Skinny guy hardly noticed him. Just a little bit. Enough to be where the punch was not.

It was the strangest thing. Skinny guy didn't duck, didn't dodge, didn't block a punch. Just wasn't there when the fist was.

"Even if you got it down on paper, which you won't, nobody's interested in love stories in this country. They want sex."

"There is nothing new to sex," said Chiun. "Sex does not change from emperor to peasant, from Pharaoh to your cab drivers. Babies are made very much the same as they have always been made."

"Well, still Americans like to read about it."

"Why? Can't they do it? You people seem to breed well enough. There are so many of you. Almost all of you with meat on your breath and insults on your tongue, making noise."

"You want to sell a book, Little Father, write about sex."

"That takes up less than one page," said Chiun, his eyebrows furrowing in worry. "The seed meets the egg and a baby happens. Or the seed does not meet the egg and a baby does not happen. This is a subject for a book? The white mind is mysterious."

Remo turned back to Hubbley who was still throwing punches. The crowd on the diner steps now was cheering Remo on and laughing at Hubbley.

"Enough. No more games," said Remo to Hubbley.

"All right, you sumbitch, I'll show you what no more games is."

Big Houk Hubbley went to the cab of his truck. From underneath the seat, he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun. It could shiver a telephone pole in two. Or mutilate a wall. At close range, sawed-off shotguns made people chopped liver.

The folks on the porch stopped laughing at Houk Hubbley. That made him feel better. That was what he wanted. Respect. And he was going to get it from that skinny fellow too.

"Put that away," said Remo mildly. "You can hurt with that. That's not nice playing."

"Apologize," said Houk Hubbley.