The Israel Bond Omnibus Read Online Free PDF Page B

SWIMMING POOLS FILLED WITH MOTHER MARGOLIES’ ACTIVATED OLD WORLD CHICKEN SOUP! NOSH WHILE YOU SPLASH!
     
    “THE ONLY HOTEL IN THE CATSKILLS WITH AN INDOOR SKI LIFT! SCHUSS ON A SIX-INCH BASE OF MATZOH MEAL!
     
    “DON’T HIT YOUR ROTTEN, WHINING KIDS! LET OUR COLLEGE-TRAINED COUNSELLORS DO IT FOR YOU!
     
    “MASSEUR FOR MONSIEUR! MASSEUSE FOR MRS. MONSIEUR!
     
    “COMBINATION LOBBY-PUTTING GREEN! GOLF PRO IN RESIDENCE! OTHER PROS IN THE BAR!
     

    “RESERVE NOW FOR PASSOVER HOLIDAYS! THRILL TO THE FERVENT CHASSIDIC CHANTING OF SEXTUPLET CANTORS—MOISHEH, MISCHEH, PISCHEH, PAYSCHEH, GRISCHEH, AND GRUSCHEH NABUTOVSKY! ACCOMPANIED BY METROPOLITAN OPERA STAR SERGIO CABRINI AND AN ALL-MORMON CHOIR!” (A distinct novelty, Bond thought. This year the cantors are Jewish.)
     
    “ESTRELLITA AND SCHUYLER KAHN, YOUR HOSTS AT MIAMI BEACH’S GLAMOROUS PALMETTO ROACH HOTEL, HOPE YOU ENJOY THEIR MOUNTAIN RESORT AS WELL! LET’S ALL MEET AT TONIGHT’S GET-ACQUAINTED SOIREE IN THE LITVAK LUAU ROOM! FEATURING THE WEST COAST COMEDY SENSATION — HENNY BENNY LENNY! DANCE TEAM OF ROSITA AND YONKEL, ‘STUPIDITY IN MOTION’! SONGS BY PERKY SONGSTRESS PATTI PERKY! HERMIE HOUSE AND HIS HOUSE HOUSE BAND FOR DANCING!”
     
    One would need at least a two-week reservation to fully enjoy this place, Bond opined. It would take one week just to read the damn sign.
    His smart Bakelite luggage stowed away, Bond warmed the tip-hungry palm of the bell captain with a shiny new Lyndon Johnson seventy-five-cent piece, frankly relishing the awed reaction. “Yes sir, Mr. Bond! Anything else, sir? Well, hope you enjoy your stay!”
    He showered for three minutes under the bracing needles of Mountain Valley water, changed his suit (it was thoroughly soaked from the shower), slipping into the high-priced casual garb required in this class milieu ... skin-tight Ship N’ Shore levis, burnt cantaloupe shaded crew shirt with the prize Korvette’s label showing (perhaps a bit ostentatiously; it was on the breast pocket), and Mafia Raffia cord shoes.
    He picked up the mauve Princess phone. “Operator, this is a Princess phone, isn’t it? Good! Well, I’d like to speak to Princess Margaret.” The hotel operator, Miss Studnia, unused to Bond’s dazzling spur-of-the-moment bon mots (he was as famed for his wit as Mother was for her proverbs), said, “Huh?” And Bond, sorry he’d wasted a goody on an unappreciative clod, was all business now: “Dr. Loxfinger’s suite, please.”
    Her voice was guarded. “I’m sorry, sir, but no one is permitted to disturb the doctor ...”

    “Look, honey,” said Bond. “This is Israel Bond. The doctor will respond, I assure you.”
    “Just a minute, please, Mr. Bond.”
    He inhaled deeply. The Raleigh tasted strangely arid. And the Arid in his armpits felt strangely Raleigh. This is going to be one of those days, he sighed.
    “Dr. Loxfinger’s public relations representative will talk to you, Mr. Bond.” New respect in the metallic tones. “Go ahead, Mr. Saxon.”
    “Mr. Bond?” A composed voice with a trace of hauteur. “Angelo Saxon here, the doctor’s P.R. man. Dreadfully sorry, but he can’t be disturbed now. The dreadful incident and all that. Perhaps tomorrow or—”
    “Knock it off, Saxon!” Bond’s rasp slashed through the room. “This is Israel Bond, security, M 33 and 1/3 section. Stop ‘dreadfulling’ my ass to death and tell me what’s happened, how the old boy is and mach’is schnell!” In his ire he had slipped into Yiddish. Temper, temper. Can’t offend the old man’s flunky too much.
    “Uh, perhaps first we’d best meet for a chat, Mr. Bond. See you in the Leni Lenape Lounge in ten minutes? Checko.”
    Well, some of the spray starch had been taken out of Mr. Saxon. Now, a friendly drink or two and he’d put the man straight.
    Bond lit a Raleigh, stretched his lithe frame on the bed. His nostrils caught the scent of the cordite on his hand from the shots he had fired on