the Hunted (1977) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Elmore Leonard
do, they take you off th e 707 and pack you on a bus with everybody and yo u stand out there for fif teen minutes to make up fo r it. How'd you know I was Mr. Bandy?"
"I asked the air hostess," the girl said. "She poin t you out to me."
"And you're Atalia."
"Yes, or Tali I'm called." She smiled. Nice smile , nice eyes and freckles. "We write to each othe r sometime, now we meet."
"You got a cute accent," Mel Bandy said.
"You're a cute girl," looking down at the open nec k of her blouse. Not much there at all, but very tender. Twenty-one years old, out of the Israeli Army, very bright but seemed innocent, spoke Arabic a s well as Hebrew and English. She didn't look Jewish.
The guy with her didn't look Jewish either. H e looked like an Arab, or Mel Bandy's idea of a young Arab, with the mustache and wild curly hair.
The rest of him, the jeans dragging on the groun d and the open vinyl jacket, was universal. His nam e was Mati Harari and he was a Yemenite, supposedly trustworthy. But Mel had seen the guy too many times in Detroit Recorder's Court. White , black, Yemenite, they all looked alike--arraigne d on some kind of a hustle.
Mel was carrying an alligator attache case. H e pointed to his red-and-green-trimmed Gucci luggage coming into the terminal on the conveyor loop. The skinny Yemenite picked up the two bags , brushing the porters aside in Hebrew, and Tal i smiled and said something to the two Israeli Customs officials, who waved them past. Nothing to it.
Mel was surprised. Outside, waiting in front of th e terminal while Mati got the car, he said, "I though t it was tight security here."
"They know you are searched before you ge t here, in New York or Athens." Tali shrugged. "Yo u know--only if they don't like the way you look."
"It's hot here."
"Yes, it's nice, isn't it?"
Mel was sweating in the lightweight gray suit.
The next few days he'd take it easy on the booz e and all that sour-cream kosher shit he didn't lik e much anyway, maybe drop about ten pounds. Goddamn shirt, sticking to him--he pulled his silver-g ray silk tie down and unbuttoned the collar. Goddamn pants were too tight. He gave Tali his attache case, took off his suitcoat, and, holding it in fron t of him, adjusted his crotch. What he'd like to los e was about twenty-five pounds. He hadn't though t it was going to be this hot. Shit, it had been snowing when he'd left Detroit.
The car was a gray Mercedes. Tali wanted Mr.
Bandy to get in front so he could see better, but Me l arranged the seating: him and Tali in back. He'd se e all he wanted with the girl next to him and also b e able to talk to her without the Arab-looking guy listening. He waited, though, until they were out of the airport and passing through open country o n the way to Tel Aviv.
"Have you heard from him since we talked o n the phone?"
"He didn't call last night or this morning," th e girl said. "I don't know where he could be."
Mel Bandy looked over--she sounded genuinel y worried--wondering if Rosen was getting into her.
Why not? She worked for him. Probably mad e more than any secretary in Israel. If that's what sh e was, a secretary.
"You can't call him?"
"I tried three places. He wasn't there."
"He knows when he's supposed to get hi s money?"
"Yes, of course. Tomorrow, the twenty-sixth o f March. Always the twenty-sixth of March and th e twenty-sixth of September."
"When'd you last see him?"
"It was . . . a week ago today in Netanya. H e wanted to write letters."
"In Netanya. What was he doing there?"
"I don't know. Maybe to swim in the sea."
"Or chasing tail. Was he staying in that hotel?"
"No, another one. I don't know why he wa s in the hotel that burned," Tali said. She imagine d the building on fire, people running out through th e smoke. "Did you bring the newspaper with th e picture?"
Mel pulled his attache case from the floor to hi s lap, opened it, and handed Tali a file folder. "Ou r hero," Mel said. "See if you recognize him."
She brought
"I asked the air hostess," the girl said. "She poin t you out to me."
"And you're Atalia."
"Yes, or Tali I'm called." She smiled. Nice smile , nice eyes and freckles. "We write to each othe r sometime, now we meet."
"You got a cute accent," Mel Bandy said.
"You're a cute girl," looking down at the open nec k of her blouse. Not much there at all, but very tender. Twenty-one years old, out of the Israeli Army, very bright but seemed innocent, spoke Arabic a s well as Hebrew and English. She didn't look Jewish.
The guy with her didn't look Jewish either. H e looked like an Arab, or Mel Bandy's idea of a young Arab, with the mustache and wild curly hair.
The rest of him, the jeans dragging on the groun d and the open vinyl jacket, was universal. His nam e was Mati Harari and he was a Yemenite, supposedly trustworthy. But Mel had seen the guy too many times in Detroit Recorder's Court. White , black, Yemenite, they all looked alike--arraigne d on some kind of a hustle.
Mel was carrying an alligator attache case. H e pointed to his red-and-green-trimmed Gucci luggage coming into the terminal on the conveyor loop. The skinny Yemenite picked up the two bags , brushing the porters aside in Hebrew, and Tal i smiled and said something to the two Israeli Customs officials, who waved them past. Nothing to it.
Mel was surprised. Outside, waiting in front of th e terminal while Mati got the car, he said, "I though t it was tight security here."
"They know you are searched before you ge t here, in New York or Athens." Tali shrugged. "Yo u know--only if they don't like the way you look."
"It's hot here."
"Yes, it's nice, isn't it?"
Mel was sweating in the lightweight gray suit.
The next few days he'd take it easy on the booz e and all that sour-cream kosher shit he didn't lik e much anyway, maybe drop about ten pounds. Goddamn shirt, sticking to him--he pulled his silver-g ray silk tie down and unbuttoned the collar. Goddamn pants were too tight. He gave Tali his attache case, took off his suitcoat, and, holding it in fron t of him, adjusted his crotch. What he'd like to los e was about twenty-five pounds. He hadn't though t it was going to be this hot. Shit, it had been snowing when he'd left Detroit.
The car was a gray Mercedes. Tali wanted Mr.
Bandy to get in front so he could see better, but Me l arranged the seating: him and Tali in back. He'd se e all he wanted with the girl next to him and also b e able to talk to her without the Arab-looking guy listening. He waited, though, until they were out of the airport and passing through open country o n the way to Tel Aviv.
"Have you heard from him since we talked o n the phone?"
"He didn't call last night or this morning," th e girl said. "I don't know where he could be."
Mel Bandy looked over--she sounded genuinel y worried--wondering if Rosen was getting into her.
Why not? She worked for him. Probably mad e more than any secretary in Israel. If that's what sh e was, a secretary.
"You can't call him?"
"I tried three places. He wasn't there."
"He knows when he's supposed to get hi s money?"
"Yes, of course. Tomorrow, the twenty-sixth o f March. Always the twenty-sixth of March and th e twenty-sixth of September."
"When'd you last see him?"
"It was . . . a week ago today in Netanya. H e wanted to write letters."
"In Netanya. What was he doing there?"
"I don't know. Maybe to swim in the sea."
"Or chasing tail. Was he staying in that hotel?"
"No, another one. I don't know why he wa s in the hotel that burned," Tali said. She imagine d the building on fire, people running out through th e smoke. "Did you bring the newspaper with th e picture?"
Mel pulled his attache case from the floor to hi s lap, opened it, and handed Tali a file folder. "Ou r hero," Mel said. "See if you recognize him."
She brought
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