"I don't care. I'm tired of working out of my function. I've been a bodyguard and a messenger and a detective and I'm not supposed to be any of those things. Why don't you hire a detective if you want a detective?"
"Because good detectives cost money and you work cheap," said Smith, and before Remo could decide whether or not Smith was indulging in a rare moment of levity, Smith had hung up the phone.
Remo hung up too, vowing that the next day he would buy a new wardrobe. He would buy three new wardrobes. He would throw away all his clothes and buy enough clothes for the entire backcourt of the New York Knickerbockers, and he would charge them all to Smith.
This prospect gave him sixty seconds of unalloyed pleasure until he remembered he had done just that the week before.
"HnnnnrikJckTcKkTck." The snoring gave him no pleasure.
Remo picked up the phone again and dialed the desk.
"Desk."
"Hello, this is Mr. Maxwell in Room 453. I need a favor."
"Yes sir, I'll try."
"Are you on duty all night?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fine. I want you to ring my phone every hour. Ring it just three times and hang up. Don't bother waiting for an answer."
"But…"
"You see, I'm working on this big project and I've got to keep at it all night long, but I'm afraid I might doze off."
"Oh. I see, sir. Certainly, I'll take care of it."
"Fine, and in the morning, I'll take care of you."
"When should I start?"
"It's ten to twelve. Why not at midnight and then every hour from then on? Three rings."
"Very good, sir. And good luck."
"Good luck?" asked Remo.
"With your big project."
"Oh, that. Thanks."
Remo changed his shirt and as he was leaving the room, he closed the door gently behind him, holding it open just slightly.
"HnnnwiKkKkkKk."
The telephone rang.
Braawwwwk'k.
Braawwwwk'k.
Braawwwwk'k.
Three rings. Remo put his ear to the door and listened.
The phone stopped. He listened. There was no more snoring.
Remo pulled the door tightly shut and walked away down the hall whistling. How did people live before there were telephones?
Sashur Kaufperson was gone. The jammed closet door had been opened from the outside by some kind of tool, probably a crowbar.
Remo began rummaging through the drawers In Sashur's bedroom. Nothing, unless one had a letch for panties with the days of the week on them and with men's names on them and with hearts on them and obscene drawings on them. Dozens of pairs of panties.
Sashur's closets were similarly unproductive. No pieces of paper left in jackets. No handbags crammed full of informational goodies. A zero.
"Why doesn't this woman write anything down?" Remo mumbled. He looked around the room. Suddenly he sensed that it was one o'clock and the telephone in his motel room was going to be ringing. Three times.
"Move your own couch next time," he growled.
The telephone.
Under Sashur's telephone was a personal phone book with names and numbers and one entry that made Remo suspicious: "Walter Wilkins. Music room. Wednesday night."
It was Wednesday night.
The police department switchboard confirmed that there was a Walter Wilkins School, gave Remo the address, but cautioned that it had been closed down for several years.
It was easy to open the school's front door and even easier to find the night watchman. Remo followed the snores down to the basement where the guard slept, in a brightly lighted room, atop an old cafeteria table which was a history in wood-carving of the sexual life of the school.
Remo shook the guard awake. The guard's eyes opened wide in panic. His pupils were wide black dots. The guard saw Remo and Remo could feel the man's tension ease.
"Oh. I thought it was the head custodian." The watchman's voice was thick as he shook his head trying to clear away his sleepiness. "Who are you anyway? How'd you get in here."
"I'm looking for Ms. Kaufperson."
The guard tilted his head as if listening to something, "She's here. That's them up in the music room. The kids' chorus and her." The guard looked at his watch. "Hey, shit, it's late. I'd better tell her."
"Don't bother, buddy. I'm going up there. I'll remind her about the time."
Remo walked away.
"Hey. You didn't tell me who you were? How'd you get in here?"
"Ms. Kaufperson let me in," said Remo, which was not only untrue but illogical, but the guard was too tired to notice and before Remo was down the hall, he heard the guard snoring behind him.