The Israel Bond Omnibus by Sol Weinstein Read Free Book Online

the Jewish Atom’...”
    “Yes, yes, go on,” said Bond.
    “Well, that’s when this wiry, Levantine-type, who’d been masquerading as a busboy, dropped his tray of dishes, whipped out a revolver and fired point-blank at the doctor. I, of course, had seen the gun in his hand and made a lunge at the filthy little cretin. I missed. But strangely enough, so did he. I suppose my lunge unnerved him. Then he fled. Tell me ... did you get him?”
    “Yes, the matter was taken care of on the Quickway.”
    “Good show!” said Saxon, but there was something deep in his eyes Bond could not fathom as yet, but did not like. “This little gunman ... did he talk?”

    “No, he died without talking, I’m afraid.” Was that a gleam of triumph in Saxon’s eyes? “Well, tell me, Saxon, what else happened when the shot was fired?”
    “Naturally,” said Saxon, sipping his drink, “all hell broke loose. The loudest cries, it seemed, came from the hotel owner, Mr. Kahn. The ‘busboy’ had ruined forty-eight dollars’ worth of genuine East Side Fiesta dishes when he dropped the tray. In the confusion he fled. You know the rest.”
    Time to put the screws on. “Frankly,” Bond began coldly, “I’m shocked at the general laxity around here. Has there been no guard assigned to the doctor up to now? Remember, this man is the greatest thing that has happened to Israel since Leon Uris. He is beloved by world Jewry, vastly respected by non-Jews. Wrap up Albert Schweitzer, Ringo Starr and Shirley Temple and you have Lazarus Loxfinger. This man must be guarded! What a blow to our prestige, our hopes and dreams for a better world if he were to be taken from us! Especially since the impact of the ‘Plowshare Papers’ upon most of humanity.”
    “Oh,” Saxon said, his eyes widening with concern, “but I agree. Fully. The doctor does have a bodyguard, you know, quite a formidable one. You will meet him later. He’s a mountain, not a man ... a sort of Neanderthal, really. The doctor found him working on the docks in Marseilles, took pity on him and made him part of our entourage. This creature is the product of a rather hasty mesalliance between an American soldier, a nigger ... oops!” He winked. “Sorry for that. One does have to be ‘liberal’ these days. Uh, an American soldier of ... sepian hue, shall we say, who consorted with a white Scottish barmaid in Glasgow during World War Two. The issue of this one-night stand is our bodyguard. His name is Macaroon. Wanted by neither parent, he was shunted from orphanage to orphanage. Grew to be amazingly huge and powerful. He must be seven-foot six if he’s an inch. Makes one rather wish slavery were back; I’d sell him to the New York Knickerbockers for a million bucks and they’d pay it gladly to get a 100-point a night scorer. Macaroon’s specialty is karate. I’ve seen this simian shatter a twelve by twelve with one chop of that monstrous hand.”
    “Why wasn’t he around to protect Loxfinger when he was needed?”
    “Simple. He’d been drugged. Someone, the ‘busboy,’ no doubt, had spiced his haggis and chitlin’s—that’s all he eats—with a powerful sleeping draught.”

    Bond inhaled. “You mentioned ‘entourage.’ Who else is in this charmed Loxfinger circle?”
    Saxon winked again. “Besides Macaroon and yours truly, there’s one other ... his personal secretary, Peepee. You appear to be the sort of man who appreciates good womanflesh, Mr. Bond. You’ll find Peepee quite a mouthwatering sight.”
    “Peepee? What kind of a gibbering, infantile name is that for a grown woman?”
    “Those are her initials, P.P. But here she is now, Mr. Bond. I’d asked her to join us. Hope you don’t mind.”
    Bond’s eyes rose—then popped. Peepee was the fascinating, unreachable minx he’d struck out with on the elevator. Still wearing the same fetching costume she had on when last they met she ... she oozed ... that was the word ... oozed across the lounge,