"You can't sell your books and stories because you don't write your books and stories," Remo said. "You sit there staring at a piece of paper for hours and then you complain that I'm stopping you from writing because I'm breathing too heavy."

"You are," said Chiun.

"When I'm out in a boat in the middle of the sound?" asked Remo.

17

"I can hear your asthmatic snorting halfway across the country," Chiun said. "Come. It is almost time."

"You going back there again today?" "I will go there every day for as long as it takes," Chiun said. "I can get nowhere with all your publishers prejudiced against Koreans, but that will not stop me from writing a movie. I have heard about your Hollywood blacklist. Well, if they have a blacklist to make sure that blacks get work, they can start a yellow list and I can get work."

"That's not what they mean by blacklist," Remo said, but Chiun was already out the door heading toward their car, which was parked illegally along the curbside of the busy Boston Post Road.

Remo shrugged, took his morning quota of papers, and tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter. Without waiting for change, he joined Chiun in the car.

"This is a natural for Paul Newman and Robert Redford," Chiun said. "It is just what they need to make them stars."

"I know I'm never going to read it or see it, so I suppose you better tell me about it. Otherwise, I'll never have any peace," Remo said.

"Fine. There is the world's foremost assassin, the head of an ancient house of assassins."

"You," Remo said. "Chiun, reigning Master of the House of Sinanju."