007 Complete Series - 21 James Bond Novels in One Volume. Ian Fleming
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short powerful arms in the expensive yellow silk shirt, cut to make room for the barrel-like chest and its sharp hump.
‘I like to have a good look at the people we employ, Mr Bond.’ The voice was sharp and pitched high.
Bond smiled politely.
‘London tells me you have killed a man. I believe them. I can see you are capable of it. Would you like to do more work for us?’
‘It depends what it is,’ said Bond. ‘Or rather,’ he hoped he was not being too theatrical, ‘how much you pay.’
The hunchback gave a short squeal of laughter. He turned abruptly to the driver. ‘Rocky, get those balls out of the bag and cut them open. Here’; he gave a quick shake of his right arm and held his open hand out to the driver. On it lay a double-bladed knife with a flat handle bound with adhesive tape. Bond recognized it as a throwing knife. He had to admit that the bit of legerdemain had been neatly executed.
‘Yes, boss,’ said the driver, and Bond noticed the alacrity with which he took the knife and knelt on the floor to unstrap the ball-pocket of the golf bag.
The hunchback walked away from Bond and back to his chair. He sat down and picked up the glass of milk. He looked at it with distaste and swallowed the contents in two huge gulps. He looked at Bond as if for comment.
‘Ulcers?’ asked Bond sympathetically.
‘Who spoke to you?’ said the hunchback angrily. His anger was transferred to the driver. ‘What are you waiting for, Rocky? Put those balls on the table where I can see what you’re doing. The number on the ball is the centre of the plug. Dig ’em out.’
‘Coming, boss,’ said the driver. He stood up from the floor and put the six new balls on the desk. Five of them were still in their black wrapping. He took the sixth and turned it round in his fingers. Then he picked up the knife and dug its point into the cover of the ball and levered. A half-inch circular section of the ball came away on the tip of the blade and he passed the ball across the desk to the hunchback, who tipped the contents, three uncut stones of ten to fifteen carats, on to the leather surface of the desk.
The hunchback moodily poked the stones with his finger.
The driver went on with his work until Bond counted eighteen stones on the table. They were unimpressive in their rough state but if they were of top quality Bond could easily believe they might be worth £100,000 after cutting.
‘Okay, Rocky,’ said the hunchback. ‘Eighteen. That’s the lot. Now get those goddam golf-sticks out of here and send the boy to the Astor with them and this guy’s bags. He’s registered there. Have them sent up to his room. Okay?’
‘Okay, boss.’ The driver left the knife and the empty golf balls on the table, strapped up the ball-pocket on Bond’s bag, hoisted the bag on his shoulder and left the room.
Bond went over to a chair against the wall, pulled it over to face the hunchback across the desk and sat down. He took a cigarette and lit it. He looked across at the hunchback and said ‘And now, if you’re happy, I’d be glad of those $5000.’
The hunchback, who had been carefully watching Bond’s movements, lowered his eyes to the untidy pile of diamonds in front of him. He poked them into a circle. Then he looked up at Bond.
‘You will be paid in full, Mr Bond,’ the high voice was precise and businesslike. ‘And you may get more than $5000. But the method of payment will be devised as much for your protection as for ours. There will be no direct payment. And you will understand why, Mr Bond, because you will have made pay-offs during your career of burglary. It is very dangerous for a man suddenly to be flush with money. He talks about it. He throws it around. And if the cops catch up with him and ask him where it all came from he hasn’t got an answer. Agree?’
‘Yes,’ said Bond surprised by the sanity and authority of what the man was saying. ‘That makes sense.’
‘So,’ said the hunchback, ‘I and my friends pay only very seldom and in small amounts for services rendered. Instead, we arrange for the guy to make the money on his own account. Take yourself. How much money have you got in your pocket?’
‘About three pounds and some silver,’ said Bond.
‘All right,’ said the hunchback. ‘Today you met your friend Mr Tree.’ He pointed a finger at his chest. ‘Which is me. A perfectly respectable citizen whom you knew in England in 1945 when he was concerned with the disposal of Army surplus goods. Remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘I owed you $500 for a bridge game we had at the Savoy. Remember?’
Bond nodded.
‘When we meet today I toss you double or quits for it. And you win. Okay? So you now have $1000 and I, a tax-paying citizen, will support your story. Here is the money.’ The hunchback took a wallet out of his hip-pocket and pushed ten $100 bills across the table.
Bond picked them up and put them casually in the pocket of his coat.
‘And then,’ continued the hunchback, ‘you say you’d like to see some horse-racing while you’re over here. So I say to you “Why not go and take a look at Saratoga? The meeting begins on Monday.” And you say okay, and you go on up to Saratoga, with your thousand bucks in your pocket. Okay?’
‘Fine,’ said Bond.
‘And you back a horse there. And it pays off at least fives. So you have your $5000 and if anybody asks where it came from, you earned it and you can prove it.’
‘What if the horse loses?’
‘It won’t.’
Bond made no comment. So he was getting somewhere already – into the gangster world with a bang. The racing end of it. He looked across into the pale china eyes. It was impossible to tell whether they were receptive. They stared blankly back at him. But now for the big step through the cut-out.
‘Well, that’s fine,’ said Bond, hoping that flattery was the key. ‘You people certainly seem to think things out. I like working for careful people.’
There was no encouragement in the china eyes.
‘I’d like to stay away from England for a bit. I suppose you couldn’t do with an extra hand?’
The china eyes shifted away from his and inched reflectively over Bond’s face and shoulders as if the hunchback was judging horseflesh. Then the man looked down at the circle of diamonds in front of him and carefully, thoughtfully, poked it into a square.
There was silence in the room. Bond looked at his fingernails.
At last the hunchback looked up at him again. ‘Could be,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Could be there’d be something else for you. You made no mistakes so far. You go on that way and keep your nose clean. Call me up after the race and I’ll tell you what the word is. But, like I said, just take it easy and do what you’re told. Okay?’
Bond’s muscles relaxed. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why should I get out of line? I’m looking for a job. And you can tell your outfit that I’m not particular so long as the pay’s good.’
For the first time the china eyes showed emotion. They looked hurt and angry and Bond wondered if he had overplayed.
‘Who d’you think we are?’ the hunchback’s voice rose to an indignant squeak. ‘Some sort of a cheap crook outfit? Well, hell.’ He shrugged his shoulders resignedly. ‘Can’t expect a Limey to understand the way things are over here these days.’ The eyes went dull again. ‘Now listen to what I say. This is my number. Put it down. Wisconsin 7-3697. And write this down, too. But keep it to yourself or you may get your tongue cut out.’ Shady Tree’s short, shrill laugh was not merry. ‘Fourth race on Tuesday. The Perpetuities Stakes. Mile and a quarter for Three Year Olds. And put your money on just before the windows close. You’ll shift the odds with that Grand of yours. Okay?’
‘Okay,’