The Israel Bond Omnibus Read Online Free PDF

had always had the deepest respect for Gallo Wine, especially since he had seen their commercials on television. First of all, it came from the Wine Countree, and, secondly, each bottle bore the signatures of the Gallo Brothers on the label. Which was a proud admission that the Gallo Brothers could write their names. That kind of integrity moved a man like Bond.)
    Bond, Bond told Bond, you’d better stop letting your damn, blessedly endowed genitalia rule your head. A lecher can’t operate effectively as a Double Oy. Mother Margolies would have a proverb applicable to this, he thought. What had she once said? Yes ... “I cursed because I had no eyes; until I saw a cheerful man who had no head.”
    Wait! What had the radio bulletin said? The blue Caddy convertible was New York bound!
    He pulled the Rambler over sharply, parked and lit a Raleigh. His face was icy now, lips in a tightly set vise. It was a look his enemies had learned to fear, an Israel Bond turned into a murderous machine.
    He double-timed it across the north-bound section, flattening his body on the grassy medial strip. It was luxuriantly rich against his cheek—Burpee Seed, no doubt. His fingers felt the road, drawing some comfort from its texture. Portland Cement. Tops in any league!
    And his right hand fondly stroked the slim, deadly item resting in his Neiman-Marcus shoulder holster.

    A black speck at first ... high-tailing it south. It grew bigger. The blue Caddy! And behind it a patrol car, siren screaming, red rooftop light revolving madly.
    He estimated the Caddy was hitting 150 kilos, at the very least 137.8 knots. There would be time for one shot, with luck, two.
    Now he could see the face of the driver, a swarthy Levantine type, features flattened by the force of the wind. A fanatical face, maniacal eyes, teeth bared into the snarl of a rabid mongrel ...
    Wang! Wang!
    Bond squeezed the hair trigger on the Shar Shue Dung-55, the special that was crafted exclusively for him by Kok Eee Moon, the Hong Kong gunsmith whose clientele included other slim, well-tailored adventurers like Bond, men who casually threw down fat packets of money demanding weapons of the most exacting specifications.
    The bullets had found the front tire, as Bond had intended, of the patrol car, now careening out of control. The assassin, however, startled at the reports, had taken his eyes off the road for a second, a fatal second. His own tires caught the cement ridge of the road, spinning the car into a horrible vortex.
    Bond watched the Caddy leave the road, rip over some underbrush, then rip under some overbrush. It smashed into a billboard, went through it with a sickening sound of agonized metal. A flash! And the Caddy went up in a white-hot ball of flame.
    Now two towering troopers were chugging from the patrol car several hundred yards up the road. They found a grim-visaged Bond staring blankly at the billboard which seconds ago had read:
     
CREST TOOTHPASTE — SHOWN TO BE HIGHLY EFFECTIVE WHEN USED WITH A CONSCIENTIOUSLY APPLIED PROGRAM OF ORAL HYGIENE.
     
    Where a curly-headed moppet had stood before her adoring mother clutching a dental report in her hand there was a gaping hole, behind which smouldered what remained of the convertible.

    Bond dragged on a Raleigh. The troopers saw a hint of a smile as he said, “Crest or no Crest. Our friend sure made a hell of a cavity, didn’t he?”
     

4 Her Nibs Digs Mibs
     
    “WELCOME, WELCOME TO THE FABULOUS KAHN-TIKI HOTEL!”
     
    His Rambler idled in front of the huge neon sign at the entrance to the winding lane that would take him to the hotel. He read on:
     
    “YOU’LL ENJOY EVERY MOMENT AT THE KAHN-TIKI! POLYNESIAN DELICACIES—KOSHER STYLE! MODIFIED DIETARY LAWS (NO SMOKING DURING THE SERVING OF THE HAM SALAD)! LEARN THE LATEST JEWISH DANCES FROM THE TROPICS TAUGHT BY LITHE, OVERSEXED LATINOS!
     
    “LEARN THE MERENGUE! THE CHA-CHA! THE PACHONGA! THE BOSSA NOVA! THE CHE GUEVARA!
     
    “TWO HEATED