"Don't make me chase you down," Smith said, "Keep in touch."
Remo hung up. When he turned to Chiun, the old man was shaking his head. He looked up from his copy of Contract. "These articles are terrible," he said.
"What's wrong with them?"
"All they talk about is money and guns. What about the beauty of a perfect assassination? What about the tradition and the history and the glory of the art? This is written by Philistines for Philistines."
"I know. And you can do better."
Í
Smith let it pass. "What are you going to do I «A civilized assaSsin in a world of nincompoops.
"Who knows better than I?" Chiun said. "So it for his functional vocabulary.
when you go to the offices of these people, find out the name of their editor. You will need it when I
I will call it 'Chiun Among the Barbarians.' "
"Smitty will love it," Remo said.
"He can do what he likes," Chiun said, "but I am not cutting him in. It is bad enough I have to pay you two percent."
"I thought it was three."
"Don't quibble about a few dollars, Remo. It is not seemly."
Remo found the office of Contract in a rundown building on East 23rd Street between Madison Avenue and Park Avenue South.
The office was on the ninth floor of the building, and giant, silver letters on the wall next to their door blared out the magazine's name.
But inside, the office was small and shabby. There was a man sitting behind the reception desk who looked as if his only purpose in life was to bite the legs off visitors.
"Yeah?" he growled as Remo entered.
"Is that any way to greet a man who's going to save your life?"
"Yeah? How you going to save my life?"
"Maybe by changing my mind," Remo said, "and not doing to you what you obviously deserve."
"Yeah?"
Remo was beginning to wonder if that was about
"I want to look through your records." "What for?"
finish my story for them." 1 «j w£mt to know the names of your advertisers
What s your story going to be about?" I mdwhich ads have been answered recently."
104 1 105
"Take a hike. Our records are private," the man said.
"How many other people work here?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because if there's anybody else here, I don't need you and I can shove you into your desk drawer," Remo said.
"Yeah?"
"Don't start that again," Remo said.
The man stood up behind the desk. He was six-foot-six and outweighed Remo by half a ton.
"There ain't nobody else here right now," he said with a sneer. "So it's just me and you, pal."
He extended a hand toward Remo like a wrestler offering a handlock test of strength.
Remo shrugged. It was better than killing him. Even with a busted hand he could still talk.
Remo joined his right hand to the giant's left. He exerted no pressure.
"If that's all you got, pal, you're in big trouble," the big man said. Slowly, he began to put pressure on Remo's hand. Remo neither flinched nor moved.
The giant frowned. "Playtime's over, buddy," he said. He exerted what he thought was enough pressure to crush Remo's hand and drive him to his knees.
Remo didn't move.
The big man blinked and his forehead was now a map of lines and creases.
"I'm right handed," he complained.
Remo nodded. They unlocked hands, then locked again, this time with Remo's left against the giant's
right.
The big man instantly turned on maximum pres-
106
sure, every bit of energy and strength he could mus-
ter.