"You paid three-quarters of a million dollars for this?" asked Remo.
"He got in before the big price jump," said Goldenson. "This is a bargain for La Jolla."
"What do you get for a hundred thousand?" asked Remo.
"Parking," answered Brewster. He was of average height with a graying mustache and a new tan. He wore an open shirt with a gold chain nestled in a forest of gray chest hair. On the chain hung a gold pendant. He sat back in the full comfort of a man with every confidence in his safety.
"I could get everything you want out of him and his lawyer in thirteen seconds," Remo whispered to Consuelo.
Consuelo shot him a dirty look.
"Now, Mr. Brewster, you were the dispatcher who sent a shipment of uranium that disappeared. In fact, you sent several shipments that disappeared."
"My client does not have to answer that."
"We have his name on the order. We have his pay records. We have his countersigned receipts. We have statements from others in the plant."
"Are you persecuting him for doing his job?" said Goldenson.
"Would you care to explain how he amassed a half-million dollars on a salary that for most of his life was ten thousand dollars? It only rose above that in the last few years. Would you care to explain how on a pension of twelve thousand a year this man can buy a three-quarter-of-a-million-dollar condominium?"
"America is a land of opportunity," said Goldenson.
"So after sending several shipments along some very odd routes, like Kennedy Boulevard in Bayonne, New Jersey, he's suddenly able to buy this condominium? Come on, Mr. Goldenson-nothing of value is in Bayonne, New Jersey," said Consuelo.
"Perhaps that's why he sent them through there."
"Perhaps that is why he suddenly opened a gold-bullion account after the first shipment and received a deposit of one-quarter of a million dollars immediately. Perhaps that is why every time a shipment got lost his account rose by a quarter of a million dollars." Consuelo shot the questions at both Brewster and the lawyer. She was cold and professional.
Brewster sweated.
"A man has a right to prepare for his retirement. He has a right to his golden years," said Goldenson.
"Not that golden," said Consuelo.
"Are you placing limits on a person's aspirations? America is a land of hope," said Goldenson.
Remo tapped his feet, annoyed. He wanted to know who gave Brewster the gold payoffs for shipping the uranium on those strange routes. Once he got that he could get to the person behind it all. No matter how many layers of protection there were, he could always keep cracking them until he got to the source. He stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked a magnificent view of a benign, warm ocean. Chiun did not join him. He stayed inside with the lawyer, Consuelo, and the suspect. Remo was sure he didn't understand a word of the conversation.
At worst, maybe a few crooks got away. But basically in America, more than anywhere else in the world, the people were protected from their government. That would always be the difference between Chiun and him. To Chiun, a government, any kind of government, was only as good as its treatment of the House of Sinanju. Remo could understand that. Sinanju was poor. But Remo was not brought up poor. There was always food; and once you had food and shelter, you wanted something else. You wanted things that only America could give. It was a good country, Remo thought. He was glad he did what he did, even if sometimes it seemed as though he was really swimming against a strong current.
Expensive boats dotted the placid ocean. Out on the horizon, he noticed a glint of sun off glass. Somehow the glass was steady on a rocking boat. Everything moved with the sea but that reflection. Remo glanced back into the room.
The lawyer seemed to be handling Consuelo rather well until Chiun stepped in. The Master of Sinanju started talking to the lawyer, asking him questions. Consuelo, losing her head, ordered Chiun to be quiet.
Remo stepped back inside the room. He tried to explain to Consuelo that that was not the right way to communicate with Chiun, that indeed she might get off the first sentence, but she might not get a chance to complete the second. Consuelo answered she could not be threatened.
Goldenson winked to his client. Chiun ignored Consuelo. He spoke directly to Goldenson.
"Does your mother know you are wearing sneakers?" asked Chiun. Remo looked out the window quite intently. He was pretending he didn't know this man. Consuelo almost threw her notes into the trashcan. Chiun ignored them both. Brewster smiled, confident. "Does she?" asked Chiun.
Goldenson looked to Consuelo and his clients as if to say, "Who is this lunatic?"
"Does she?" asked Chiun.
"I don't know if she knows what I wear for shoes," said Goldenson. There was a condescending smirk.
"If I may get on with the questioning," said Consuelo.
"Of course," said Goldenson.
"Does she?" asked Chiun.
"Please continue your questioning," said Goldenson, concentrating on ignoring the Oriental.
"Does she?" asked Chiun.
"Why don't you phone her and ask," said Goldenson. Brewster laughed and patted his lawyer on the back. Consuelo just sighed. In Korean, Remo said to Chiun: "Little father, this young man is obviously as good a criminal lawyer as money can buy. You can't get anywhere with him by speaking to him like a child. He's a tough legal adversary for Consuelo here. You don't know anything about American law. Please. Let her handle it. As a favor."
"What is her phone number?" Chiun asked Goldenson.
"Really," said Goldenson.
"Can I go out for a swim now?" asked Brewster. As far as he was concerned the danger was over.
"I cannot continue," Consuelo told Remo.
"What is her number?"
"Do you really want it?" asked Barry Goldenson. He adjusted his seven-thousand-dollar Rolex watch. Chiun nodded. Laughing, Barry Goldenson, Esquire, gave Chiun a number with a Florida exchange.
Chiun dialed the number.
"I am going to die of shame," said Consuelo. She didn't have to ask Brewster to hang around. He decided to stay for the amusement. There wasn't anything funnier than this going on in La Jolla, anyhow. This Oriental was phoning the mother of one of the top criminal lawyers in the state.
"Hello, Mrs. Goldenson?" said Chiun. "You don't know me and I am not important. I'm calling about your son ... No. He is not in any trouble or danger. No, I don't know what kind of women he is going with.... I am calling about something else. I can tell that such a fine boy has to have been raised with care. I understand that because I have had troubles with raising a boy myself."
Chiun looked at Remo. Remo was now rooting for the young criminal lawyer. Remo was also rooting for the woman to hang up on Chiun. Remo was happy to root for anyone but Chiun.
"Oh, yes.... You try and try, but when your loved one ignores your needs to fend ... Oh, yes ... The entire family treasure for generations back . . . missing and I only asked for a little help in looking ... but that's my problem, Mrs. Goldenson. . . . Your son can still be helped because I know you have taught him right . . . a nothing ... a little thing ... successful lawyer, Mrs. Goldenson, and such a success should not be wearing ... I hate to say it ... I won't say it ... you don't want to hear it ... sneakers."
Chiun was quiet a moment, then handed the telephone to Goldenson. Goldenson adjusted the vest of his three-piece suit and cleared his throat.
"Yes, Mother," he said. "He's not a nice man, Mother. I am on an important case and he is on the other side. They do things, anything to distract ... Mother ... he is not a nice man ... you don't know him ... you haven't seen him ... As a matter of fact, I happen to be wearing what many California businessmen wear for the comfort of their feet.... Do you know who wears jogging shoes in courtrooms? Do you know the famous . . ."
Goldenson clenched the receiver as his face flushed. He broke eye contact with everyone in the room. Finally he handed the receiver to Chiun.