The Destroyer 008 - Summit Chase by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pulp Action
ISBN: 0-523-41814-0
Publisher: PINNACLE BOOKS
Published: 1973-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

The man who thought he was PJ Kenny had been unable to remember anything at all from his past. Even if he had, he was sure it would not be nearly as pleasant as his present.

He had inspected his wallet the night before while the English girl was out of the room. It contained $4,000. Except for a passport made out in the name of P.K. Johnson, which was obviously a phony, he had no papers, no indication of just who or what PJ Kenny was, no reason for anyone to have pegged shots at him. Just the telegram from Baron Nemeroff, whoever he was.

Then the English girl was back and he lost all interest in Nemeroff. She was Maggie Waters, she was a British archaeologist, he had picked her up in the hotel lobby and she seemed to think that she had some obligation to make love to him. As Englishmen everywhere, she discharged her obligation.

So did he. Over and over. Through the night. Into the second day. On and on. PJ Kenny, whoever he was, was quite a man. He knew tricks she had never seen before; things to do with his fingers and his lips and his knees that reduced her to jelly, to babbling insensibility; that drove her to peaks of pleasure that were unbearably intense. And then he made them even more intense.

He taught her a new position called the Yokohama YoYo and a new technique called the Capistrano Swallow and he denied having learned them from an American book, called the Sensuous Pervert.

"Be quiet and keep working," he said.

So she labored. Winston Churchill, he thought, would have been proud of her.

They had breakfasted in bed, and lunched in bed and were on their way toward dinner in bed.

"It was never like this," she said.

"I don't know if it was ever like this or not," he said. "But I doubt it."

"I know now you're not a knifethrower."

"What am I?" he asked.

She put her face close to his ear and told him.

"Maybe that's just my hobby," he said. "Maybe knifethrowing's my profession."

"Then you're in the wrong trade," she said.

"Can I give your name as a recommendation?" he asked.

"You'll never need one."

"Thank you," he said and put his lips over hers.

Then the door was flung open as if it had not been locked. In the doorway stood a black giant, wearing pantaloons and a vest without a shirt. His muscles dripped muscles. He was six-feet-five and weighed at least 250 pounds. The red fez on his head made him seem even taller; linebackers would have thought twice before tackling him.

He stood in the doorway, a bulging lump of glistening black power, his white eyes shining out of the darkness of his face, looking with disinterest at Remo and Maggie.

Remo rolled on his back and looked at him as Maggie pulled the sheet over her. Then Remo said:

"You made a mistake, pal. You swam ashore too soon. The Empire State Building is 5,000 miles that way." He jerked a thumb toward what he considered to be west.

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