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amber mouthpiece. She took a hit, held it in her lungs and exhaled it with
studied langour.
It felt good. In fact, it felt great. She took another hit, slid back under
the pink satin covers and smoked contentedly. It was good bhang. Very
excellent. It mellowed her right out.
As she sank deeper into a fog of smoke, Squirrelly thought that she was a long
way from the sleepy Virginia town where she had been born.
The bhang brought back her most treasured memories. It was hard to believe it
was sixty years ago.
"Sixty years," she murmured. "Sixty years. Two hundred forty seasons.
Forty-three pictures. Twenty-eight plays and musicals. Six autobiographies and
one self-actualization book. Thirty-two past lives-so far. One flop TV comedy,
true, but a gal's gotta eat."
It had, Squirrelly Chicane decided, been a very fulfilling sixty years. She
had traveled everywhere. And everywhere she went, she was recognized and
feted. It's true the Peruvian authorities had tossed her out of their country
for insisting that saucer men had built the Inca pyramids. And there were
those unfortunate run-ins with customs over some inconsequential amounts of
recreational hallucinogens. But the best was yet to come. She could feel it in
her bones. After all, she was a Taurus.
Once she felt loose and relaxed and ready to take on the world, Squirrelly
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laid aside the pipe and started to rise.
She got her head clear of the pillow when she heard a distinct crack in the
area of her lower spine. Then she fell back.
"What's wrong with my back?" she muttered.
She tried rolling over. It was an effort.
"Imelda! Bring me my healing crystals. Quick!"
But the healing crystals failed to work after her trusted Philippina maid had
rubbed them up and down her bumpy spine.
"I will call doctor, Miss Squirrelly."
"No way. Doctors are old-fashioned."
"But you cannot get out of the bed."
"It'll pass. It's probably just a crick from the cold. Close all the windows
and get a good fire going. That'll warm up my wise old bones."
"I think that is a good idea," Imelda said, replacing the covers.
"Good."
"Heat is good for arthritis."
"Arthritis?"
"My poor mother had it just like you got it, Miss Squirrelly. On damp mornings
she could not even turn over."
"Arthritis! It can't be. I eat smart. I do my yoga. And I'm a Taurus."
"You are not a young woman anymore."
And the maid slipped from the room to start the great fireplace going.
Squirrelly Chicane lay on her pink silk sheets, her disordered mop of red hair
on the pink satin pillow, and stared at the pink ceiling with troubled blue
eyes.
"I'm sixty and I'm falling apart," she moaned. "Why me? Why now?"
Chapter 8
At LAX, Lobsang Drom and Kula the Mongol looked to Remo Williams with
expectation writ large on their faces.
"Which way lies the Bunji Lama, White Tiger?" asked Kula.
"What are you looking at me for?" Remo replied.
"This is your land," said Kula. "Do you not know your own neighbors?"
"We just crossed the entire freaking country."
"We must consult another oracle," announced Chiun.
They looked around the airport. Video monitors were mounted at several
locations.
"But which one?" asked Lobsang. "There are so many."
"We will each seek the answer, and good fortune smile upon him who discovers
the truth first," proclaimed Chiun.
Kula and Lobsang stood before different monitors, attracting rude stares.
"Quick, Remo!" Chiun urged. "We must discover where Squirrelly Chicane lives,
or I will forfeit my Mongol gold!"
"Couldn't you have thought of that before we left?"
"What is a pilgrimage without uncertainty?"
"Over with quicker," said Remo. "Look, let's call Smith. He's got every
useless piece of trivia that ever was stored on those computers of his."
"No, not Smith."
"Why not?"
"If you ask Smith for Squirrelly Chicane's address, he will want to know why
you wish this knowledge. I do not want him to know that I am sunlighting. "
Remo sighed. "The word is 'moonlighting.' And have it your way."
Chiun clapped his hands abruptly. "Remo has had a revelation," he called out.
"We must do as he says."
The others returned and regarded Remo with narrowed eyes.
"I say we rent a car to start," said Remo.
Reluctantly Kula and Lobsang followed Remo and Chiun to a car-rental counter.
Seeing that it was staffed by a woman, Kula said suddenly, "I demand the honor
of renting the vehicle that will transport us to our destiny."
When no one else claimed the honor, Kula whispered, "Remo, teach me the
honeyed words American men use to impress their women with their virility and
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yaks. I wish to practice wooing your women so that when America writhes under
our merciful heel, no woman will go unsatisfied."
" 'I have herpes' is a pretty arresting opening line," said Remo.
Purposefully Kula marched up to the counter and, slapping down his gold card,
announced, "I am Kula the Mongol, owner of many yaks. I also have herpes in
plenty, unlike your weak American men."
A minute later Kula came back with the rental keys in his hand and a broad
smile on his face.
"She was very impressed. Her face paled in surprise, and her eyes went
exceedingly round in her head."
"Would I steer you wrong?" said Remo.
The rental had a cellular phone, and once they were in traffic, Remo dialed
directory assistance, breathing through his mouth because the smell emanating
from the old Bunji Lama's trunk in the seat beside him hadn't improved any.
Opening the windows didn't help, either. The stench of pollution smelled
almost as bad.
"Give me the numbers of the Hollywood tour-bus services," he asked. "All of
them."
"Do you have a pencil handy?" asked the operator.
"Don't need one," said Remo, and held up the phone so the Master of Sinanju
could absorb the numbers when they emerged from the receiver.
One by one Chiun repeated the telephone numbers back to Remo, who then dialed
and asked whoever answered, "Does your tour go by Squirrelly Chicane's
place?"
When he got a yes, Remo asked for the tour company address and they drove
there.
They were in luck. As soon as they pulled up, a tour bus was pulling out, and
Remo got behind it.
The bus led them to the seaside community of Malibu, and they listened for the
amplified voice of the driver to announce Squirrelly Chicane's residence.
Over the sound of the bus's engine, the driver started to say, "And just up
the road ahead is the home of the multitalented Squirrelly-"
The caterwauling of an ambulance overtook them, forcing Remo to pull over. The
bus got out of the way, too, and the white-and-orange ambulance roared up the
road marked Private.
"Uh-oh," said Remo.
"What is it?" asked Lobsang, his voice stricken. "What means that awful
sound?"
"It is an ambulance," explained Chiun, tight of voice. "In this land it serves
but two purposes-to fetch the sick to a doctor and to carry off the dead."
"It is going to the place where the Bunji Lama dwells," muttered Kula
uneasily.
Lobsang swallowed hard. "If she has died, we must begin the search anew." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]