I do realise that not everyone is reading this thread in real time, so if somebody is wondering about what James Bond was up to at Roswell, which he won't enlighten Felix Leiter about in the most recent story, find out on p149 starting at post 4462. The story's called "1947 Chevrolet".
It didn’t matter how many times he returned here, the view of Jamaica from the air always entranced James Bond with its sheer beauty. The island seemed even more like a paradise to him than usual as the plane headed in, since it had been so long since his last visit. Of course he had been to San Monique since, and they were most remarkably similar, but Jamaica held so many memories for him. One day, he thought, I’m going to build a villa on the coast and retire here.
Miss Moneypenny hadn’t been able to book a flight for him to Norman Manley International, which would have brought even more specific memories back to him, so the plane was landing at Montego Bay Airport. As he disembarked his mind went back to M’s office, just yesterday.
“You’ve never met the current Head of Station in Jamaica, I believe, 007”, M had begun.
“No, sir, not yet”, Bond replied.
“He’s a good man”, M puffed his pipe between words. “Name’s Arnold Davidson. You might find yourself meeting him soon. He contacted us with an interesting story. Seems a young lady called at his home and asked to see him, most urgently”.
“Did she explain how she knew how to contact him?”
“It’s always the same in these kinds of places”, said M, “everyone knows who the local people are for us, the CIA, and so on. You can practically get in a taxi and ask and be taken there. Anyway, the girl, I suppose I really should say young woman, asked for you by name. Says she needs your help, and fast”.
“Did she say why?”
“No, just that you have to go there, it’s urgent. And she has even stipulated which hotel you’ve to stay at while you’re there. The Courtyard”.
Bond raised an eyebrow.
“This has gone from strange to suspicious, sir”, he said. “It sounds exactly like a trap”.
“It does. Of course, you don’t have to go. I’ll quite understand”.
“You know better than that, sir. I’m as curious as you are. Of course I’ll go”.
“Miss Moneypenny has your tickets all ready for you, 007. Stay in touch”.
As Bond picked up his luggage he smiled ruefully. The old man had known fine that Bond wouldn’t have said no.
Bond emerged from his taxi with his suitcase and knocked on the door of the two-storey house with the neatly kept garden. A grey-haired man answered and smiled.
“Excuse me”, said Bond, “I’m looking for Universal Export”.
“Then you’ve come to the right place”, the man said.
“And would you be the local representative?”
“None other. Come in, come in”.
The recognition codes had got simpler through the years – easier to remember and less conspicuous if in public. They shook hands and Bond was waved to a seat.
“Now, 007, isn’t it? I’m Arnold. Drink?”
“It’s James. Yes, a vodka martini, shaken not stirred please. I was sent here with no ceremony and not much in the way of details”.
“Yes, yes”, said Arnold as he prepared their drinks, “I really don’t have much to tell you that you don’t already know. A young woman, early twenties, dark hair. Said she needed help and had been told that you were the man to contact”.
Bond frowned.
“Did she say who told her that?”
“No, afraid not”, said Arnold. “The only other thing she said was that you must stay at the Courtyard Hotel. Don’t know why”.
The Courtyard was one of the most expensive hotels in Kingston, in all of Jamaica in fact. It positively shone in a modern way, too modern for Bond’s taste. He walked into the foyer, passing a sign for tonight’s entertainment, and checked in. His room was soft and comfortable and passable. After a hot then cold shower, he changed into fresh clothes and headed for the bar. It, too, was shiny.
After the best part of an hour sipping at his vodka martini it seemed as if he wouldn’t be contacted there and he headed back up to his room. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he set up a small card table out of direct line of sight from the door, brought out a pack of cards, and began to play a game for one.
It didn’t take long. His door softly opened – whoever it was must have had a pass key – and a slim shape stepped in. He pressed a switch and the room flooded with light.
She hadn’t even been surprised, which he realised later wasn’t unusual for her. She turned calmly and looked at him as he stood, her long dark hair framing her face.
'Miss Moneypenny, forget the usual repartee...007 is in a hurry.'
'And one more thing...before he leaves for Jamaica, please give him the guitar strings we purchased from the Duesenberg store, so that he can hand them over to the Head of Station...'
'That fellow always ends up breaking the e-string on that shiny guitar of his...'
“I knew you would say that”, she said, looking into his eyes. “Look more closely, would you, please?”
Puzzled, Bond now realised that although the resemblance was strong this wasn’t Solitaire. Too young, for one thing …
“You’re her daughter”, Bond said as he finally understood. “You’re Solitaire’s daughter. What’s your name?”
“You’re supposed to be good at working things out, Mr Bond”, she said, smiling. “You can work out my name easily enough”.
He smiled back. “Simone Latrelle, just like your mother’s real name”.
“Well, to be exact I’m Simone Latrelle Junior – but since nobody ever calls my mother anything except “Solitaire” the Junior part isn’t really necessary”.
He smiled and held out his hand which she took after a moment’s hesitation. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Simone Latrelle Junior. Would you care for a drink?”
