 What doesn't describe Jaro?
Red Witch of Mercury By EMMETT McDOWELL Death was Jaro Moynahan's stock in trade, and every planet had known his touch. But now, on Mercury, he was selling his guns into the weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life against the soft touch of a woman's lips. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Without looking up, he said: "Have you spotted him?" "So," said the red-head; "you have come. "I did not want to call you in, Jaro Moynahan." The revolution is scheduled to break during the Festival of the Rains. If it does, the Terrestrials here will be massacred. Jaro Moynahan wiped the sweat from his forehead with a fine duraweb handkerchief. "There is one man; he is the leader, the very soul of the revolution. The Mercurians worship him. Jaro Moynahan refilled their empty glasses. Don't look at me that way, Jaro. You've got to find him, Jaro. "Ah," said Jaro Moynahan; "so that's the way it is." One moment the garden was glowing in light, the next the hot black night swooped down on the revelers, pressing against their eyes like dark wool. Jaro Moynahan slipped sideways from the table. Across the table from Jaro there was the feel of movement; he could sense it. "Red!" said Jaro in a low voice.
 he'll do anything for money
 he's curious  he's a murderer  he'll do anything for money  he's well-known on many planets