Dream Thing

Butler grunted. “Yeah, unless dey they got the fuggink American Marines backin’ up dere asses, dis many Scots lads’ll make mush of ’em, whatever many dey got.”

McGarrity laughed. “Butler, yer a friggin’ sight to see!”’

The Scottish gangbangers guffawed at Butler’s expense. He took it good-naturedly and examined his reflection in a storefront window, which showed his pierced lower lip was now swollen four times its normal size. It was purple and blotted, and the wound continued dribbling blood down his chin to soak into the front of his woolen shirt.

“I loog like a freegin’ zombie,” he announced.

The Piccadilly streets were deserted until they came upon the band of London tough guys who were lying in wait for them. The unlikely assortment included street trash, sneering punks, leather boys and British street gangs, followed up by nervous-looking British bobbies. The cops weren’t about to step in yet—they were outnumbered ten to one at this stage. Reinforcements in riot gear were arriving in panel trucks.

Stew McGarrity put on a big grin. “This could be a worthwhile romp, after all, lads.”

The two sides came together and the battle was on.

Chapter 10

“You can’t go to Piccadilly. There’s a bleeding riot going on there!”

“Just drive.”

“What?” The cabbie turned on his passenger, not believing what he was hearing. “People are getting killed!”

Another man got in the cab. The newcomer was as small as a child and as old as any human being the cabbie had ever seen. His beard consisted of a few threads of pale whiskers on his chin, and there were tufts of hair over each ear. The old man was Asian, wearing a bright robe.

The American gave him a look. The Asian clearly didn’t understand how taxicabs worked in the Western world. You don’t just go getting into other people’s taxis.

“Hey, Little Father,” the American said, and the cabbie realized they knew each other. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The Emperor has requested I hasten to your side. I boarded the first available aircraft for London.”

“Huh,” the American responded, not sounding happy about the news. “Let’s go, mac,” he said to the cabbie.

“Look, fella, I am not gonna take you into a war zone. People are dying.”

The elderly Oriental man was sitting still as a statue, his hands in his sleeves, obviously as deaf as a post. The younger man sighed.

“Look, I have a job to do. My patience is gone. Now, drive this cab to Piccadilly or I will.”

The cabbie was infuriated. “Mate, think of the poor old bloke at least. Those bangers will beat him up just for looking like an old Jap gigolo.”

The cabbie briefly glimpsed the American reaching over the seat—fast—and then he was propelled through the door, out of the cab and onto the curb. He scrambled to his feet just in time to see half of his driver’s seat back topple out of the open door. It had been sliced down the middle. The old man’s hand was being withdrawn from the open space.

It couldn’t be what it looked like. Because it looked as if the old man’s fingernails had just done a machete number on the car seat—steel springs and all.

“I think a thank-you would be in order,” the American said as he walked around the car and sat in what was left of the driver’s seat. “I did just save your life.”

“My cab!” the cabbie started to say.

“You really want to get back in with the Jap gigolo sitting right behind you?”

“No …”

“Maybe you want to try to forcibly remove the Jap gigolo …”

“Stop saying that!” the tiny Asian squeaked.

The cabbie couldn’t answer and the cab was gone. He picked up the half of the seat back and held it close, like a frightened child with his most comforting stuffed animal.

“You just can’t do that—that’s all there is to it. Killing people indiscriminately attracts attention. There are some ethical reasons, too.”

“You heard what he said of me,” Chiun replied icily.

“But he wasn’t even saying that he thought you looked like a—” Remo stopped when Chiun glared at him menacingly in the rearview mirror. “Whatever he said, it was what he thought the gangbangers were going to think you looked like. So he was really doing you a favor.”

“And I was doing the world a favor by removing another English bigot from the population of procreators. It was you who committed a crime against humanity by preventing me from it.”

“I give up. Anyway, you’ll get plenty more chances to bloody your fingernail pretty soon.” Remo turned on the radio.