“Just a soft one, thanks”.
As he prepared their drinks, Bond said, “So you are the young lady who called on our man here and asked for my help. Well, I’m here, and I’m also guessing it was your mother who told you about me and where to get in touch with me”.
She accepted the drink with a nod.
“Mother told me just exactly that”, she said.
“Before we go any further, Simone”, said Bond as he sat down again, “why was it necessary for me to take a room at this exact hotel? That made us suspicious, you know”.
“It couldn’t be helped. I have the same power as my mother – some call it “the sight”, or even “telepathy”, but I honestly don’t know what it is. I know I can see things that other people can’t, that’s all there is to it. Sometimes I can see the future, always I can tell when someone is lying, and yes, I can read minds to a degree. Anyway, to answer your question, I have a job here in this hotel, working in the cabaret in the evenings, so that’s why I wanted you to come here where I could arrange to meet you discreetly. And it was easy to get a pass key – I just looked in the desk clerk’s mind to see where they were kept, and to get your room number”.
Bond let out the breath he had been holding. He remembered Solitaire and her abilities well and though not a superstitious man by nature he was easily prepared to believe that Simone was telling the truth. He now recalled the sign advertising a magic act that he had paid no attention to on the way in.
“All right”, he said, “that takes care of the “how”. Now, please, tell me “why”. Why have you brought me here?”
“One night some men came to see my act. They knew enough to be able to see that it was not faked like the usual magic acts you see on stage, that I really could do what I say I can do. They asked me to come work for them. I refused. The next day my mother was kidnapped. They left a note saying that if I wanted to see her again then I would have to do what they told me”.
“So what did you do?” asked Bond, his eyes hardening.
“Like I told you, I can see the future – or different possible futures anyway, it’s hard to explain. I could see that if I went to work for them they would keep my mother in their power so that I would have to keep on working for them forever. So I remembered that my mother had told me that if ever I was in a bad situation and needed help, I should contact you and she told me how to do it”.
Bond had no intention of refusing. Solitaire held a deep place in his heart and he would willingly help her in any circumstances.
“All right”, he said, “I’ll help”.
Simone sighed in relief. “I am so glad to hear you say that. I have one more thing to tell you, but I’m relieved you said that first”.
“What?” said Bond, puzzled. “I don’t understand”.
“Well, let’s do some simple mathematics. You knew my mother in 1973, this is 1994, and I’m twenty-one years old. If that isn’t enough, take a closer look at my eyes. Mother was very happy about my eyes”.
He stared into her grey/blue eyes and only now recognised them. Most mornings they stared back at him from the bathroom mirror.
“She said they reminded her of you”, Simone Latrelle Junior said.
To Be Continued
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 31,034Chief of Staff
What a twist! And all these so called professional continuation authors have missed out on a great plot. Step forward and take a bow Barbel, once again this is tremendous work 👏
Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
A hired car was easy to arrange; rather more expensive than he had anticipated, but then he hadn’t been to Jamaica for years. He drove off down the always beautiful coast road and before too long he had found once more the neat cluster of small houses along the shore he had been looking for but this time he didn’t need to count to make sure he had the right one.
He gave a loud knock on the door which was almost instantly responded to. The big man’s look of suspicion was succeeded by a smile that threatened to split his face in two, the dazzling white teeth contrasting vividly with the dark skin.
“Commander Bond!” he almost yelled, a huge arm pulling them close together.
Through his own smile of genuine happiness, Bond managed to say, “How many times do I have to tell you, Quarrel, it’s “James”, okay?”
Quarrel Jr led the way into the small, tidy room. The photographs Bond recalled from his last visit here had been augmented with several of Quarrel’s late mother, who Bond remembered well.
“I was sorry to hear about your mother”, Bond said. “I was halfway around the world when word got to me”.
Quarrel waved that away with one hand while he waved Bond to a comfortable seat with the other.
“I understand, James. You’re a man who gets around, who has things to see to. And I’m guessing you’re seeing to some things right now, yeah?”
Quarrel opened the refrigerator and took out two Red Stripes, opened them and passed one to Bond.
“I am”, Bond said, “but it’s still good to see you again, Quarrel. You want to tell me what you’ve been up to?”
Again Quarrel waved a big hand.
“It don’t matter. Now, you wanna tell me why you’ve come here?”
Bond’s mind went back to his hotel room.
James Bond had been through many experiences in his life. Some had been very pleasant, others a lot less so, but none of them had prepared him for this. He stood up, a victim to the male urge to do something, anything, when a severe emotional impact had just arrived. He didn’t know if he felt good or bad. He had never felt this strange feeling before and had nothing to compare it to.
“You’re my … “, he managed to say.
Simone took one of his hands.
“Yes, at least I think so. You might want to have blood tests taken to be absolutely sure, but I think we both know it’s true. My mother told me that there hadn’t been anyone before you, and we both know we can believe her”.
Yes, thought Bond, we certainly can. He remembered how things had been very well. He had used a rigged pack of tarot cards to make her see things his way and never given a thought to the chance that there would perhaps be consequences twenty-one years later. Beginning to adjust to the situation, he was surprised to find that he was a lot happier about having a child than he had expected he would be.
