by Ian Fleming
‘Anything you say,’ said Bond. ‘We’ve eaten enough meals together to know each other’s tastes.’
‘I’ve told them not to hurry,’ said Leiter. He rapped on the table with his hook. ‘We’ll have another Martini first and while you drink it you’d better come clean.’ There was warmth in his smile, but his eyes were watching Bond. ‘Just tell me one thing. What business have you got with my old friend Shady Tree?’ He gave his order to the waiter and sat forward in his chair and waited.
Bond finished his first Martini and lit a cigarette. He swivelled casually in his chair. The tables near them were empty. He turned back and faced the American.
‘You tell me something first, Felix,’ he said softly. ‘Who are you working for these days? Still the C.I.A.?’
‘Nix,’ said Leiter. ‘With my gun hand gone they could only offer me desk work. Very nice about it and paid me off handsomely when I said I wanted an open-air life. So Pinkerton’s made me a good offer. You know, “The Eye that Never Sleeps” people. So now I’m just a “door-basher” – private detective. “Put on some clothes and open up” routine. But it’s good fun. They’re a nice crowd to work with, and one day I’ll be able to retire with a pension and a presentation gold watch that goes green in summer. As a matter of fact I’m in charge of their Race Gang squad – doping, crooked running, night-guards at the stables, all that sort of thing. Good job, and it takes you all over the country.’
‘Sounds all right,’ said Bond. ‘But I didn’t know you knew anything about horses.’
‘Usen’t to be able to recognize a horse unless there was a milk-wagon tied on behind,’ admitted Leiter. ‘But you soon pick it up, and it’s mostly the people you have to know about, not the horses. What about you?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Still with the Old Firm?’
‘That’s right,’ said Bond.
‘On a job for them now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Undercover?’
‘Yes.’
Leiter sighed. He sipped his Martini reflectively. ‘Well,’ he said finally. ‘You’re a damn fool to be operating alone if it’s anything to do with the Spangled boys. In fact, you’re such a bad risk I’m crazy even to be having lunch with you. But I’ll tell you why I was gumshoeing around Shady’s neck of the woods this morning and maybe we can help each other. Without involving our outfits, of course. Okay?’
‘You know I’d like to work with you, Felix,’ said Bond seriously. ‘But I’m still working for the Government while you’re probably in competition with yours. But if it turns out our target’s the same, there’s no sense in getting wires crossed. If we’re chasing the same hare, I’ll be happy to run with you. Now,’ Bond looked quizzically at the Texan. ‘Am I right in thinking you’re interested in someone with a blaze face and four white stockings? Called “Shy Smile”?’
‘That’s right,’ said Leiter, not particularly surprised. ‘Running at Saratoga on Tuesday. And what might the running of this horse have to do with the security of the British Empire?’
‘I’ve been told to back him,’ said Bond. ‘One thousand dollars to win. Pay-off for another job.’ Bond lifted up his cigarette and his hand covered his mouth. ‘I brought £100,000 worth of uncut diamonds in by plane this morning for Mr Spang and his friends.’
Leiter’s eyes narrowed. He gave a low whistle of surprise. ‘Boy!’ he said respectfully. ‘You’re certainly in a bigger league than me. I’m only interested because “Shy Smile” is a ringer. The horse that’s due to win on Tuesday won’t be “Shy Smile” at all. “Shy Smile” wasn’t even placed the last three times he ran. And anyway they’ve shot him. It’ll be a very fast job called “Pickapepper”. Just by chance he’s got a blaze face and four white stockings, too. Big chestnut, and they’ve done a good job with his hooves and various other small points of difference. They’ve been getting this job ready for over a year. Out in the desert in Nevada, where the Spangs have some sort of a ranch. And are they going to clean up! It’s a big race, with $25,000 added. And you can bet they’ll plaster the country with their money just before the off. Can’t fail to be better than Fives. More like Ten or Fifteen to One. They’ll make a packet.’
‘But I thought all horses in America had to have their lips tattooed,’ said Bond. ‘How have they got round that?’
‘Grafted new skin on to “Pickapepper’s” mouth. Copied “Shy Smile’s” marks on it. This tattoo gimmick is getting old fashioned. The word in Pinkerton’s is that the Jockey Club are going to change to photos of the night eyes.’
