the Hunted (1977) Read Online Free
Author: Elmore Leonard
and backed out, dragging a chai r that was hooked to the front bumper, braked hard , and mangled the chair as the BMW shot forward , engine winding, taking the curve into the busines s street east; and then it was gone.
The owner of the Acapulco got to his hands an d knees and looked out toward the street for a moment, then scrambled to his feet and went to th e phone behind the counter. No--he remembere d the customer--the customer first, and he hurried t o the back of the cafe and opened the door with th e sign that said toilet.
Rosen was standing in the small enclosure, hi s back to the wall. There was a sound of water, th e toilet tank dripping.
"He's gone," the owner of the cafe said. Rose n stared at him, his eyes strange, and the owner of th e cafe, frightened and bewildered, wasn't sure Rose n understood him. "That man, the Arab, he's gon e now." He wanted to say more to Rosen and as k him things, but he could only think of the words i n Hebrew. Finally he said, "Why did he want to d o that to you? The Arab. Try to hurt you like that."
"He wasn't an Arab," Rosen said.
The owner of the cafe tried to speak to Rose n and tried to make him remain while he called th e police. But that was all Rosen said before h e walked out.
"He wasn't an Arab."
Edie Broder, with Rosen's shirt and jacket in her bi g suitcase and his passport in her tote--anxious , antsy, hardly able to sit still--took a taxi back t o Netanya from Tel Aviv and paid one hundre d twenty Israeli pounds, almost twenty dollars, fo r the ride.
It was worth it, arriving at the Four Seasons jus t a little after one o'clock, in time to have lunch wit h her new boyfriend, God, as eager as a twenty-yearold but not nearly as cool about it. Her daughters would die. They wouldn't understand a mothe r having this kind of a feeling. They'd like him , though. He was kind, he was gentle, he was funny.
He wasn't nearly as patient as he thought he was.
She had to smile, picturing him in his Jockey short s looking for cigarettes, holding his stomach in an d glancing at himself in the mirror. (Telling her h e was forty-five when his passport said fifty.) The n very cool with the whole building on fire, knowin g exactly what to do, keeping everyone calm as he le d them through the smoke. He was great. He migh t even be perfect. She wouldn't look too far ahead , though, and begin fantasizing about the future. No , as Al Rosen would say, relax and let things happen.
The doorman asked Edie if she was checking in.
She told him just to put the bags somewhere, she' d let him know, and went to a house phone to cal l Rosen's room. There was no answer.
She made a quick run down to the corner of th e lobby that looked out on the pool. He wasn't there.
He wasn't at the bar, or, looking past the bar, in th e dining room.
At the desk she asked if Mr. Rosen had left a message for a Mrs. Broder.
The desk clerk said, "Mr. Rosen--" As h e started to turn away, an Israeli woman Edie recognized as a guide with Egged Tours reached the desk and said something in Hebrew. The clerk paused t o reply. The tour guide had him now and gave th e clerk a barrage of Hebrew, her voice rising, intense.
When the clerk turned away again, Edie said, "Mr.
Rosen. Did he leave a message--" The cler k walked down to the cashier's counter and cam e back with something, a sheet of paper, and bega n talking to the Egged tour guide, who seemed in a rage now and reached the point of almost shoutin g at the indifferent clerk. The Egged tour woma n stopped abruptly and walked away.
"Mr. Rosen," Edie said, trying very hard to remain calm. "I want to know if he left a note for me, Mrs. Broder."
The clerk looked at her vacantly for a moment.
"Mr. Rosen? Oh, Mr. Rosen," the clerk said. "H e checked out. I believe about an hour ago."
MEL BANDY SAID to the good-looking Israeli girl i n the jeans and white blouse and no bra, "Actually , the flight was ten minutes early coming into Be n Gurion. So what do they
The owner of the Acapulco got to his hands an d knees and looked out toward the street for a moment, then scrambled to his feet and went to th e phone behind the counter. No--he remembere d the customer--the customer first, and he hurried t o the back of the cafe and opened the door with th e sign that said toilet.
Rosen was standing in the small enclosure, hi s back to the wall. There was a sound of water, th e toilet tank dripping.
"He's gone," the owner of the cafe said. Rose n stared at him, his eyes strange, and the owner of th e cafe, frightened and bewildered, wasn't sure Rose n understood him. "That man, the Arab, he's gon e now." He wanted to say more to Rosen and as k him things, but he could only think of the words i n Hebrew. Finally he said, "Why did he want to d o that to you? The Arab. Try to hurt you like that."
"He wasn't an Arab," Rosen said.
The owner of the cafe tried to speak to Rose n and tried to make him remain while he called th e police. But that was all Rosen said before h e walked out.
"He wasn't an Arab."
Edie Broder, with Rosen's shirt and jacket in her bi g suitcase and his passport in her tote--anxious , antsy, hardly able to sit still--took a taxi back t o Netanya from Tel Aviv and paid one hundre d twenty Israeli pounds, almost twenty dollars, fo r the ride.
It was worth it, arriving at the Four Seasons jus t a little after one o'clock, in time to have lunch wit h her new boyfriend, God, as eager as a twenty-yearold but not nearly as cool about it. Her daughters would die. They wouldn't understand a mothe r having this kind of a feeling. They'd like him , though. He was kind, he was gentle, he was funny.
He wasn't nearly as patient as he thought he was.
She had to smile, picturing him in his Jockey short s looking for cigarettes, holding his stomach in an d glancing at himself in the mirror. (Telling her h e was forty-five when his passport said fifty.) The n very cool with the whole building on fire, knowin g exactly what to do, keeping everyone calm as he le d them through the smoke. He was great. He migh t even be perfect. She wouldn't look too far ahead , though, and begin fantasizing about the future. No , as Al Rosen would say, relax and let things happen.
The doorman asked Edie if she was checking in.
She told him just to put the bags somewhere, she' d let him know, and went to a house phone to cal l Rosen's room. There was no answer.
She made a quick run down to the corner of th e lobby that looked out on the pool. He wasn't there.
He wasn't at the bar, or, looking past the bar, in th e dining room.
At the desk she asked if Mr. Rosen had left a message for a Mrs. Broder.
The desk clerk said, "Mr. Rosen--" As h e started to turn away, an Israeli woman Edie recognized as a guide with Egged Tours reached the desk and said something in Hebrew. The clerk paused t o reply. The tour guide had him now and gave th e clerk a barrage of Hebrew, her voice rising, intense.
When the clerk turned away again, Edie said, "Mr.
Rosen. Did he leave a message--" The cler k walked down to the cashier's counter and cam e back with something, a sheet of paper, and bega n talking to the Egged tour guide, who seemed in a rage now and reached the point of almost shoutin g at the indifferent clerk. The Egged tour woma n stopped abruptly and walked away.
"Mr. Rosen," Edie said, trying very hard to remain calm. "I want to know if he left a note for me, Mrs. Broder."
The clerk looked at her vacantly for a moment.
"Mr. Rosen? Oh, Mr. Rosen," the clerk said. "H e checked out. I believe about an hour ago."
MEL BANDY SAID to the good-looking Israeli girl i n the jeans and white blouse and no bra, "Actually , the flight was ten minutes early coming into Be n Gurion. So what do they
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