thedestroyer.deathcheck-第3部分

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　〃Meow；〃　he　whispered　in　the　silent；　dark　gym。
　He　stood　on　the　rim；　straight　up；　and　then　his　body　fell　forward；　shoes　gripping　the　rim　by　pressure；　head　going　forward；　shoes　flipping　up；　rim　adding　force；　body　heading　straight　down；　hair　and　head　aiming　straight　at　the　floor…like　a　dark　knife　dropping　into　a　dark　sea。
　His　hair　touched　the　varnish　of　the　floor　and　triggered　a　body　trunk　flip；　the　dark　form　in　the　blackened　gym　spinning　in　space；　the　sneakers　ing　around　quick…　rocket　fast…arching　and　down　steady　standing　on　the　wooden　floor。
　
　Blat。　The　sound　echoed　in　the　gymnasium。　He　had　held　for　the　last　hair…touching　instant　and　then　let　the　muscles　take　over；　the　muscles　of　a　cat　which　shifted　the　body　in。air　and　put　the　feet　on　the　floor。　An　exercise　the　body　could　do　only　when　the　mind　was　trained；　trained　to　steal　the　balance　of　another　animal。
　Remo　Williams　had　heard　the　blat　in　the　gym；　the　sound　of　his　sneakers　hitting　the　floor。　He　was　not　purring。
　〃Shit；〃　he　mumbled　to　himself。　〃The　next　time　it'll　be　my　head。　That　dumb　bastard　is　gonna　get　me　killed　yet；　with　his　goddam　peak　period。〃
　And　he　returned　to　the　balcony　and　the　backboard；　this　time　to　do　it　right。　Without　a　sound　when　his　sneakers　hit　the　floor。
　
　CHAPTER　THREE
　
　The　sun　reflected　on　the　scales　of　the　fish　and　played　on　the　water　and　warmed　the　covered　wood　…pier　of　Giuseppe　Bresicola's　wholesale　fish　market　which　jutted　out　into　San　Francisco　Bay　like　dirty　toy　sticks　on　a　blue　plate。
　Bresicola's　did　not　smell　of　fish：　it　breathed　of　fish　and　sounded　of　fish；　from　the　splat　of　mackerel　piled　on　mackerel　to　the　scrape　of　steel　across　scales。　Entrails　in　giant　barrels　in　seconds　began　the　inevitable　decay。　Fresh　seawater　sqnooshed　over　the　scale…caked　wood。　And　Bresicola　smiled　because　his　friend　was　again　visiting　him。
　〃I　no　tella　you　the　orders　today；　Mr。　Time…Study　man。　Not　today。〃　He　made　a　playful　stab　at　his　friend's　head。　How　nice　this　boy　moved。　Like　a　dancer。　Like　Willie　Pep。　〃You　don't　get　the　orders　today。〃
　〃What　do　you　mean；　not　today；〃　asked　the　friend　who　was　six　feet　tall　and　husky。　He　scraped　his　brown　shoes　playfully　on　the　wood；　a　small　dance　without　motion。　They　were　good　shoes；　50　shoes。　Once　he　had　bought　ten　pairs　of　100　shoes　and　then　heaved　them　out　into　the　Bay；　but　the　next　day　all　he　did　was　draw　money　from　his　account　and　buy　new　shoes。　So；　he　had　gotten　that　out　of　his　system　and　throwing　shoes　away　meant　only　that　you　had　to　take　the　trouble　of　buying　more。
　〃It's　abalone；〃　said　Bresicola。　〃We　got　another　order　from　New　York。　Just　now。〃
　〃So？〃
　〃So　the　last　time　I　tell　you　about　abalone；　I　no　see　you　for　a　month。〃
　〃You　think　abalone　has　something　to　do　with　my　work　here？〃
　〃You　think　maybe　Giuseppe　is　stupid；　Mr。　Time…Study　man？〃
　〃No。　Many　people　are　stupid。　Especially　back　east。　But　not　you；　paisan。　Not　you。〃
　〃It's　something　maybe　to　do　with　the　stock　market；　yes？〃
　〃If　I　said　yes；　you　wouldn't　believe　me。〃
　〃I　believe　anyting　you　say。　Anyting。〃
　〃It's　the　stock　market。〃
　〃Not　for　a　minute　does　Giuseppe　believe　that。〃
　〃I　thought　you　said　you'd　believe　me？〃
　〃Only　if　you　makea　sense。　Stock　market　makea　no　sense。〃
　〃Abalone　makes　no　sense？　Time　studies　make　no　sense？〃
　〃Nothing　makes　no　sense；〃　Bresicola　insisted。