‘What are night eyes?’
‘They’re those callouses on the inside of a horse’s knees. The English call them “chestnuts”. Seems they’re different on every horse. Like a man’s finger-prints. But it’ll be the same old story. They’ll photo the night eyes on every racehorse in America and then find the gangs have dreamed up a way of altering them with acid. The cops never catch up with the robbers.’
‘How do you know all this about “Shy Smile”?’
‘Blackmail,’ said Leiter cheerfully. ‘I had a drugging rap all lined up on one of the Spang stable boys. I let him buy his way out of it with the details of this little caper.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘Remains to be seen. Going up to Saratoga on Sunday.’ Leiter’s face lit up. ‘Hell, why don’t you come along with me? Driving up, and I’ll get you in at my dump. The “Sagamore”. Swanky motel. You’ve got to sleep somewhere. Better not be seen out together much, but we’ll be able to meet up in the evenings. What do you say?’
‘Wonderful,’ said Bond. ‘Couldn’t be better. And now it’s damn near two o’clock. Let’s have some lunch and I’ll tell you my end of the story.’
The smoked salmon was from Nova Scotia and a poor substitute for the product of Scotland, but the Brizzola was all that Leiter had said, so tender that Bond could cut it with a fork. He finished his lunch with half an avocado with French dressing and then dawdled over his Espresso.
‘And that’s the long and short of it.’ Bond concluded the story he had been telling between mouthfuls. ‘And my guess is that the Spangs are doing the smuggling and the House of Diamonds, which they own, is doing the merchandising. Any views?’
Leiter tapped a Lucky Strike out on to the table with his left hand and lit it at the flame of Bond’s Ronson.
‘Sounds possible,’ he agreed after a pause. ‘But I don’t know much about this brother of Seraffimo, Jack Spang. And if Jack Spang is “Saye” it’s the first I’ve heard of him for a long while. We’ve got records on all the rest of the mob, and I’ve come across Tiffany Case. Nice kid, but she’s been on the fringe of the gangs for years. Didn’t have much chance from the cradle up. Her mother ran the snazziest cat-house in San Francisco. Doing fine until she made one hell of a mistake. Decided one day not to pay the local outfit’s protection money. She was paying the police so much I guess she reckoned they’d look after her. Crazy. One night the mob turned up in force and wrecked the joint. Left the girls alone, but had themselves a gang-bang with Tiffany. She was only sixteen at the time. Not surprising she won’t have anything to do with men since then. Next day she got hold of her mother’s cash box, busted it open, and took to the hills. Then the usual round – hat-check girl, taxi-dancer, studio extra, waitress – until she was about twenty. Then maybe life didn’t seem so good and she took to liquor. Settled in a rooming house down on one of the Florida Keys and started drinking herself to death. Got so she was known as “The Boiled Sweet” down there. Then a kid fell in the sea and she jumped in and saved him. Got her name in the papers and some rich woman took a fancy to her and practically kidnapped her. Made her join “Alcoholics Anonymous” and then took her around the world as her companion. But Tiffany skipped when they got to ’Frisco and went and lived with her old Ma who had retired from the girl game by then. But she never would settle down and I guess she found life a bit quiet so she went on the lam again and ended up in Reno. Worked at Harold’s Club
for a bit. Came across our friend Seraffimo, and he got all excited because she wouldn’t sleep with him. Offered her some sort of a job at the Tiara at Las Vegas and she’s been there for the last year or two. Doing these trips to Europe in between, I suppose. But she’s a good kid. Just never had a chance after what the gang did to her.’
Bond saw again the eyes gazing sullenly at him out of the mirror, and he heard the record playing ‘Feuilles Mortes’ in the lonely room. ‘I like her,’ he said briefly. He felt Felix Leiter’s eyes watching him speculatively. He looked at his watch. ‘Well, Felix,’ he said. ‘It looks as if we’ve got hold of the same tiger. But by different tails. It’s going to be fun pulling at them both at the same time. Now I’m going to go and get some sleep. Got a room at the Astor. Where shall we meet on Sunday?’
