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Where the hell were these men coming from? In the last year, he had been forced to dispose of one snooper in the regular way upon contract, but today the man had gotten so close, so damned effectively close, that only with a lucky break were Felton and two henchmen able to fling him over the railing down to the street right smack into a police investigation.
Felton's breathing came hard. He no longer noticed the purity of the air. Blue veins bulged in his forehead and he clenched his fists.
Someone was after him and it was no amateur. They had claimed one of his best men.
«No amateur,» he mumbled and then his thoughts were interrupted when Jimmy, the butler-bodyguard, came out on the terrace with a scotch and water.
«Tony Bonelli's inside.»
«By himself, Jimmy?»
«Yeah, boss, by himself. I think he's scared.»
Felton glanced down at the light amber liquid in his glass. «Viaselli send him?»
«Right. Mr. Big himself.»
«Are you thinking what I'm thinking, boss?»
«I don't know,» Felton said. «I don't know.» He turned and walked into the den, carrying half a glass of his drink.
A thin, greasy-haired man with hollow cheeks sat on the edge of a chair near the desk. He wore a blue pinstriped suit, a yellowish tie. He twisted a handkerchief in his hands. He perspired profusely despite the air conditioning.
Felton walked to the chair and stood over Tony, who was almost writhing in his seat.
«What's up, what's up?» Tony said quickly. «Mr. Big sent me over here. He said you wanted to talk about something.»
«Not to you, Tony. To him,» Felton said and slowly poured the rest of his drink over Tony's black shiny hair.
As Tony tried to mop his head with the handkerchief, Felton slapped him hard, once, across the face.
«Now, let's talk,» Felton said, and motioned Jimmy to place a chair beneath him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The receptionist at East Hudson Hospital unconsciously straightened, pushing forward her chest, when she saw that beautiful specimen come toward her desk.
He walked like no man she had ever seen, with the grace of a dancer yet the sure, strong movements of an athlete. Every motion seemed to flourish in a calm masculine discipline she just knew could create miracles on a mattress.
He wore a well-cut gray, three-button suit, with a white shirt and a brown tie that matched the deep fascination of his eyes. She didn't know if she was smiling too widely as he allowed his strong hands to settle on her desk.
«Hello. I'm Donald McCa
«Is there anything I can do for you?» she asked. His tailor was magnificent.
«Yes, there is. I'm an insurance adjuster and frankly I'm in a bind.»
He seemed to know she would do anything for him; those beautiful eyes just knew it.
«Oh,» she said. The supervisor wouldn't be around until 6:30 a.m. She had a half-hour. What was happening to her? What did this man have?
«Yes,» he said leaning forward. «I'm responsible for the insurance on a building. And I hear someone fell from it.»
She nodded. «Oh yes, Jackson. He's in Room 411, emergency.»
«Could I get to see him?»
«I'm afraid not. You'll have to wait until visiting hours and then get permission from the guard. He tried to commit suicide. They don't want him to do it.»
The man seemed disappointed. «Well, I guess I'll just have to wait until visiting hours.» He waited as though expecting something. Maybe he would leave. She didn't want him to leave.
«Is it very important?» she asked.
He was a kiss away from her lips now. «Yes.»
«Maybe I can get the guard down here and you could go in for a minute.» To hell with the supervisor.
He was smiling so beautifully. «Would that be all right?» she asked.
«Beautiful,» he said.
«I'll phone him. You get in one of those elevators and hold the door open so he'll have to use the other one to come down. The night nurse takes her break now. I'll keep the guard here until I go off… about twenty minutes. Then I'll phone to the floor and you hold an elevator there. When the other one comes up, come back down here to me. I'm getting off then. But don't tell a soul. Promise?»
«I promise.» He had such beautiful eyes. It wasn't until he had disappeared into the elevator that the receptionist realized her husband would still be in bed when she got home. She'd work out something later.
Remo pressed the fourth floor button and watched the elevator doors close. So Chiun had been right. Some women could sense a man's control of his body. They could be attracted by what he called the hia chu charm, knowing within that the man had such perfect timing and rhythm and highly developed senses that he could arouse them every time.
«Man can love. Women live. They are like cattle that feed the body. Their main concern is their safety, nourishment, and happiness. The devotedness that passes for love in the man's mind is really the woman's instinct for protection. She wins that protection by simulating love. She, not the man, is responsible for the life of the human race. A most wise choice.»
But how had Chiun been so certain? He had never called for women himself at Folcroft. But he had said: «In your mind, she will respond.»
Remo had not intended to use Chiun's method. But then, nothing had turned out the way he expected since the meeting with Smith, that tea-drinking filing cabinet back at Folcroft.
How could CURE with all that superior perso
First they had wanted to load him up with a bulky revolver. Then the armament man displayed a raft of pipe pistols, pen darts, poison dropping rings, all stuff from Charlie Chan movies.
He had been taught how these devices worked in order to know what he might have to face. But carrying around an arsenal was like wearing an advertisement. He had said no and the armament clerk shrugged. If he were to enlist an unwitting ally, then he would call for a drop of one of these instruments. But for himself, Remo knew, his hands could do all the work necessary without having complications from the local bulls.
He had kept the Remo Cabell identification and asked for an increase of only one thing: money. His allotment had been $3,000. He asked for $7,500 and got it. One thousand in small bills and the rest in hundreds.
This was wrong, too much for an assignment, he had been told. It would just draw attention to himself. But then they believed he'd be operating with CURE for the rest of his life.
«Take just what you need.» Well, if he were that obsessed with remaining u
Well, he could forget most of what they taught. He wasn't going to find himself in a death cell again for doing his job, or waiting like MacCleary for one of his own to dispatch, him. Remo had had it. The world had taught him and he had almost gotten killed before he learned. Not again… not ever again.
He would call for a drop of cash in two days, saying he was on Maxwell's tail, then hit a drop with a note that he couldn't even get close, and then for the rest of his life follow the last order from the organization: «Disappear.»
But first MacCleary. With MacCleary out of the way, no one would bother him again. The elevator door opened slowly, almost silently.