Each had the same brilliant idea. They raised their automatics overhead, planning to slam them down on Remo's skull. Remo immediately shot his two hands upward, catching each man in the armpit. Like twin Lake Erie versions of the Statue of Liberty, the guards' arms froze in position over their heads. Before their arms came down, Remo's did. And he buried them quickly and deeply into the guards' sternums. Their bones cracked inward, and the two men began to tumble forward. Remo caught each man and lightly pushed him back into place, so that both were leaning against the wall—but on either side of the door. They looked like a matched set of bookends, Remo thought, as he slipped inside the building and walked toward the bar.

16

The room was crowded wall to wall with people.

As he approached the bar, Remo waved to get the bartender's attention, but two oversized men blocked his way. They dwarfed him. Remo was not truly large, perhaps six feet tall, perhaps not, and lean, weighing less than 160 pounds. He had a dark, ordinarily good-looking face and dark, tranquil eyes that women found captivating. The only sign that Remo might have been more than he seemed were his wrists, which were extraordinarily thick.

Remo faced the men who blocked his way to the bar. "Excuse me," he said to the bigger of the two.

The man turned and belched in Remo's face.

Remo shook his head. "I was afraid you'd do something like that."

"What's that?" the big man asked, and belched again. The smell of bourbon and half-cooked red meat poured from his mouth.

"Never mind," Remo sighed, and touched the middle of the man's chest with his index finger. The man fell to the floor, screaming. "Help me, help me. It's my heart; it's my heart."

The second big man bent over to tend to him, and Remo moved to the bar.