‘Better keep away from this part of town,’ said Leiter. ‘Meet you outside the Plaza. Early, so we can avoid the traffic on the Parkway. Let’s say nine o’clock. By the cab-stand. You know, where the horse-cabs are. Then if I’m late you can get to recognize a horse. Useful up at Saratoga.’
He paid the check and they walked down and out on to the grilling street. Bond hailed a cab. Leiter refused a lift. Instead he took Bond affectionately by the arm.
‘Just one thing, James,’ he said, and his voice was serious. ‘You may not think the hell of a lot of American gangsters. Compared with SMERSH for instance, and some of the other folk you’ve been up against. But I can tell you these Spangled boys are the tops. They’ve got a good machine, even if they do care to have funny names. And they’ve got protection. That’s how it is in America these days. But don’t misunderstand me. They really stink. And this job of yours stinks too.’ Leiter let go of Bond’s arm and watched him climb into the taxi. Then he leant in through the window.
‘And do you know what your job stinks of, you dumb bastard?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘Formaldehyde and lilies.’
9 ....... BITTER CHAMPAGNE
‘I’M NOT going to sleep with you,’ said Tiffany Case in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘so don’t waste your money getting me tight. But I’ll have another and probably another one after that. I just don’t want to drink your Vodka Martinis under false pretences.’
Bond laughed. He gave the order and turned back to her. ‘We haven’t ordered dinner yet,’ he said. ‘I was going to suggest shellfish and Hock. That might have changed your mind. The combination’s supposed to have quite an effect.’
‘Listen, Bond,’ said Tiffany Case, ‘it’d take more than Crabmeat Ravigotte to get me into bed with a man. In any event, since it’s your check, I’m going to have caviar, and what you English call “cutlets”, and some pink champagne. I don’t often date a good-looking Englishman and the dinner’s going to live up to the occasion.’ Suddenly she leant towards him and reached out a hand and put it over his. ‘Sorry,’ she said abruptly. ‘I didn’t mean that about the check. The dinner’s on me. But I did mean it about the occasion.’
Bond smiled into her eyes. ‘Don’t be a goose, Tiffany,’ he said, using her name for the first time. ‘I’ve been longing for this evening. And I’m going to have just the same as you. And I’ve got plenty of money for the check. Mr Tree tossed me double or quits for five hundred dollars this morning, and I won.’
At the mention of Shady Tree, the girl’s manner changed. ‘That ought to cover it,’ she said toughly. ‘Just. You know what they say about this joint? “All you can eat for only three hundred bucks.”’
The waiter brought the Martinis, shaken and not stirred, as Bond had stipulated, and some slivers of lemon peel in a wine glass. Bond twisted two of them and let them sink to the bottom of his drink. He picked up his glass and looked at the girl over the rim. ‘We haven’t drunk to the success of a mission,’ he said.
The girl’s mouth turned down sarcastically at the corners. She drank half the Martini at a gulp and put the glass down firmly on the table. ‘Or to the heart-clutch I only just survived,’ she said dryly. ‘You and your damn golf. I thought you were going to tell that man all about the chip shot you holed in oughty-ought. A little encouragement and you’d have taken out a club and one of those balls and shown him your swing.’
‘You made me nervous. Clicking away at that damn lighter trying to get your cigarette to work. I bet you put the wrong end of that Parliament in your mouth and lit the filter.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘You must have got eyes in your ears,’ she admitted. ‘Damn nearly did just that. Okay. We’ll call it quits.’ She finished her Martini. ‘Come on. You’re not much of a spender. I want another of these. I’m beginning to enjoy myself. And how about ordering dinner? Or d’you hope I’ll pass out before you get around to it?’
Bond beckoned to the maître d’hotel. He gave the order, and the wine waiter, who came from Brooklyn but wore a striped jacket and a green apron and had a silver chain with a tasting-cup round his neck, went off for the Clicquot Rosé.
‘If I have a son,’ said Bond, ‘I’ll give him just one piece of advice when he comes of age. I’ll say “Spend your money how you like, but don’t buy yourself anything that eats”.’
‘Hell’n’ Marier,’ said the girl. ‘I must say this really is life with a small l. Can’t you tell me something nice about my dress or something instead of grumbling the whole time about how expensive I am? You know what they say. “If you don’t like my peaches, why do you shake my tree?” ’
‘I haven’t started to shake it yet. You won’t let me get my arms round the trunk.’
