“The leg has got to come off,” the doctor said, his eyebrows and shoulders pulled down by the weight of the world.
The young patient cast a worried glance to his girlfriend, who stood seductively by his bed. A solitary tear floated just below her eye, as though it had been placed there by an eye dropper. Her face displayed the abject pain of a broken heart.
“I understand, Doctor,” the young man said.
The doctor left and his girlfriend leaned over the muscular teen, her tears cascading freely onto the hospital bed.
“Before they take away your leg…can we do it one more time, baby?”
The television screen did not crack as much as it imploded. The remote control had turned into a missile, piercing the screen with such precision that it dissolved into micro-shards and plastic dust.
A man from the next room instantly appeared in the doorway. He looked to be in his late thirties, wearing a dark shirt and chinos. He absently twisted his thick wrists as he assessed the situation.
“What the ding dong hell just happened?” Remo Williams asked.
“Your culture happened,” Chiun, the Master of Sinanju Emeritus replied. “It has finally stolen the last splinter of joy that an old man might experience in this barbaric land.”
Chiun glared at the television in front of him.
“Things like this did not happen before televisions became flat,” he said.
“Little Father, the people who make TVs don’t make the shows.”
“So, you are claiming that this is just a coincidence?” Chiun asked suspiciously. “That this is all just the whimsical delirium of an old man?”
“I warned you not to watch that crap,” Remo said, relaxing his stance. “Hollywood only has three gears these days: sex, violence and capes.”
Chiun cocked his head and looked at Remo.
“What?” Remo asked.
“Did I ever tell you about Master Puk? He wore a cape.”
“You’ve spent the better part of twenty years telling me how bad Puk was, but because he wore a cape, everything’s copacetic? Little Father, I’m not going to wear a cape or a mask or the letter “R” on my chest.”
“The mask would be an improvement,” Chiun said.
The phone rang and time seemed to slow. Remo and Chiun made eye contact as an invisible gauntlet was thrown. Chiun raised his hand, motioning toward the phone while Remo dodged for it. A small hair pin tore through the air with the force of a missile. Remo grabbed the phone, twisting his body away from the pin at the last moment.
“Dammit, Chiun, I’m not going to keep buying phones every time you get pissed at a television show!”
“I should have spent more time training your appreciation of the arts. Or at least caring for the emotional well-being of your adoptive father. Woe is me, for in my advanced years, I have fallen into the reprobate hands of an ungrateful white.”
Remo rolled his eyes and pulled the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
The voice that spoke was one that Remo had not heard in nearly a year.
“Morning, son,” Sunny Joe said.
The pause in the reply spoke for itself.
“What’s wrong?” Remo asked.
“Stone and Freya are fine. I need to speak to the Chief,” Sunny Joe said, referring to Chiun.
Remo handed the phone to Chiun. “It’s for you.”
“I am not deaf. Of course, it is for me. Who would waste time speaking with a son who fails to care for his aging father?”
“Blow it out your ears,” Remo said, leaving the room.
“Hail to the Trainer who protects a tiny reservation in the desert of America.”
“Morning, Chief,” Sunny Joe said, ignoring the insult. “I have a favor to ask.”
The sadness in Sunny Joe’s voice caused Chiun to forego his usual bickering.
“What boon would you seek from the Master of Sinanju?”
Sunny Joe breathed in deeply. He knew that except for showing up at Freya’s birthday parties, Chiun never did anything without being paid. Most of the time, overpaid.
“I’ve got a problem. My records keeper is dying.”
“Surely he has trained another to carry on the tradition.”
“Of course. But he wants to be buried in the Korean village. I was wanting to know if there was any way he could see Sinanju before he dies.”
Chiun’s eyes lit up and a smile stretched across his thin face.
“How glorious a day this is! This very morning, I was thinking how lovely it would be to return to my village! It has been too long since I have seen our glorious shores! I shall make this a death trip that shall be remembered for years to come!”
“He doesn’t have long.”
“Nonsense,” Chiun said. “Unless the wretch has stopped breathing, he will live to see the beautiful shores of Sinanju!”
“It’s not gonna be easy. Seems there’s some kind of problem in North Korea.”
“There is always a problem between whites and the House of Kim, but they will greet the House of Sinanju with open arms. Prepare your servant for his trip. The Master of Sinanju will arrive this very evening!”
Chiun dropped the phone on the floor and clapped his hands twice.
“I’m not a clapper device,” Remo said. “And I have no idea how you’re gonna get Smitty to approve a submarine trip to North Korea when we’re nearly at war.”
“Submarine?” Chiun asked, surprised. “This is no time to skulk about like cuttlefish! We shall arrive at the House of Kim in a private jet.”
Remo shook his head and walked back into the kitchen. It was going to be another one of those days.