This installment of my Destroyer Fanfic holds a little surprise for Remo…
“To your left is the studio where they filmed “The Some Night Show” starring Jerry Larson for 25 of the last 30 years. As many of you know, Jerry will be leaving the show soon, to be replaced by Ray Chenno,” announced the tour guide. “Lord help us all,” he thought.
“And to your right is the set of ‘White Tiger, Shame of House’ a dramatic film directed by a very secretive Korean director who goes only by the name ‘Great One’,” said the guide, lowering his voice for dramatic affect.
“Unfortunately, it’s a closed set, so we can’t peek in on it. Someone said they saw Killroy Hamm entering the stage area earlier today, so if we’re lucky, we might catch a glimpse of him.”
As if on cue, the door to the studio flew open and a man who looked surprisingly like Mr. Hamm came gliding out, angrily. If not for his thick wrists, he might easily have been mistaken for the young actor.
One of the tourists leapt out of the cart, running toward the thick wristed man. The tour guide looked on in horror, recognizing the man, and fearing his wrath, he beat the driver over the head with his script, screaming, “Go man! Go! She’s on her own!”
With that, the golf cart blazed off to the next stop on the tour at a top speed of 7 miles per hour.
Remo just wanted to get out of the building. He needed to put some distance between himself and the loopy old man. He had been fine up on the catwalk, but as soon as he came down to meet Killroy Hamm, it started. Chiun spoke to him in an even more condescending tone than usual, and had him playing trunk stacker, again. He never even had the chance to say “Hey” to Killroy, before Chiun had him on errands. He glided toward the door, his wrists throbbing with anger.
He had never felt his wrists throb like that before. He wondered if Chiun had been subtly training him with all this trunk shuffling.
“That’d be just like the bast–” Remo’s thoughts were interrupted as he stepped out of the studio into the overcast open air of the lot. There was a tour-cart about 100 yards away from him, and a familiar red-haired woman started running toward him, shouting his name. As she approached, he watched the tour-guide beat his driver in a panic and chuckled to himself as the cart lurched off, nearly knocking the guide off the side of the cart.
“Jean! What are you doing here?” quizzed Remo.
“Oh, just man-hunting,” teased Jean, squeezing tight against Remo’s chest.