[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
dropped their camera equipment and were using their index fingers to protect
their eardrums. The screech of Cheeta Ching in full cry had been known to
shatter wineglasses. This was so well known that several cameramen were
pressing their minicam lenses to their chests, to protect them from the sonic
assault.
"I happen to be the number-two anchorperson on my network!" she added
shrilly.
To which a voice in the media pack added, "Yeah. In the
dead-last-in-the-ratings network."
Cheeta whirled on the others. They recoiled at the blazing fury they saw
crackling in her predatory eyes.
"I hope every one of you ends up at my network one day!" she hissed
venomously. "I'll have you for lunch, with kimchee."
No one said anything in reply. They knew Cheeta was sincere. And they also
knew that if they did end up at her network, Cheeta would make their lives
miserable.
Having cowed her colleagues, Cheeta Ching returned to hectoring the police
detail.
"I used to be an important reporter in this town. Don't any of you remember
that?"
"Yeah," one cop said, his voice gravelly. "We remember. Especially that
twelve-part series on police insensitivity."
That tack having proved fruitless, Cheeta let her perfect brows knit together.
Her flat face-the term "pancake makeup" had a double meaning when applied to
her-attempted an unsuccessful frown. She wondered if her hair spray was
wearing off. Usually, the estrogen-impaired half of the human race was easier
to handle than this. She wondered if it had anything to do with the Rodney
King videotape, which her network broadcast, on average, once a week, to
illustrate stories on police forces all over the nation. Even positive ones.
At that moment the elevator door separated, and a flustered man Cheeta
recognized as Harmon Cashman, campaign manager to the Esperanza campaign,
appeared.
Grabbing the handiest minicam, Cheeta knocked over two of the police officers
and successfully eluded a third to get to the elevator. She might have saved
herself the trouble, because as soon as she had stepped aboard, thrusting a
hard elbow into the Door Close button, Harmon Cashman said, "Ricky will see
you, Miss Ching."
"Of course," said Cheeta Ching dryly, taking a tiny canister of hair varnish
from her purse and applying it generously to her glossy black hair. "I'm
Cheeta Ching."
On the way up, Cheeta examined her face in a small compact. To her horror, she
saw that her makeup was flaking. They were almost to the penthouse level, so
she closed her eyes, steeled herself, and shot a blast of sticky hair varnish
directly into her own face.
When she opened her eyes, the compact revealed that this carefully guarded
professional secret had once again saved the day. She looked flawless.
Page 37
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Professional. Perfect.
And why not? she thought to herself, as she stepped off the elevator. I am
Cheeta Ching, the most famous Korean woman on the planet. If that isn't
perfection, what is?
Remo Williams was saying, "I'm a campaign aide, not a freaking maid."
Chiun rushed about the room, straightening cushions and blowing dust off the
window drapes, squeaking, "Hurry, Remo! She is coming. Cheeta is coming!"
Remo stood his ground. "No. You broke the glass door, you pick up the
shards."
"I will grant you anything you desire!" Chiun pleaded.
"Peace of mind," Remo said instantly. "And a boon to be named later."
"Done!" Chiun crowed. "Now hurry! The great moment is about to arrive!"
Grinning, Remo found a corn broom and swept the door glass out of sight. He
hid the bullet-shattered lamp and piled the unconscious Esperanza bodyguards
in a back room.
He returned to the living room just in time to hear the elevator doors roll
open.
Chiun, his eyes wide, swept in on Remo, saying, "Back! She must not see you!"
"Why not? I'm part of the team."
Chiun raised a warning finger. "Remember Emperor Smith's admonition. Your face
must not be seen."
"Oh, yeah," Remo said. Smith was still upset because Remo's original face-the
one he had worn in his former life as a Newark patrolman-had inadvertently [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szkicerysunki.xlx.pl
dropped their camera equipment and were using their index fingers to protect
their eardrums. The screech of Cheeta Ching in full cry had been known to
shatter wineglasses. This was so well known that several cameramen were
pressing their minicam lenses to their chests, to protect them from the sonic
assault.
"I happen to be the number-two anchorperson on my network!" she added
shrilly.
To which a voice in the media pack added, "Yeah. In the
dead-last-in-the-ratings network."
Cheeta whirled on the others. They recoiled at the blazing fury they saw
crackling in her predatory eyes.
"I hope every one of you ends up at my network one day!" she hissed
venomously. "I'll have you for lunch, with kimchee."
No one said anything in reply. They knew Cheeta was sincere. And they also
knew that if they did end up at her network, Cheeta would make their lives
miserable.
Having cowed her colleagues, Cheeta Ching returned to hectoring the police
detail.
"I used to be an important reporter in this town. Don't any of you remember
that?"
"Yeah," one cop said, his voice gravelly. "We remember. Especially that
twelve-part series on police insensitivity."
That tack having proved fruitless, Cheeta let her perfect brows knit together.
Her flat face-the term "pancake makeup" had a double meaning when applied to
her-attempted an unsuccessful frown. She wondered if her hair spray was
wearing off. Usually, the estrogen-impaired half of the human race was easier
to handle than this. She wondered if it had anything to do with the Rodney
King videotape, which her network broadcast, on average, once a week, to
illustrate stories on police forces all over the nation. Even positive ones.
At that moment the elevator door separated, and a flustered man Cheeta
recognized as Harmon Cashman, campaign manager to the Esperanza campaign,
appeared.
Grabbing the handiest minicam, Cheeta knocked over two of the police officers
and successfully eluded a third to get to the elevator. She might have saved
herself the trouble, because as soon as she had stepped aboard, thrusting a
hard elbow into the Door Close button, Harmon Cashman said, "Ricky will see
you, Miss Ching."
"Of course," said Cheeta Ching dryly, taking a tiny canister of hair varnish
from her purse and applying it generously to her glossy black hair. "I'm
Cheeta Ching."
On the way up, Cheeta examined her face in a small compact. To her horror, she
saw that her makeup was flaking. They were almost to the penthouse level, so
she closed her eyes, steeled herself, and shot a blast of sticky hair varnish
directly into her own face.
When she opened her eyes, the compact revealed that this carefully guarded
professional secret had once again saved the day. She looked flawless.
Page 37
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Professional. Perfect.
And why not? she thought to herself, as she stepped off the elevator. I am
Cheeta Ching, the most famous Korean woman on the planet. If that isn't
perfection, what is?
Remo Williams was saying, "I'm a campaign aide, not a freaking maid."
Chiun rushed about the room, straightening cushions and blowing dust off the
window drapes, squeaking, "Hurry, Remo! She is coming. Cheeta is coming!"
Remo stood his ground. "No. You broke the glass door, you pick up the
shards."
"I will grant you anything you desire!" Chiun pleaded.
"Peace of mind," Remo said instantly. "And a boon to be named later."
"Done!" Chiun crowed. "Now hurry! The great moment is about to arrive!"
Grinning, Remo found a corn broom and swept the door glass out of sight. He
hid the bullet-shattered lamp and piled the unconscious Esperanza bodyguards
in a back room.
He returned to the living room just in time to hear the elevator doors roll
open.
Chiun, his eyes wide, swept in on Remo, saying, "Back! She must not see you!"
"Why not? I'm part of the team."
Chiun raised a warning finger. "Remember Emperor Smith's admonition. Your face
must not be seen."
"Oh, yeah," Remo said. Smith was still upset because Remo's original face-the
one he had worn in his former life as a Newark patrolman-had inadvertently [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]