The knot of men descended.

As the group passed by him on the staircase, Remo took a step forward. "Mr. Mayor?" he called, just to make sure.

When the lifeless eyes turned his way, Remo knew he had the right man.

When the mayor stopped, the group paused around him.

"What?" barked Boston's chief elected official, sounding for all the world like a yelping sea lion. His mumbling speech pattern sounded worse than it did on TV. It was as if his lips and tongue got in the way of his words. Remo was half-tempted to toss a fish into his mouth. Instead he smiled broadly. "I'd like to show you something," Remo offered grandly.

The men around the mayor tensed. They didn't see Remo as any great threat, since he wasn't carrying a visible weapon. Unless they counted the Revere Ware pot that Remo held up in the air before them.

"The mayor doesn't have time," one of the men snarled.

He was trying to get a clear look at Remo's face. It seemed to be vibrating in such a way as to make his features unrecognizable. Of course this was impossible. The man rubbed at his eyes, trying to force the blurriness from them. He noted as he did so that a few of the others were also rubbing at their eyes. "Of course he has time," Remo said. "Look at this."

Balancing the black handle on the tip of his index finger, Remo gave the pot's broad bottom a smack. With an audible whir it began to spin in place like a basketball on the fingertips of a Harlem Globetrotter.

"Impressed?" Remo asked.

"Is he supposed to be some kind of street performer?" the mayor asked his aide.

"Sort of," Remo answered as he gave the pot another slap. The whirring made the mayor's ears itch.