〃No；〃 said Remo； lying。 He had seen the two big men； one black and the other white； pretending to lounge on the seats behind them。 〃Beautiful skyline； don't you think？〃 He breathed deeply of the almost breathable air between Staten Island and New York City。
〃You are going to open the package because you want to save your life。 Look behind you。〃
〃And leave the beauty of the gulls and the twin towers of the trade center； the Empire State Building？ My little island in the sun？〃
Remo did a little semi…pushup against the second deck railing of the ferry and watched the white churning swirls bubble out back toward Manhattan。 Then he felt two strong arms on each of his arms。 He looked again at the man with the gray package and the sneer and said：
〃You're not going to believe this。 But I'll give you all a chance to live。〃
The man did not believe this。 The man believed he was talking to a prankster。
So the man who cared about photography went with the large men and the man with the package to a paint store on Staten Island。 The store was closed that day； but it was opened for them by a fat man。 With a gun。
The man who loved photography tried。 He said： 〃Look。 You're just a messenger。 You give the package to me； I'm just a messenger。 I give it to someone else。 Why should we fight over it？〃
The man with the package sneered again。 〃You're wrong all around。 I'm not just your messenger。 He met with an accident。 You are not just a messenger。 I was informed otherwise。 It seems you lose。〃
〃Last chance to reconsider；〃 Remo said。
〃Sorry；〃 said the other。 〃We'll have to risk it。〃
Remo registered the moves of his four adversaries。 The two big men were obviously in condition； he had felt how light they were on their feet when they walked him off the ferry。 The man with the package had been in condition once。 The short man who had opened the door was very fat and had never been in condition。 But he made up for it。 He carried a snub…nosed revolver。 A snub…nosed revolver is good for one thing。 Close work。 What it loses in accuracy； it gains in pactness。 It's not easy to reach out； grab the barrel and the cylinder； and smother the falling hammer； all in one motion。
The two big men stayed behind Remo as the man put the gray package down on the counter。 The fat man stayed near the shuttered door。
〃Well；〃 said the man who had held the package。
〃This is the package and not an imitation？〃
〃This is the package。〃
〃If it's an imitation； I can get hurt。〃
〃It is the package。〃
〃These things tend to explode。〃。
〃Open it。〃
Remo carefully removed the clear tape from the tips of the gray package。 Through the holes in the corners protruded four knots of thin red string。 The knots were symmetrical。 As Remo looked at them； deeply； with his mind free； he could almost feel the inner harmony of the man who had tied them。 It was the real package。 Chiun had tied the knots。
〃Something wrong； Pelham？〃
〃How did you know my name was Pelham？〃
〃Untie the package。〃
〃How did you know my name was Pelham？〃
〃Untie the package and I'll tell you。〃
〃I think you intend to kill me。〃
The man sneered again。 〃That's right。 But we can kill you quickly。 Decently。 Or we can kill you slowly and painfully。 Like your messenger。 Like this。〃
He nodded and the two big men grabbed Remo's head in their hands and began to squeeze。 The fat man with the snub…nosed gun giggled。 The man with the package watched； waiting to see pain and surrender in the victims' eyes。
But there was no surrender。 Only a flash of contempt and anger。 The man dropped to his hands； fast before he could be held up。 Into the close kneecap of the black man went an elbow； driving the kneecap through the joint； spinning the body upside down so the Afro went crashing into the counter with a crack。 Up into the white man's groin went a single hard finger； crushing a testicle and driving the man into the air and then back against a pyramid of red paint cans which caught the shocked body and surrendered； splaying cans across the floor。
The fat man tried to squeeze the trigger。 He was still trying when his muscles stopped receiving signals。 They stopped receiving signals because there was something wrong with the remnants of his spinal column。 A whole vertebra was in his throat。
The two big men were retching on the floor。 The man who had held the package just gasped。 When he saw the now…hard brown eyes stare into his mind and feed upon his fear； when he suddenly smelled his own death upon him； he urinated。
〃How did you know my name was Pelham？〃
〃I was told。〃
〃By someone at Folcroft？〃
〃I never heard of Folcroft。〃
〃Who told you？〃
The man had edged away from the package along behind the paint store counter。 Now he said calmly； 〃There's a man behind you with a gun。〃
The man was a pro。 He could suffer a setback； regain his posure； then try a very old trick that almost always worked。 The trick assumed that the person it was used on was so engrossed in the tension of the conversation that he had shut off his perception of other things。
This was true of most people。 But most people had not stood for hours in empty gymnasiums； dodging three swinging knives； suspended by ropes from the ceiling； while being expected to yell out how many doors behind them opened and closed when they opened and closed。 When practiced； enough； this indelibly trained the perception so that it took a conscious act of will to turn it off。 It did not turn off during tension。 But how was the man behind the counter to know it？
He was so terribly involved with the gun he was bringing up from behind the counter that he just assumed the trick would work。 He knew it would not when his wrist ceased to function and he lost consciousness。
Remo permanently ended the convulsions of the two athletes。 Then he placed the fat man behind the counter where he belonged。 He lifted all three of their wallets。 He was taking the wallet from the pocket of the man with the package when the man stirred。 Remo had another question： 〃What happened to the messenger？〃
The man was no longer afraid of death since it had； he knew； bee inevitable。 〃I killed him。 I shot his eyes out。 I enjoyed it。〃 He sneered。
Remo reached down and squeezed his broken wrist； hard enough to feel one broken bone skid against another。 With a shriek； the man passed out again。
When the man came to a few minutes later； his head hurt more than his wrist。 His eyes bulged in horror as he realized that his head was squeezed top and bottom between the two metal plates of an electric paint…mixing machine。 Out of the corner of his eye； he saw Remo toss the 〃on〃 switch。 Then he felt his head separate from his neck and he never saw anything again。
Remo looked back over the scene。 A paint store owner was robbed and brutally attacked。 A passerby who tried to stop the robbery had his head locked in the paint mixer。 Okay。 Then who killed the two robbers？ Who stole their wallets？ To hell with it。 Let the Daily News figure it out。 They were good at that sort of thing。
Remo picked up the gray box； stuffed the four dead men's wallets into his raincoat pocket and locked the door behind him。
He stopped at a stationery store； brought a strip of brown wrapping paper； and made a package of the four wallets。 He addressed it to Dr。 Harold W。 Smith； Folcroft Sanitarium； Rye； New York； and mailed it at a small branch post office。
Smith read the papers。 He would know what corpses had surrendered the wallets。 Remo would find out later who they were。
On the ferry back to New York City； two nine…year…old twin boys going bang…bang with their fingers were given a snub…nosed。38 and a。32 caliber Smith and Wesson… both cartridge free…to play with。
When their shocked mother inquired where the two boys had gotten the guns； they couldn't really describe the man。
〃He was nice and…I don't know…he was just a grownup。〃
〃Yeah。 He was a real grownup； Mommy。〃
CHAPTER SIX
When Remo saw the first picture； he began to chuckle。 Then laugh。 Then guffaw； then shake so hard he almost dropped the whole package into the wet motel sink where he had unravelled the strings according to instructions taught him years before。
Und