No Contest

“Oh, it’s you. Hi, Smitty.”

“You knew it was me and your soliloquy was for my benefit.”

“My who? Don’t answer. Here’s Chiun.”

“I don’t want Chiun.” Smith knew he’d made a big mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth. The Masters of Sinanju had extraordinary hearing—easily listening in on any phone conversation in the room.

Remo came back on the line. “That wasn’t very nice. If you’re trying to get rid of both of us, why bother calling? We’ve already been picked on by the West Hollywood All-Mart manager, today. Told us the Sinanju-mobile was too big for their parking lot. He changed his tune eventually, didn’t he. Little Father?”

‘Tell Master Chiun I was not being insulting or disrespectful,” Smith said, knowing his words were being heard by the old Master Emeritus even as he spoke. “Tell him that the purpose of my call was to try to talk some sense into you, Remo.”

“Huh. Not a very successful call by any estimate,” Remo told him.

Then Smith heard a click as Remo hung up. Smith immediately dialed again into the RV telephone.

“Hi and thanks for calling Sinanju Assassins—”

“Remo, I obviously will get no intelligent response from you, so please give me over to Chiun, who has the decorum and wisdom to answer his Emperor’s questions.”

“Pretty slick,” Remo conceded. Smith thought so, as well, when Chiun barked for the phone. The compliment was just right.

“Good morning, Emperor. I trust you spent a restful evening?”

“It was fine, Master Chiun,” Smith said. “I hope your night was restful.”

“Considering the tiresome journey and the boorish companionship, it was comfortable enough.”

“Both of you are laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” Remo demanded in the background.

“Can you tell me anything about what happened yesterday?” Smith asked.

“Ah. My foolish son insisted on driving across the deserts of California and the Valley of So-Called Death.”

Smith sighed. “I meant at the luge contest”

“A hideous spectacle. It is designed to make the most of the physical unattractiveness of the contestants. They place deformities in the surface of the pavement to vibrate the flabby flesh of the participants!”

“So I understand,” Smith said patiently.

“This is then displayed on giant electronic screens to the whoops of the imbeciles in the crowd. When the contest is finished, these are replayed on the same giant screens along with previously filmed contests. If that is not sufficient for the cretins in attendance, the souvenir stands sell vile collections of filmed video contests. Remo purchased one for you.”

“Yes,” Smith said, struggling to keep the inexorably slow pace Chiun set. “The package was delivered this morning. The delivery fees were charged to CURE.”

“He thanks you,” Chiun said off the phone.

“Tell Remo it was not necessary to send it by special courier. The cost was enormous.”

“Truly, I never estimated how febrile the white mind could become, and yet that vile display was evidence enough,” Chiun said in wonderment. “I was repulsed, of course, but fascinated that so many people would flock to such entertainments. Are you certain you wish to rule such a backward people?”

How could Smith answer a question like that? “I take it you found no evidence of foul play?”

“Yes, there were flaws in the craftsmanship of the luges,” Chiun said. “It was easy enough to detect.”

Smith almost took the phone away from his ear and looked at it. “Master Chiun, I wish you would have reported this immediately.”

“None of these luges are built to the standards of the Olympic counterparts, who are foolish enough when competing in their uniforms. But there were some devices that had been purposely engineered to fail.”

“I wish you would have sent me one of those devices.”

“This we did do. Emperor.”

“It wasn’t in the package with the DVD,” Smith insisted.

“Remo deemed the item was heavy and might be shipped more economically via a standard service.”

Smith gripped the phone. Remo’s way of goading him. He couldn’t allow himself to be goaded.

“May I have the shipping number?”

There was a moment of muffled conversation, after which Chiun informed him delightedly that the tracking number started with the digit 1, and included at least two 7s.

Exasperated, Smith got around to his second important topic. “Chiun, do you have any idea yet what Remo is up to?”

“Vacation!” Remo shouted in the background.

“I have uncovered a clue as to his plans, Emperor,” Chiun whispered. “He intends to tour the homes of the stars. I will keep you updated.”

Smith heard the phone disconnect, and he unhappily began searching the databases of packages being shipped from the Sedona area of Arizona to Folcroft Sanitarium, and soon found the package of evidence sent by Remo.

Mark Howard limped into the area outside Dr. Smith’s office. “Mrs. Mikulka, are you okay?”

“Yes, Mark,” the elderly secretary said with a wan smile. “I just had a little shock this morning.”

“Oh?”