"What the hell do we need Gizzard for?" Tolan said. "He's as worthless as tits on a bull. Let's get going. Let's go kill somebody."

"Tomorrow," Gregory said quickly. "I'm working up the plans now."

"We going after Nobile?"

"Not yet. First we're going to hit one of those mob businesses that The Baker infiltrated today."

"He couldn't infiltrate a phone booth with a dime," Tolan said, sneering over at Baker who was envisioning himself lying on the beach at Waikiki with the girl from the game show.

Baker didn't answer. He was wondering if the $493 he had in the bank would get him to Hawaii.

Gregory said, "The Baker has found a drug factory on River Street. We're going to hit it tomorrow."

"Good," said Tolan. He turned toward the motel room window and pointed his finger at passing cars, squeezing an imaginary trigger and going "Bang, bang" softly under his breath. He could imagine the first shot hitting into a driver's temple, killing him instantly. The second shot took out the right front tire, throwing the car out of control, across the center divider into the oncoming lane. Cars piled up by the dozens. Bodies littered the streets. Some cars caught fire. A few exploded. Burning gasoline flew into the air and droplets fell on passersby with flammable clothes. A baby carriage burned.

Tolan smiled.

"How come I don't have no name?" he asked.

Gregory said, "What do you mean?" He knew very well what Tolan meant.

"You're The Eraser. You call that creep The Baker. You call the drunk The Lizzard. What are you going to call me?"

"You mean to your face?" Baker called out.

"Funny," Tolan said grimly.

"How about The Lunatic?" Baker suggested.

Tolan wheeled around. His eyes blazed hatred. Baker tried to bury himself deeper into the mattress.

"That ain't funny," Tolan said. "I'd like to put you away, television man."

Baker coughed. "Don't try it, buddy. I've got a lot of connected friends. They'd be on you like a coat of paint."

"You ain't connected to you ass," Tolan said.

"No? You'll see," Baker said.

"Send 'em on," said Tolan. "Send 'em all on. I want them all. All your ginzo friends."

"Stop it, you two," Gregory said. He met Tolan's eyes and tried not to shudder. "What name would you like?" he asked.

Tolan thought for a moment. Yeah, he thought. He wanted a name. Yeah. Some thing that would strike terror into the hearts of the bugs of the Mafia. They were all bugs, yeah. Bugs. "Bugs," he said softly.

"Sounds good to me," Baker said. " 'Bugs.' "

"Shut up," Tolan said. Yeah, they were bugs and he was the man who was going to take care of all of them. Live huge. Yeah, he would live huge, and kill bugs. "The Exterminator," he said.

He looked at Gregory and a small smile creased the lines around his mouth.

"Yeah, that's it. The Exterminator."

"All right. The Exterminator it is," Gregory said.

"I liked Bugs better," said Baker.

"When we're done here," Tolan said, "you and I are going to have it out." He looked at Baker who waved a hand at him in disregard. Baker wasn't that worried. He had it figured out. He had never killed anyone in his life and, if truth be told, he could never remember throwing a punch at anybody in anger. But this time, it would be different. Tolan was going to get him when they were done? Well, exactly ten minutes before they were done in Bay City, Baker was going to put a bullet in the back of Tolan's head. Nobody could fault him for that.

Gregory spoke again. "The Eraser and his Rubout Squad: The Exterminator, The Baker and The Lizzard. Sounds good to me. And tomorrow we're going to hit this drug factory. I've got the plans worked out now. We're going to pick away at all the goons in this city and then we're going to get Rocco Nobile." He paused. "It's time for another note."

He looked around and found a yellow pad but couldn't find another pencil. "I need more pencils," he said.

Tolan was still staring out the window, pointing his finger at passing cars. "I'll get 'em. Any special kind?"

"The ones that write," Baker said.

"Yellow wooden ones," Gregory said quickly. "With an eraser. If you can get Eberhard Faber Mongols, get them. You got money?"

Baker heard money mentioned and sat up in bed. "I'll go," he volunteered.

"I'm going," Tolan said. "And I've got what I need." He walked from the room.

While he was gone, The Lizzard returned to the room. Or was returned. He was spilled out of a taxicab by the driver. His gray wig was on sideways and he could barely stand. Walking was out of the question.

Gregory saw him through the window and called, "Baker. Go get The Lizzard. He seems to be having some trouble."

Baker went outside. The Lizzard recognized him and smiled. He batted his remaining single false eyelash.

"Hiya big boy," he said thickly, in a high-pitched squawk. He winked. "Wanna get it on?"

"Oh, shut up," Baker said. "You're slammed up again." He threw an arm around The Lizzard's back and helped him toward the door.

" 'S'not true. Not drunk," said Lizzard.

"Bullshit," said Baker.

Inside the room, Gregory said, "You're drunk."

"Just a pose," Lizzard said. "So no one recognize me." His wig now had slipped so far down on his face that it covered his eyes. He kept swatting at it and missing.

"Did you get the apartments?" Gregory demanded.

"Got one. Sherioush houshing shortage in Bay City. Had to look very hard. Got good leadsh for tomorrow. Men want to buy me drinksh all the time."

"Put him in bed," Gregory said.

Baker pushed Lizzard toward the bed. He fell like a solitary tree, hacked down in the middle of an open field. He was asleep before he landed.

"When he sobers up," Gregory said. "We'll find out where the apartment is. We may need it tomorrow when we make our daring daylight raid on that drug headquarters."

Baker nodded. He wished he could remember what address he had said housed the drug operation. Maybe he could get some more money tonight from Gregory for a pre-attack reconnaissance operation.

"Tell him Remo is here," Remo told Denise, the receptionist in the mayor's outer office.

"Yes sir," the young woman said. She smiled at Remo. "You want to stand here alongside me while I telephone him?" She motioned to a spot behind the desk, next to her right side.

"Sure," said Remo.

"Where will I stand?" Chiun asked the young woman. "I am here too."

"I thought you might prefer to sit, sir," Denise said.

"No. I want to hear too," Chiun said. "I will stand there." He pointed to her left side and came over to stand alongside her.

The pretty woman dialed three digits. "A Mr. Remo is here to see you, sir."

She nodded.

"Yes, sir." She replaced the telephone. She smiled up at Remo as she said, "You may go right in."

"Thank you." Remo turned away and the girl grabbed his left hand.

"Wait," she said. "I'll show you in." She stood up, "When you're done, would you like a tour of City Hall?"

"I don't think so," Remo said.

"I have time. It's almost my lunch hour," she said.

"It's three o'clock," Remo said.

"I take late lunches. Really. Honest. I could show you around. It'd be no trouble at all."

She pressed her chest against Remo.

"No trouble at all," she said.

"He does not want to go," Chiun said. "That should be obvious to you. But ask me. Perhaps I will take this wonderful tour."

"Yes, sir," the girl said unhappily. "This way, please."

She ushered them past the mayor's personal secretary and a man who sat outside the door, with his arms folded, leaning back in his chair against the wall. He looked at Remo and sneered as Remo walked by. Remo stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. The man's hand moved toward his right pocket. Chiun brushed against the man and his fingertips touched the man's right bicep. The man's right arm stopped moving toward his pocket, frozen in position as if it had just been sprayed with liquid hydrogen.