〃You are full of shit；〃 Remo said。
〃And you are another fascist functionary who dribbles righteousness until I cross your palm with silver。 The good guys and the bad guys。 Law and order versus the people in black hats。 It is not that way； Mr； Pelham。〃
〃It can be no other way； Doctor Brewster；〃 Remo said and he caught his jaw trembling。 Goddam it； it was the peak。 More than three months of it this and he was ing apart at the seams。 Sitting here； trying to talk sense to this liberalisric lunatic。 Brewster was still talking：
〃Please。 We really just cannot afford this here； of all places。 I am willing to discuss anything you wish； but please no overreaction。 You have a job to do； such as it is； and I have a job to do。 We're here together； let's make the most of it。〃
〃What makes you think McCarthy was killed？〃 Remo said； calm again。
〃I knew you would e back to that。 I think he was killed because he is not the sort of man to use heroin。 To use heroin； you must have a basic dissatisfaction with your role in life。 McCarthy never had enough imagination to be dissatisfied。 He was a bear…in…a…saloon type； Knights of Columbus； worry about mortgage。 Very nice fellow； indeed。 And frankly； I prefer him to you。 McCarthy was a realist。〃
〃And knowing or believing he was murdered； you didn't give your suspicions to anyone？〃
〃And have this place crawling with law enforcement types？〃
Brewster sucked on his pipe with finality； a man who saw the world in clear light while the rest muddled in the fog。 The Remo Pelhams of the world who prehended nothing； even of such an elemental subject as violence。
Through the English glass windows of the office came a distant roar that rather rapidly became louder； than a symphony of belching exhausts that rode into the circle； and then round and round the small blue fountain。
The motorcycle riders looked like refugees from the SS。 They had black leather jackets； high peaked caps； and swastikas on their backs。 Unlike the SS； however； they were unshaven； and there was no uniformity to their cycles； green and red and yellow and black； festooned with rib…。 bons； banners and skull； leather pieces flowing over highly polished chrome。
Brewster went to the window。 Remo behind him。 Out of the cottages； the office…homes that surrounded the circle； came the department directors of Brewster Forum。 There was Father Boyle and Professor Schulter。 There was Ferrante； and on the right was Ratchett。 And there was a fifth。 She came from the farthest cottage。 A young woman who。 could have been twenty or thirty。 Her high cheek bones and strong aristocratic nose were ageless。 Her dark hair flowed down over her shoulders like a royal mantle。 Her lips were etched deeply in milk smooth skin。
While her colleagues hovered by their doors； she went to the edge of the gravel。 The leader of the motorcycles aimed at her and charged her headlong； swerving sharply at the last moment。
She smiled。 Remo thought； she's amused。
Another cyclist circled behind her and still she did not move。 The pack roared around again； and this time the leader drove into a skid stop that sprayed gravel at her feet。 Still smiling； she turned and walked back calmly to her office。
Remo smiled to himself。 She was a rare one。 If she had tried to run； the group would have been at her like a pack of dogs。 But she waited until the leader temporarily turned off the aggression by sliding into that skid stop and then she just walked away。 She disappeared as an attack object。 Quite a performance。
Now Ratchett waddled out to the leader so rapidly he appeared to be skipping。 His hair flowed behind him and his tiny fingers tickled the air excitedly at the farthest reaches of his arms。 He whispered into the gold…ringed ear of the leader who grabbed the collar of Ratchett's velveteen shirt and began to twist； as Ratchett's face grew pink； then red。 When Ratchett managed to get a roll of bills out of his pocket； the hand loosened。 Ratchett kissed the wrist of the hand at his throat； then the leader released him and he stood like a little boy hiding his privates in a public shower。
