Read Online The Man With the Golden Gun (James Bond) by Ian Fleming - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ian Fleming
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no longer pretty. It was a taut skull. She stared at James Bond. Her mouth opened but no sound came from the gaping lips. She liked him and she knew he was dead. The kling-klings, Joe and May, smelled the same electricity. With a tremendous din of metallic squawks, they fled for the open window, like black thieves escaping into the night.
The explosions from the Colt .45 were deafening. The two birds disintegrated against the violet backdrop of the dusk, the scraps of feathers and pink flesh blasting out of the yellow light of the cafe into the limbo of the deserted street like shrapnel.
There was a moment of deafening silence. James Bond didn't move. He sat where he was, waiting for the tension of the deed to relax. It didn't. With an inarticulate scream, that was half a filthy word, Tiffy took James Bond's bottle of Red Stripe off the counter and clumsily flung it. There came a distant crash of glass from the back of the room. Then, having made her puny gesture, Tiffy fell to her knees behind the counter and went into sobbing hysterics.
James Bond drank down the rest of his beer and got slowly to his feet. He walked towards Scaramanga and was about to pass him when the man reached out a languid left arm and caught him at the biceps. He held the snout of his gun to his nose, sniffing delicately. The expression in the dead brown eyes was faraway. He said, "Mister, there's something quite extra about the smell of death. Care to try it?" He held out the glittering gun as if he was offering James Bond a rose.
Bond stood quite still. He said, "Mind your manners. Take your hand off me."
Scaramanga raised his eyebrows. The flat, leaden gaze seemed to take in Bond for thefirst time.
He released his grip.
James Bond went on round the edge of the counter. When he came opposite the other man, he found the eyes were now looking at him with faint, scornful curiosity. Bond stopped. The sobbing of the girl was the crying of a small dog. Somewhere down the street a sound system—a loudspeaker record player—began braying calypso.
Bond looked the man in the eye. He said, "Thanks. I've tried it. I recommend the Berlin vintage Nineteen forty-five." He smiled a friendly, only slightly ironical smile. "But I expect you were too young to be at that tasting."
6
The Easy Grand
Bond knelt down beside Tiffy and gave her a couple of sharp slaps on the right cheek. Then on the left. The wet eyes came back into focus. She put her hand up to her face and looked at Bond with surprise. Bond got to his feet. He took a cloth and wetted it at the tap, then leant down and put his arm round her and wiped the cloth gently over her face. Then he lifted her up and handed her her bag that was on a shelf behind the counter. He said, "Come on, Tiffy. Make up that pretty face again. Business'll be warming up soon. The leading lady's got to look her best."
Tiffy took the bag and opened it. She looked past Bond and saw Scaramanga for the first time since the shooting. The pretty lips drew back in a snarl. She whispered fiercely so that only Bond could hear, "I'm goin' fix that man, but good. There's Mother Edna up Orange Hill way. She's an obeah top woman. I'll go up there tomorrow. Come a few days, he won't know what hit him." She took out a mirror and began doing up her face. Bond reached into his hip pocket and counted out five one-pound notes. He stuffed them into her open bag.
"You forget all about it. This'll buy you a nice canary in a cage to keep you company. Anyway another pair of klings'll come along if you put some food out." He patted her shoulder and moved away. When he came up with Scaramanga he stopped and said, "That may have been a good circus act"—he used the word again on purpose— "but it was rough on the girl. Give her some money."
Scaramanga said "Shove it" out of the corner of his mouth. He said suspiciously, "And what's all this yack about circuses?" He turned to face Bond. "Just stop where you are, mister, and answer a few
The explosions from the Colt .45 were deafening. The two birds disintegrated against the violet backdrop of the dusk, the scraps of feathers and pink flesh blasting out of the yellow light of the cafe into the limbo of the deserted street like shrapnel.
There was a moment of deafening silence. James Bond didn't move. He sat where he was, waiting for the tension of the deed to relax. It didn't. With an inarticulate scream, that was half a filthy word, Tiffy took James Bond's bottle of Red Stripe off the counter and clumsily flung it. There came a distant crash of glass from the back of the room. Then, having made her puny gesture, Tiffy fell to her knees behind the counter and went into sobbing hysterics.
James Bond drank down the rest of his beer and got slowly to his feet. He walked towards Scaramanga and was about to pass him when the man reached out a languid left arm and caught him at the biceps. He held the snout of his gun to his nose, sniffing delicately. The expression in the dead brown eyes was faraway. He said, "Mister, there's something quite extra about the smell of death. Care to try it?" He held out the glittering gun as if he was offering James Bond a rose.
Bond stood quite still. He said, "Mind your manners. Take your hand off me."
Scaramanga raised his eyebrows. The flat, leaden gaze seemed to take in Bond for thefirst time.
He released his grip.
James Bond went on round the edge of the counter. When he came opposite the other man, he found the eyes were now looking at him with faint, scornful curiosity. Bond stopped. The sobbing of the girl was the crying of a small dog. Somewhere down the street a sound system—a loudspeaker record player—began braying calypso.
Bond looked the man in the eye. He said, "Thanks. I've tried it. I recommend the Berlin vintage Nineteen forty-five." He smiled a friendly, only slightly ironical smile. "But I expect you were too young to be at that tasting."
6
The Easy Grand
Bond knelt down beside Tiffy and gave her a couple of sharp slaps on the right cheek. Then on the left. The wet eyes came back into focus. She put her hand up to her face and looked at Bond with surprise. Bond got to his feet. He took a cloth and wetted it at the tap, then leant down and put his arm round her and wiped the cloth gently over her face. Then he lifted her up and handed her her bag that was on a shelf behind the counter. He said, "Come on, Tiffy. Make up that pretty face again. Business'll be warming up soon. The leading lady's got to look her best."
Tiffy took the bag and opened it. She looked past Bond and saw Scaramanga for the first time since the shooting. The pretty lips drew back in a snarl. She whispered fiercely so that only Bond could hear, "I'm goin' fix that man, but good. There's Mother Edna up Orange Hill way. She's an obeah top woman. I'll go up there tomorrow. Come a few days, he won't know what hit him." She took out a mirror and began doing up her face. Bond reached into his hip pocket and counted out five one-pound notes. He stuffed them into her open bag.
"You forget all about it. This'll buy you a nice canary in a cage to keep you company. Anyway another pair of klings'll come along if you put some food out." He patted her shoulder and moved away. When he came up with Scaramanga he stopped and said, "That may have been a good circus act"—he used the word again on purpose— "but it was rough on the girl. Give her some money."
Scaramanga said "Shove it" out of the corner of his mouth. He said suspiciously, "And what's all this yack about circuses?" He turned to face Bond. "Just stop where you are, mister, and answer a few
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