California Hit Read Online Free PDF

far wall... and each section was occupied by a sleeping girl. Both were Caucasians, blonde, apparently young, and huddled beneath light blankets.
    Bolan would have been more comfortable with a discovery of a wide-awake crew of Mafia head-hunters.
    His inner debate was resolved at about the second heartbeat and he was spinning about to quit that place when a tousled blonde head lifted itself from a pillow and a pair of cool blue eyes raked him from stem to stern. A pleasantly modulated, but sleepy voice declared, "Far out."
    Soothingly he said, "Relax, wrong door, I guess. I'm leaving."
    The voice was wide awake now and teasing as it warned, "Keep on leaving and I'll start screaming."
    "I thought this was Mary Ching's place," he explained.
    "It is. What are you made up for? That is really far out."
    He said, "Mary didn't say anything about roommates. I'll wait for her outside."
    "Don't be square." The girl flung back the blanket and sat up, swinging her feet to the floor. She was wearing nothing but glowing skin, and doing that quite beautifully.
    Bolan could have been a life-sized poster, for all the feminine awareness she was according his presence.
    "We don't live here," she told him. "We're just crashing for the night. So don't leave on our account."
    She shivered and drew the blanket over the bare shoulders.
    "Make some tea or something, huh?" she suggested lazily.
    Bolan said, "I guess that's your department."
    She told him, "Monkeyshit," in a quietly disgusted voice and lunged across to slap the other girl's upraised behind.
    That one whimpered and burrowed deeper into her blanket.
    The live one struggled to her feet and crossed to the bathroom, her blanket draped carelessly from the waist and trailing along behind. She left the folding screen ajar and straddled the toilet seat, staring curiously out at Bolan as she noisily disturbed the waters of the porcelain bowl.
    He turned away and decided, hell, to make the tea after all. He put a kettle of water on the burner and rummaged through the cupboard, finding and deciding upon a jar of instant coffee.
    "No tea, just coffee," he called in to the blonde.
    She was bent over the wash basin, now, splashing water on her face and gasping with the coldness of it. "Is it organic?" she called back.
    Bolan muttered to himself, "How the hell would I know?"
    She strode into the room, sans blanket and patting at her face with a small handtowel.
    Bolan, what the hell, looked her over and liked what he was looking at. Any man would. She had those flowing lines and flawless skin that a guy associates with erotic fantasies, large swollen breasts with the pinkest nipples Bolan had seen anywhere, firm and erect as any plastics job could assure — one of those ripple-soft bellies plunging into velvet thighs and belled hips, a swooped rear-deck with the soft overhang visible even from the front.
    Sure. She had it all, right where it belonged and in ideal portions.
    "If it isn't organic I wouldn't touch it," she was telling him.
    Again Bolan turned away from her and fiddled with the stove. He didn't know about the coffee crystals, but Bolan himself was sure as hell organic, one hundred percent male organic, and it was no time for delectable female pastries to be flaunting themselves at his maleness.
    "Honesty," she was saying in that old-young girl's voice. "That's what this sick world needs the most. No deceits, no additives or deductives, just pure organic honesty."
    He said, "Yeah, with all the chemicals left out." He could have done without a few male type chemicals himself, at the moment.
    When he looked again the towel was lying on the floor of the bathroom and the girl and the blanket had returned to the couch.
    She was lying there on her side, an elbow in supporting position and the blonde head elevated and resting on an honest palm. The blanket was riding loosely amidships and not providing much in the way of warmth or security. Just honesty.
    He told her, "It's plain old mountain