Remo and Chiun fly the Atlantic to attend a top-level meeting of world mob leaders- and make a killing! In more ways than one.
If the two men in the lobby had worn neon sandwich boards, they could not have been more obvious. They sat facing each other, their heads leaned forward, talking. Each time the elevator opened, they looked up, and then finding nothing of interest, put their heads back together. When Remo came out of the elevator, their eyes locked on him and they nodded at each other, imperceptibly.
He was not going to be grabbed by them outside. If they wanted to talk to him, they could use the lobby. He hadn't long to wait. The two men sidled up to him and Remo decided they were not policemen; they moved too well.
Both were tall. One was Italian-looking and lean. The other was burly, and his skin tended toward yellow, some kind of Oriental. Both men had the same kind of eyes, though, humorless and somehow connected with the profession of crime - either solving it or committing it.
Remo knew the eyes well. He saw them every morning when he shaved.
Yes, it looked like he'd have to get real nasty with these two goons. Maybe arrange a sudden end to their stupid careers.
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