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uncomfortably.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because there's something you need to know about Cheeta Ching . . . ."
And over the expanse that was the Esperanza vineyard, where men lay dead and
dying, a piteous cry of despair rose up to the moon-burdened sky.
Chapter 34
The blackened patch of ash nestled in the Santa Monica foothills was still
being hosed down by fire apparatus when Remo pulled up to the fire-barrier
sawhorses.
In silence, he got out. The Master of Sinanju, face still, hands concealed in
the sleeves of his brocaded kimono, followed a decorous two paces behind.
A fire marshal stopped them.
"Sorry. Off-limits."
Remo flashed his secret service ID, and the fire marshal changed his tune.
"We're looking for a possible body," Remo told him.
"We got them all."
A low moan issued from Chiun's wattled throat.
"Find a female body?" Remo asked.
"No. All males."
"Then you missed one," said Remo, striding into the blackened area.
The smell of fire was like charcoal on the tongue. The sweet stink of roasted
human flesh added to his discomfiture. Fire-scarred iron bars lay amid the
burnt timbers and light gray ashes, like the bones of some metallic dinosaur.
Remo located the exact spot on the pile of ash that had been his cell, then
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walked five paces west.
"Right here," said Remo, standing on the spot where Cheeta Ching had been
imprisoned.
He took up a bar and began to poke the ashes, which lifted into the warm air
like snowflakes from some evil dimension.
Firemen gathered around, silent and curious. "If you're looking for a body,"
one said, "those ashes you're stirring up may be all that's left."
Lifting a kimono sleeve to his pained face, Chiun turned away.
Remo kept poking until his bar struck something solid. Something that was not
dirt and not rock. He got down on his knees and began scooping away ash.
A body was quickly excavated. Remo turned it over.
It was barely recognizable as Cheeta Ching's driver. His face was a seared
mass of meat, and his right leg, under the split pants, showed raw bone where
the meat and muscle had been torn loose, as if by a wild animal.
"Is it her?" Chiun squeaked, refusing to look directly at the corpse.
"No," said Remo. He continued digging.
Under his feet, the ash abruptly stirred. Feeling the ground move, Remo
stepped away. Then the ash showered up, and, like a shark coming to the
surface, the ferocious face of Cheeta Ching, face blackened, eyes blazing,
mouth red with something redder than lipstick, emerged. Cheeta sat up. Her
head swiveled this way and that. Her barracuda eyes settled on Remo's
astonished face.
"You!" she shrieked. "What took you so damn long to find me?"
"Cheeta?" Remo said in a dumbfounded voice.
"Cheeta!" Chiun said joyously, coming to her side. "My child! How you must
have suffered!"
"Damn right I suffered," huffed Cheeta. "If it weren't for that stupid
cameraman, I would have starved to death."
That statement sank in. Everyone, including Chiun, whose eyes went wide with
horror, shrank away from the ashy apparition.
"You didn't . . . ?" Remo said.
Cheeta, spanking ashes off her arms, struggled to her feet, saying, "Why not?
He was already dead. And he'd been roasted. I had to do something until
somebody lifted him off me."
The fire marshal looked stunned. "She ate the guy?" Then, when it had sunk in,
he threw up.
"Oh, look at him!" Cheeta blazed. "You'd think all he had to eat for two whole
days was white meat."
The Master of Sinanju took his wispy hair in both hands and rent it savagely,
crying, "My Cheeta! Forced to eat a lowly white to sustain herself!"
"Don't you dare tell anyone!" Cheeta spat.
"Don't worry," Remo said, backing away. "My lips are sealed."
"Good. This is my story," said Cheeta, looking around. "Where are the cameras?
Are there any cameras here? I've got to tell my story! Legendary
superanchorwoman's tale of courage and survival. Maybe I can interview myself
on Eyeball to Eyeball with Cheeta Ching. "
As Cheeta Ching stormed off, in search of a friendly lens and the alluring red
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