The leader strode the sidewalk； his boots galonking on the pavement； his followers' boots adding support to the galonk； galonk； galonk toward Brewster's office。
Brewster turned to Remo。 〃Now I don't want any trouble。 Remember violence begets worse； etc。 We can just ignore the whole thing。〃
Remo went back to his chair。
〃Hey cop；〃 yelled the leader of the gang。 〃e out here。〃
Remo stage…whispered to Brewster： 〃I'm doing nothing； sitting right here。〃
〃Good。〃
〃Hey； Pelham。 You straight shit。 Get out here。〃 The leader was over six…feet…six and massive。 But the bulk was weight…lifter's bulk。 His walk was a pose。 His challenge was a pose。 Mr。 Six…Foot…Six had won most of his battles by posing menacingly。 His major weapon was fear in the hearts of the timid。
Now he nodded and a follower threw an object…yes； it was a rock； judged Remo； just before it crashed through the window and broke into the natural rhythm of Brewster's nose。 Brewster spun and gasped and shrieked and covered his nose。 Then he looked at his hands。 They were dressed in blood； flowing down his wrists into his tweed jacket。
〃Oh； no。 The bastards。 My nose。〃
Indeed； the nose was broken； a rapidly…spreading red glob that released large amounts of blood。 Broken it was； tragic it wasn't。
〃It's broken； that's all；〃 said Remo。 〃Keep your hands away from it。 Only the splinter can be dangerous。〃
〃Oh； no。 The pain。 The blood。 You're security officer。 Do something。 I order it。 I even give permission。 Do something。 Call the police。 Call a doctor。〃
〃Call the oppressive； trouble…creating counterforce？〃
〃Don't be so smartass； Pelham。 I'm bleeding。 Go out there and thrash the scum。 If you have a gun； use it。 Kill the little bastards。〃
Remo walked to the window。 The seven…man gang was growing restive。 Their next step would be to walk into Brewster's office； and that might wind up causing damage to Brewster's files and the work of the forum。 Remo would have to go out and work in front of witnesses。
〃Excuse me；〃 he told Brewster。 〃I'll only be a moment。〃
He pushed open the door to the courtyard； and stood there a minute telling himself； no matter how many months he had been at peak； he'd better not slip and kill one of these lugs。
The head lug took Remo's momentary hesitation for fear。
〃e over here； you fag bastard；〃 he called。
Remo walked up to him； gauging the distance； exactly three and one half feet away； the precise distance for the toe kick to the kneecap。
〃Did you call me； sir？〃 he said to Six…Foot…Six as the other half…dozen cyclists lined up behind their leader。 From left to right in the row； they were carrying； chains； lug wrench； knife； chain； chain and knife。
The leader posed。 He brandished his size and weight。 '
Ratchett was far down the courtyard； masturbating by rubbing his hands inside his pants pockets。 None of his colleagues noticed； their eyes were on Remo。
〃Yeah； I called you； fag。 What do you think of that？〃
〃What do I think of what； sir？〃 Remo drew his right hand closer to his side； and slightly turned it palm facing front。 The fingernails would be good for two eyeballs when the second row made its move。
〃You're a fag。 And you like to cheat people at games。〃
〃Very true； sir；〃 Rerao said。 He bent his left elbow slightly。 He must be sure the elbow would hit the nose； an inch too low and the blow could be fatal。
〃You like to cause trouble。〃
〃Very true； sir；〃 Remo said。 He extended the fingers on his left hand； then pulled his thumb back against the palm； almost like cocking a revolver。
Mister Six…Foot…Six was being confused。 〃You're a fag；〃 he insisted。
〃Well； sir；〃 Remo said。 〃I've really enjoyed our conversation； but I must be about my business。 Unless there's something else you'd like to ask me。〃
〃You're a faggot。 A fairy。 A queer。 Do you like being that？〃 Six…Foot…Six was getting desperate now。 Time to end the nonsense。
〃No； I don't like being that；〃 Remo said。 〃You know what I like？〃
〃What？〃
〃I like being called names by shitfaces like you。 Because it justifies all the painful things I'm going to do to y