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might as well be purple to me."
"You're missing out on one of the great pleasures of life if you can't see the
color pink."
"You don't say?" said Narvel Boggs, wondering what had gotten into folks.
"And because we respect the sentiments of Virginians and other Southerners,"
Mickey Weisinger went on, "when we build Beasley U.S.A. we will have an If the
South Had Triumphed Pavilion."
A rebel cheer went up.
"And virtual-reality games in which the South always wins."
A greater cheer. Even the Union reenactors cheered.
"You will know what it was like to have been a slave!"
An even greater cheer.
"Of course," Mickey added, "we will also serve history by reflecting the true
denouement of the events of the-"
Mickey Weisinger replaced the earphone that had popped out of his ear.
"War Between the States, you jackass," came the crusty voice of Uncle Sam from
the earphone.
"War Between the States," said Mickey Weisinger to the cheering of the Union
reenactors. The Southerners also cheered. They cheered as if the outcome of
the Civil War was a cause for great jubilation and always had been.
"Before all these cameras," Mickey went on, "I would like to close ranks with
you men, bury the hatchet and ask for your support in this great project."
Reenactors surged forward with such suddenness that Mickey Weisinger hastily
jumped off the wicker basket and would have sought the safety of the Crater
except that Gumpy Dog and Mucky Moose grabbed him and pushed him back atop his
wicker-basket soapbox.
Outstretched hands reached eagerly for his. Mickey shook them as fast as they
came.
Then, with a crack and flutter, like canvas in the wind, a gray-and-scarlet
figure surged through the crowd to lay a choke hold on Mickey Weisinger's
thick neck.
"Urrk!" said Mickey.
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"Maybe all the rest of you have turned milk-liver," thundered Colonel Dixie,
"but Ah ain't! Ah aim to break this Jew Yankee's neck."
"No, no, don't."
"Please don't, Colonel Dixie."
"He's Mongo's pal. He don't mean no harm."
"Urrk!" said Mickey Weisinger as the world and Virginia turned dark all around
him and a roar like a distant ocean began in his ear canals.
Over the roar a harsh voice said, "I can see everything that's happening.
Promise him--"
"I can make you rich," Mickey Weisinger said in a squeezed voice, repeating
the words in his ear.
"Colonel Dixie don't need wealth. His heart is pure as Georgia rain."
"I can offer something better than wealth. I can make you an official Beasley
licensee."
"Huh? How's that again?"
"You'll join the honored family of Beasley characters."
The hands slackened their strong, choking grip.
"You mean pal around with Mongo?"
"Tell him, Mongo."
"Sure," Mongo squeaked from off to the right, gesturing with his
yellow-gauntleted hands. "We'll have tons of neat adventures together."
"Will I get my own comic book?" Narvel asked his captive.
"Comics, cartoon shows, video games and all the personal appearances you want.
We'll make you Beasley U S.A.'s official mascot."
"It's a damn deal," said Narvel Boggs, who had shingled his last home and
because of the events this day would ultimately be worth a quarter-billion
dollars by the turn of the century.
Mickey Weisinger hacked and coughed as the red went out of his face and his
lungs resumed normal functions.
"MAYBE THIS WAS ALL a misunderstanding," Remo was remarking to the Master of
Sinanju as Mickey Weisinger and Colonel Dixie were lifted on the shoulders of
the cheering throng.
"Wars are always fought over treasure. This land is the treasure, and now
those who contested it have reached a truce. The war is over."
"Guess we can go home now," said Remo. His head suddenly turned as he tracked
a moving figure.
"What is it, Remo?"
"There's that French reporter."
The woman in the beret and blue slip dress was creeping around the periphery
of the Crater, which was jammed with fighting men turned peaceful. She had a
satellite phone up to her face and was talking into it with obvious
vehemence.
"What's she saying?" Remo asked. "I don't understand French."
"She is saying that the battle is over."
"It sure is," agreed Remo.
"But she cannot discover why."
Remo shrugged. "She'll figure it out."
But she didn't. She hung well back of the mob, moving back and forth like a
wary tiger. Eventually she backed toward Remo and Chiun, unawares.
"J'essaie de constater cela, " she was muttering. "I am trying to ascertain
this."
"Boo!" said Remo.
She whirled, face a stark white. "You again!"
"Yep. Me."
She straightened and the spooked light went out of her eyes. She smoothed her
skirt with a nervous gesture. "Perhaps you can 'elp me."
"If we can," Remo said agreeably.
"I did not see what 'as 'appen' here. Ze fighting 'as ended. Can you not tell
me why?"
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