She laughed and looked with approval at Bond. ‘Why Heavens to Betsy, Mistah Bond,’ she said. ‘Yo all sure do say the purtiest things to a gal.’
‘And as for the frock,’ Bond continued, ‘it’s a dream, and you know it is. I love black velvet, especially against a sunburnt skin, and I’m glad you don’t wear too much jewellery, and I’m glad you don’t paint your fingernails. Altogether, I bet you’re the prettiest smuggler in New York tonight. Who are you smuggling with tomorrow?’
She picked up her third Martini and looked at it. Then very slowly, in three swallows, she drank it down. She put down the glass and took a Parliament out of the box beside her plate and bent towards the flame of Bond’s lighter. The valley between her breasts opened for him. She looked up at him through the smoke of her cigarette, and suddenly her eyes widened and then slowly narrowed again. ‘I like you,’ they said. ‘All is possible between us. But don’t be impatient. And be kind. I don’t want to be hurt any more.’
And then the waiter came with the caviar, and suddenly the noise of the restaurant burst into the warm, silent room-within-a-room which they had built for themselves, and the spell was broken.
‘What am I doing tomorrow?’ repeated Tiffany Case in the voice one puts on in front of waiters. ‘Why, I’m going to sashay off to Las Vegas. Taking the 20th Century to Chicago and then the Superchief to Los Angeles. It’s a long way round, but I’ve had enough flying for a few days. What about you?’
The waiter had gone. For a while they ate their caviar in silence. There was no need to answer the question immediately. Bond suddenly felt they had all the time in the world. They both knew the answer to the big question. For the answers to small ones there was no hurry.
Bond sat back. The wine waiter brought the champagne and Bond tasted it. It was ice cold and seemed to have a faint taste of strawberries. It was delicious.
‘I’m going up to Saratoga,’ he said. ‘I’m to back a horse that’s to make me some money.’
‘I suppose it’s a fix,’ said Tiffany Case sourly. She drank some of the champagne. Her mood had changed again. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You seem to have made quite a hit with Shady this morning,’ she said indifferently. ‘He wants to put you to work for the mob.’
Bond looked down into the pink pool of champagne. He could feel the fog of treachery creeping up between him and this girl he liked. He closed his mind to it. He must get on with tricking her.
‘That’s fine,’ he said easily. �
��I’d like that. But who is “The Mob”?’ He busied himself with lighting a cigarette, conjuring up the professional to keep the human quiet.
He could feel her looking sharply at him. It put him on his mettle. The secret agent took over and his mind began to work coldly, watching for clues, for lies, for hesitations.
He looked up and his eyes were candid.
She seemed satisfied. ‘It’s called the Spangled Mob. Two brothers called Spang. I work for one of them in Las Vegas. Nobody seems to know where the other one is. Some say he’s in Europe. And then there’s somebody called A B C. When I’m on this diamond racket, all the orders come from him. The other one, Seraffimo, he’s the brother I work for. He’s more interested in gambling and horses. Runs a wire service and the Tiara at Vegas.’
‘What do you do there?’
‘I just work there,’ she said, closing the subject.
‘Do you like it?’
She ignored the question as being too stupid to answer.
‘And then there’s Shady,’ she went on. ‘He’s not a bad guy really, except he’s so crooked, you shake hands with him you better count your fingers afterwards. He looks after the cat-houses and the dope and the rest of the stuff. There are plenty of other fellers – hoodlums of one sort and another. Tough operators.’ She looked at him and her eyes hardened. ‘You’ll get to know them,’ she sneered. ‘You’ll like them. Just your type.’
‘Hell,’ said Bond indignantly. ‘It’s just another job. I’ve got to earn some money.’
‘There are plenty of other ways.’
‘Well, these are the people you’ve chosen to work for.’
‘You’ve got something there.’ She laughed wryly, and the ice was broken again. ‘But, believe me, you’re getting into the big league when you sign up with the Spangles. If I were you, I’d think the hell of a long time before you join our cosy little circle. And don’t go and get in wrong with the mob. If you’re planning anything of that sort, you’d better start taking lessons with a harp.’