Hood of Death Read Online Free PDF

that he had gritted his teeth, otherwise he might have lost several. Hans came up shaking his head, said, "You're something else," and hung a swift left on his jaw that shook the world to pieces for many minutes.
* * *
    At the very moment that Nick Carter lay tied to the bumper of the Thunderbird, with the world coming and going, the golden pinwheels flashing and the pain throbbing in his head, Herbert Wheeldale Tyson was telling himself what a grand world it was.
    For a lawyer from Indiana who had never made over six thousand a year in Logansport and Ft. Wayne and Indianapolis, he had it made in the shade. Congressman for one term before the citizens decided his opponent was a degree less slippery, stupid and self-interested, he had parlayed a few fast Washington connections into a great big thing. You wanted a lobbyist who got things done — you got Herbert, for certain projects. He was well connected at the Pentagon and in nine years he had learned a lot about the oil business and munitions and juice-dripping building contracts.
    Herbert wasn't nice, but he was important. You didn't have to like him, you used him. and he delivered.
    Tonight Herbert was enjoying himself at his favorite pastime in his small, expensive house on the edge of Georgetown. He was in the big bed in the big bedroom with a big pitcher of ice and the bottles and glasses beside the bed in which a big girl awaited his pleasure.
    Right now his pleasure was watching a sex movie on the far wall. A pilot friend brought them in for him from West Germany, where they make them with sock.
    He hoped the girl was getting the same lift from them that he was, although it didn't matter. She was a Korean or Mongolian or one of those wog types who worked at one of the trade offices. Dumb, maybe, but the way he liked them — a big body and a beautiful face. He wished those slobs in Indianapolis could see him now.
    He felt safe. There was that unpleasantness with the Baumann outfit but they couldn't be as tough as it was whispered. Anyway the house had a complete burglar alarm system and there was a shotgun in the closet and a pistol in the bedside table.
    "Watch this, baby," he chortled, and leaned forward.
    He felt her move on the bed and something obscured his view of the screen and he raised his hands to push it away. Why, it came right down over his head! Hey.
    Herbert Wheeldale Tyson was paralyzed before his hands reached his chin, and dead a few seconds later.

Chapter III
    When the world stopped shaking and came into focus Nick found himself on the ground at the rear of the Bird. His wrists were roped to the car and probably Chick had shown Hans that he knew his knots by securing Nick for a long stay. There were clove hitches around his wrists, plus several bights to a square knot pinioning his arms together.
    He heard the four men talking in low voices and only caught Hans remark, "...we'll find out. One way or another."
    They climbed into their car, and as it passed under the floodlight closest to the drive Nick identified it as a '68 Ford, metallic green, four-door sedan. He was pinned at a wrong angle to get a decent look at the tag or quite identify the model, but it was not a compact.
    He applied his tremendous strength on the rope, then sighed. Cotton line but not household grade, shipboard stuff and strong. He worked up ample saliva, tongued it onto a section at his wrists, and began to gnaw steadily with his strong white teeth. The stuff was tough. He was chewing monotonously with his eyeteeth at the tough, sodden mass when Ruth came out and found him.
    She had donned her clothes, right down to her trim white high-heeled pumps, and she strolled across the blacktop and looked down at him. He felt that her stride was too steady, her stare too calm, for the situation. It was depressing to consider that she might be on the other team in spite of what had happened, and the men had left her to administer some sort of
coup de grâce.
    He turned on his widest