Josephs conceded to himself that Mills had a point. The guy did close fast to get up for third place. Of course, the blond guy closed fast too, but he was a loser, so ignore him. Well, why not? It wouldn't do any harm to go down and talk to this Remo, convince him to sign hi advance of the Olympics just hi case he did win something in Russia.

"Maybe I'll go down and talk to him, just so this trip won't be a total waste of tune," Josephs said.

"I'll go with you," Mills said.

They made their way down to the field, hoping to catch Remo before he left,

"Hey, pal," Josephs called. "You with the t-shirt."

Remo turned, saw Josephs, and did not like what

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he saw. He saw a big cigar, a couple of flashy rings, tinted eyeglasses, a well-tailored three-piece suit that couldn't hide a fat, soft body, and a loud mouth.

"What do you want?"

"You run pretty good, pal," Josephs said. "My name's Vincent Josephs. You hear of me?"

"No," Remo said.

Josephs frowned. Well, it didn't matter. Someday the whole world would have heard of him.

"Listen, buddy, you and me might be able to make some money. Together, you know. Endorsements and things. I mean, you run pretty good in those dungarees and-"

"Chinos," Remo said. "I don't wear dungarees."

"Yeah, chinos. And loafers. Maybe you could run really fast if you wore shorts and running shoes."

"Can't," Remo told him, as he turned and walked away with Chiun. He heard the pest padding up heavily behind him.

"Why can't you?" Josephs asked him.

"It's against my beliefs to flaunt my flesh."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Look, I don't need a promoter or an agent, thank you."

"Excuse me, what's your name, Remo, but you're wrong. You need me to make a bundle."