　Very　good；　thought　the　time　study　man；　because　now　was　no　time　to　be　giving　out　signals。　It　would　be　a　very　nice　way　to　get　oneself　killed。　First；　loss　of　your　vibrations；　then　your　awareness；　then　your　balance；　and　before　long；　you　were　just　a　normal；　cunning；　strong　human　being。　And　that　would　not　be　enough。　Not　nearly　enough。
　He　shared　with　Bresicola　a　glass　of　sharp　red　wine；　made　plans　for　dinner　with　no　definite　date；　and　when　he　left；　had　decided　it　was　long　past　time　to　eliminate　the　time…study　man。
　He　would　exist　until　a　plane　ticket　had　been　purchased　with　his　American　Express　card　and　until　800　in　travelers'　checks　were　cashed。　He　would　exist　all　the　way　from　San　Francisco　to　Kennedy　Airport　in　New　York　City。　He　would　walk　into　the　men's　room　closest　to　the　Pan　American　counter；　look　for　a　pair　of　blue　suede　shoes　indicating　that　the　wearer　was　reposing　on　the　mode；　wait　till　the　room　was　clear；　then　mention　that　the　urinals　never　worked　and　that　he　hoped　some　day　the　Americans　could　learn　plumbing　from　the　Swiss。
　A　wallet　would　e　out　from　under　the　closed　mode　door　and　the　time…study　man's　wallet　would　go　in　as　exchange。　The　man　inside　would　not　open　the　door　to　see　who　got　the　wallet。　He　had　been　told　that　to　open　the　door　was　to　lose　his　job。　There　was　even　a　better　reason。　If　he　should　even　glimpse　the　man　who　got　the　wallet；　he　would　lose　his　life。
　Remo　Williams　flipped　the　time…study　man's　wallet　into　the　hand　ing　from　beneath　the　door　and　snatched　the　other　wallet　in　a　motion　so　fast　the　person　in　the　mode　only　knew　there　had　been　a　switch　by　the　change　in　the　shade　of　the　leather。
　So　much　for　the　time…study　man。　Remo　Williams　left　the　men's　room　for　a　small　cocktail　lounge　on　the　second　level；　from　which　he　could　look　back　down　to　make　sure　the　blue　suede　shoes　left　the　terminal　without　looking　around。
　The　bar　was　dark；　hiding　the　afternoon；　a　perpetual　womb；　a　dispenser　of　nerve　killers　that　Remo　Williams　was　not　allowed　to　have　because　he　was　on　peak。　He　ordered　ginger　ale；　then　checked　the　wallet。
　
　
　The　seals　were　unbroken。　He　checked　the　credit　cards　and　the　wallet　flap　for　the　needle　he　had　been　assured　would　bring　instant　death。　With　the　credit　cards　was　a　small　card　with　phone　numbers　that　were　not　phone　numbers。　By　adding　the　numbers　in　the　series；　Remo　learned　that：
　1）　The　Reach…Me…Urgent　was　the　same。　A　Chicago　dial…a…prayer。　（That　would　have　to　be　changed　because　of　deteriorating　phone　service。）
　2）　The　next　training　checkout　with　Chiun；　his　Korean　teacher；　was　scheduled　six　weeks　later　at　Plensikof　Ps　Gym　on　Granby　Street；　Norfolk；　Va。　（Dammit；　Chiun　could　stay　alive　long。）
　3）　The　assignment　meeting　was　at　the　Port　Alexandria　at　8　p。m。；　a　face…to…face；　with…oh　no…Harold　W。　Smith　himself。
　4）　He　was　now　Remo　Pelham。　A　former　policeman。　Bora　and　raised　in　the　Bronx。　DeWitt　Clinton　High　School；　where　he　remembered　only　the　football　coach；　Doc　Wiedeman；　who　would　not　remember　him。　An　M。　P。　in　Vietnam。　Chief　of　industrial　security　at　a　Pittsburgh　mill。　No　family。　No　furniture；　but　books　and　clothes　would　be　arriving　in　two　days　at　Brewster　Forum；　which　had　just　named　him　director　of　security　at　17；000　per　year。
　He　scanned　the　sheet　and　mitted　it　to　memory。　Then　he　folded　it　up　and　dropped　it　into　the　remnants　of　his　ginger　ale。　In　ten　seconds；　it　had　dissolved；　making　the　drink　murky。　It　had　been　the　intention　of　someone　that　Remo　should　be　able　to　dispose　of　the　paper　by　swallowing　it。　There　were　two　reasons　he　would　not　swallow　it…one；　it　tasted　like　glue；　two；　he　didn't　swallow　things　sent　to　him　by　anyone。
