CHAPTER 22THE SANDE
Stumpy Biezell wasn’t difficult to work for. He scheduled me for two or three trips a week and the other days I worked for Andre. As an employer, Stumpy treated me well enough, though he wasn’t the kind of man you could really get to know. It was strictly business with him. He did have occasional visitors—men in poorly fitting dark suits with hard-set faces and intense eyes that he would hustle into his office. The door was always locked and the shades stayed drawn.
The Israelis obviously had grounds for their suspicions, but no proof. I was tempted. I was very tempted. I hated the thought of ex-Nazi thugs getting away with it. Then again, I didn’t really know what they had done, if anything. They could be just scared former German soldiers running headlong from what
