Loxfinger

LoxfingerWop! Wop!Two silencer-muffled shots slammed into the headboard of the bed upon which Israel Bond was making love to the impassive Oriental girl whose body, insouciantly straddled, lay beneath his eager thighs.Even as he hurtled his body into a protective dive off the rumpled sheets into the corner of the room, upsetting a lamp, Bond's trained ears instinctively identified the weapon bent upon destroying him; the characteristic sound indicated, of course, an Italian-make gun, probably an...