Just as Remo decided he would have to crush the man's handbones into paste, the giant disengaged his fingers from Remo's.
"All right," he said. "You win. How'd you do that?"
"Training and clean living."
"Look, no offense, but you don't look like you train much."
"It's not that kind of training. It's all done in your head. What's your name?"
"Hal Barden."
"You the editor?"
"No. I'm everything but. This is just a two-man sheet. Mark Simons is the editor. He's inside."
"You were fibbing me," Remo said. "Naughty, naughty."
"I'm still here, so maybe it didn't work out so bad," Barden said. "Come on, I'll take you to the editor."
Inside the front office was another small cluttered office with another man sitting behind a small cluttered desk, wielding scissors and paste on some yellowed newspaper clippings.
"Mark, this is a friend of mine." Remo stepped forward.
"Remo Williams," he said, extending his hand.
"Yeah, yeah," said Mark Simons, ignoring the extended hand.
Remo looked at Barden who shrugged.
"Remo's interested in the magazine, Mark. I told him I'd show him around."
107
„_,,„„. . j I Here they are." He turned and handed Remo a slim
"Go ahead," Simons said. . I manj]a ¿lder
"You ever buy manuscripts?" Remo asked Si- | ? contain,d the copy fof thfee advertisements
mons.
"Sometimes. If they're really good. You a . writer?" ¦ tiser-
"No. But a friend of mine is," said Remo.
"He know anything about assassinations and contract killings?"
"A little," Remo said.
"Good. Send in anything he's got. Most of the people who send us stuff have been pulling their pudding for too long. They're like writing Alice in Wonderland."
"Thanks. I will."
Barden led Remo away. "C'mon. Another room back here."
He led him into another small room that appeared to hold all of Contract's files.
Barden waved toward a file cabinet. "That's our ad files. What do you need?"
"I need your ads on killing the Emir of Bislami," Remo said.
Barden nodded. "Yeah. He was hot in last month's issue. We had a couple on him."
"Three," Remo said. "Can you find them?"
"Sure." The big man opened the top drawer of the file cabinet and began riffling through envelopes.
"Do you keep a record of who answers?" Remo asked.
"No," Barden said over his shoulder. "We just forward them to the advertiser. We don't even open
my trainer with me." 108
them. That way, we stay out of trouble with the law.
109
*- ---------------
eachhad ^e nameand address of the adver-
The first ad, "Ice an Emir," was inserted by a John Brown with a post office box in Rye, New York. That would be Smith, Remo realized.
The second ad was "Send a Monarch to the Mortuary." The ad form announced that it had been placed by Mrs. Jane Smith, with a New York post office box.
Remo handed it to Barden. "You remember anything about this ad?"
Barden looked at it. "Mrs. Jane Smith," he said. "Boy, do I. Tall, good-looking woman with great red hair. Spoke very elegantly. Like a queen she
was.
That would be Princess Sarra, Remo realized. He looked at Barden with heightened respect. The man had sensed the innate royalty in the Princess, even when she was parading around as Mrs. Jane Smith.
The third advertisement was "Ever Kill an Emir? Check Out the Price." The record showed it had been placed, and paid for in cash, by a Mr. Riggs who lived in the East Seventies.
Remo jotted the name and address down on a piece of paper.