　He　took　a　cab　into　New　York　City　with　a　woman　who　didn't　like　New　York　City；　didn't　know　why　she　was　visiting　it　and　would　never　visit　it　again。　So　many　people　with　only　one　thing　on　their　minds。　Not　like　Troy；　Ohio。；　Had　Mr。　Pelham　heard　of　Troy；　Ohio？
　〃Yes；　I　know　Troy；　Ohio；〃　said　Remo　Pelham。　〃It　has　an　intelligence　quotient　of　two　hundred。　That's　cumulative　for　everyone。〃
　Mr。　Pelham　did　not　have　to　be　insulting。　Mr。　Pelham　might　have　told　her　he　was　from　New　York　City　instead　of　being　abusive。　After　all；　she　was　sure　not　everyone　in　New　York　City　had　only　one　thing　on　their　minds。
　Mr。　Pelham　informed　the　woman　he　was　born　in　the　Bronx　and　took　to　heart　things　said　about　New　York　City。　He　loved　his　home　town。
　Mrs。　Jones　loved　New　York　City　also；　she　was　only　teasing　and　what　hotel　was　Mr。　Pelham　staying　at？
　〃Not　sure　yet。　I'm　going　to　Riverside　Drive。〃
　〃Is　it　pretty？〃
　Remo　turned　to　the　woman　for　closer　scrutiny。　He　should　get　rid　of　her。　Now　he　was　deciding　whether　he　wanted　to。
　She　was　a　full…bodied　woman　with　strong　clean　features；　a　blonde　with　brown　eyes　under　heavy　blue　eyeshadow。　She　wore　a　neat　suit；　whose　sewing　and　material　Remo　estimated　at　250　in　a　large　Cleveland　store　or　550　in　New　York　City。　The　ring　was　three　karats…if　flawless；　a　fine　stone。
　The　shoes　oozed　the　subtle　richness　of　expensive　leather。　Wife　of　manufacturer　or　leading　citizen；　on　shopping　trip　to　New　York；　and　if　convenient；　unplicated　lay　for　herself。
　Estimating　clothes　and　accoutrements　had　been　one　of　his　poorer　programs　during　training。　But　he　was　good　enough　to　trust　himself。　As　much　as　indicating　wealth；　clothes　tell　you　what　a　person　wants　you　to　believe。　Invariably；　that　could　give　you　a　handle。
　Remo　Pelham　answered　the　question：　〃Riverside　Drive　overlooks　the　Hudson。　It's　pretty。〃
　〃Where　on　Riverside；　Mac？〃
　〃Anywhere；〃　Remo　told　the　driver。
　〃You；　too；　lady？〃
　〃If　I　wouldn't　be　bothering　anyone；〃　she　said。
　Remo　Pelham　said　nothing。　He　said　nothing　as　he　paid　the　driver　at　96th　Street　and　Riverside　Drive　and　got　slowly　out　of　the　cab。　He　did　not　turn　around　nor　offer　to　help　the　woman　with　her　luggage。
　Remo　Pelham　did　not　need　luggage。　Neither　did　a　half　dozen　other　names　he　lived　by。　He　walked　to　the　low　stone　wall　and　stared　out　across　the　Hudson；　glimmering　in　the　hot　September　day。
　Across　that　river　and　beyond　the　decaying　docks　of　Hoboken；　in　the　city　of　Newark；　a　young　policeman　had　been　tried；　found　guilty　of　murder　and　executed　at　the　state　penitentiary。　A　young　policeman　who　swallowed　a　pill　from　a。　priest　who　had　offered　last　rites　and　promised　him　not　eternal　life；　but　life。　He　had　taken　the　pill；　passed　out　in　the　electric　chair；　and　awakened　to　hear　a　story　from　a　man　with　a　hook　for　a　hand。　The　story　was　this：
　The　American　constitution　didn't　work　and　was　working　less　each　year。　Criminals；　using　the　safeguards　of　the　constitution；　daily　increased　in　number　and　strength。　The　next　step　was　a　police　state。　Machiavelli's　classic　perception　of　chaos　and　then　repression。
　Should　the　government　scrap　the　constitution？　Or　allow　the　country　to　e　apart？　There　was　a　third　choice。　Suppose　an　organization　outside　the　government　evened　the　odds？　An　organization　which　could　not　transcend　the　constitution　because　the　organization　w