"I meant in Hell. Don't let Hitler hog the exercycle."

With one thick-wristed hand he slapped open the stairwell door and shoved Munchie through.

"My mother didn't hug me enough," the killer panted as he stumbled up the stairs. He had to grab the metal railing repeatedly to keep from falling.

"If the baby you was anywhere near as ugly as the adult you, you're lucky she didn't beat you to death with a rake."

They climbed three stories to the roof door.

"I have Repetitive Stress Syndrome!" Munchie cried as Remo propelled him through the door and onto the roof. He landed on his gelatinous belly, his hands scraping pebbles.

"Sick Building Syndrome!" the killer gasped as Remo took a mittful of blubber and hauled him back to his feet.

"Psychologica Fantastica!" Munchie pleaded as he was dragged to the edge of the roof.

"Male menopause!" he tried desperately as Remo picked him up and stood him on the ledge.

The parking lot was below. The lot and the street beyond it were filled with police and emergency vehicles. Men ran for cover when Munchie appeared three stories above. The police trained weapons on the teetering figure. The crowd gasped.

Remo stayed behind the killer's bloated body, hidden from the view of the crowds and passing helicopters.

Munchie felt something being slapped into his hand.

"That's what bugs me about you run-of-the-mill maniacs these days," Remo grumbled.

With the fingertips of one hand he worked a knot of muscles in Munchie's shoulder. They were hard to find, buried as they were amid thick, sagging sheets of blubber.

"Used to be a guy killed because he was nasty or nuts or he just plain wanted the other guy's stuff. Now you're all bed wetters and bully bait. Excuses, excuses."

The muscles in Munchie's shoulder tightened and his arm shot out in front of him, aimed at the parking lot. For the first time he saw what Remo had put in his clenching hand.