "this may be strange, but in just these few hours… there has come to be… I can't explain it. You'll laugh."

"Never laugh at a woman in love," Remo said.

His trousers were open now and she busied her hands and her face with his body.

Then she fell back onto the bed, her right hand holding his left wrist and pulling him down to her.

"Come, Remo. Make love to me. Now. I can't wait."

The front of her robe fell open and Remo slipped down onto her blond goddess body. Mechanically, he began sex. He felt her right arm leave his wrist and reach up under the pillow at the headboard of the bed. She put her left arm around his neck and pulled his face down to her so he could not see what she was doing.

He felt the slight shift in her body weight as her right hand returned toward her waist. He felt the fingers slide in between their stomachs and then he felt the constriction as the hard white metal ring was placed on his body.

Remo pulled back and looked down at the white ring. Ingrid reached again over her head and had the small black box in her hand, with the red toggle switch in the center.

She smiled at him, a vicious smile that was as foreign to love as it was to warmth.

"And now, the charade ends."

"As all good charades must," Remo said.

"Do you know what that ring is?"

"Some kind of pressure device, I guess," Remo said.

"As effective as a guillotine." She scootched herself up into a sitting position in bed.

"Is this what you used on Wadson?" Remo asked.

"Yes. I used it all over his body. To mutilate him. He was gross. You learn very quickly."

"No," said Remo. "I didn't learn. I knew."

It was time for Ingrid to be surprised. "You knew?"

"When you said you saw Spesk running" away after killing Wadson. I broke Spesk's kneecap three nights ago. He isn't doing much running these days."

"And yet you came in here? Like a lamb to slaughter?"

"I'm not exactly a lamb."

"You will be. A lamb. Or a gelding."

"What is it you want?" Remo asked.

"It is simple. You join Spesk and me. You work with us."

"I don't think so," Remo said.

"The old one would. I have heard him today. He would go wherever the money is best. Why is he so reasonable and you so unreasonable?"

"We're both unreasonable. Just in different ways," Remo said.

"Then your answer is no."

"You got it, sweetheart."

She looked down at the red switch in her hand.

"You know what happens next, don't you?"

"Go ahead," Remo said. "But know this. You die. You can play with your toy there and maybe hurt me but I'll have time to kill you and you know I will. And you will die very slowly. Very painfully."

His deep brown eyes that seemed to have no pupils met hers. They stared at each other. She looked away, and as if backing down from his stare had thrown her into a rage, she slammed her hand onto the red toggle switch, pushing it all the way forward. Baring her teeth and gums with lips twisted open in hatred, she looked up at Remo.

He still knelt in the same place on the bed. His face showed no emotion, no pain. Her eyes met his again and Remo laughed. He reached onto the bed and picked up the two halves of the white ring, split cleanly, like an undersized doughnut cut in two by a very precise knife. He tossed them to her.

"Called muscle control, kid."

He stood up and zipped his trousers and fastened his belt. Ingrid scurried across the bed and reached into her handbag on the end table. She pulled out a small pistol and rolled toward Remo, aiming the gun at him in an easy, unhurried motion.