“All right”, he said awkwardly, “I can accept the situation, and I am very pleased to meet you, Si –“
“Oh stop that right now!” she laughed. “Stop being the stiff-ass Brit and give me a hug – immediately!”
She threw her arms around him and after only a second he responded, joining in with her laugh. He spun her round off her feet, and she kissed him happily on the cheek.
“Now, first things first”, she said, “do you want me to call you “Dad” or “Daddy” or even “Father” if you want to be formal? Of course, I could call you “Mr Bond” but that would be a little strange”.
He held her at arms’ length.
“You call me “James”, all right? You’re not a little child, and I don’t have any other family that might object”.
“James it is”.
“Now, I’m still getting used to this, but we have a task before us. No doubt these men told you where you had to go if you accepted their conditions”.
“Yes, they told me to go to the Sole de Fillet bar at the edge of Kingston. I’ve heard of it, it’s not a very nice place. If I go there and work for them they said they would let me see my mother”.
“Simone, I don’t have the same gift as you but I think that would be a very bad move. Both for you and for your mother. They will keep her prisoner, just like you said, to make you do whatever it is they want you to do”.
“So what should I do, then?” she asked.
“For the moment you do nothing. I’m going to look into this, and I believe I might need some help, and I know just the man to ask about that”.
Bond finished filling Quarrel in and put his beer down, shaking his head at the offer of another.
“I know that place, James”, he said. “It ain’t a place I would go by choice, but if you want a look at it I’ll go along with you”.
“I hoped you would say that”, said Bond. “I’ve got a car outside and you can show me the way to go”.
“Just one moment, first – seems to me I remember you always carried a gun, do you still do that?”
Bond showed him.
“Right. I’ll take ol’ Betsy here”.
He reached over to a drawer and produced a large knife, smiling at Bond’s look.
“It comes in handy when out fishing, that’s all. I don’t normally take it out for a drink with me, but this time I think I just might. And there’s one more thing I want to say. Just you be careful, my friend – I can’t think of anything worse than to suddenly find out you have a daughter you hadn’t known about and then, in no time, to die yourself. That would be a terrible end”.
Bond nodded. “You’re right, Quarrel. That sounds awful”.
The bar lived down to the impression both Simone and Quarrel had given. It needed a fresh lick of paint and clearly had done for some years. The only bright thing about it was the neon sign announcing Sole de Fillet over the door. They went inside, their eyes adjusting to the dimness of the interior after the bright sun.
Quarrel did the ordering and Bond did the paying, both aware of the unsympathetic eyes upon them of the customers and sullen barmen. They sat down at a table near a small grimy stage.
“They have entertainment here?” asked Bond.
“Strippers, mainly. Maybe a comedian”.
“I don’t suppose you –“
His words were cut off by a sudden whooshing sound as the dimness became complete darkness. With an unwelcome feeling of déjà vu Bond realised that their table had been pulled down through the floor and they were in a cellar below. He pulled his gun out as a strong light abruptly shone on them.
“Hold it. Don’t move”.
The voice came from somewhere behind the light, which meant that the owner of it could see them but they couldn’t see him. Bond froze and felt Quarrel do the same. They were relieved of their weapons within seconds by at least two men.
“Over here”.
Stumbling they were led to two chairs at a table. The lights started to fade to a more normal level until they could see that they were being held at gunpoint and that someone was sitting at the head of the table. A man, a very tall thin man. His features came into focus as Bond blinked to adjust his eyes. The man had a hat on. A top hat. One side of his face was painted chalk white, the other his natural black.
A deep voice said, “Hello, Mr Bond. It’s good to see you again”.
Comments
I understand, but that’s also part of the fun 😁
Great storytelling 🍸
Thanks! 😀
That was very enjoyable, thank you Barbel 👏
And my thanks to you, Sir Miles, @chrisno1, @Sonero and everyone else for your support.
A special thanks to Sonero for the artwork.
Here's where the title came from-
Take a look at this video, 'elton john shoot down the moon' https://share.google/cRmnnwIJLdBnqfKw5
I do realise that not everyone is reading this thread in real time, so if somebody is wondering about what James Bond was up to at Roswell, which he won't enlighten Felix Leiter about in the most recent story, find out on p149 starting at post 4462. The story's called "1947 Chevrolet".
A few pages back, chrisno1 and I wrote a story called "Edelweiss". He's arranged it as a novella rather than daily episodes at https://www.ajb007.co.uk/discussion/55674/fan-fiction-james-bond-fan-fiction-novels#latest
And finally, another story will appear very soon.
For those who missed the Barbel/chrisno1 collaboration Edelweiss, I highly recommend reading it from the link above.
I second that.
'Edelweiss' was a very well written story by Barbel and chrisno1.
Thank you, guys.
Illustration by Sonero
THE UNDERTAKER’S WIND
1994
Chapter One
It didn’t matter how many times he returned here, the view of Jamaica from the air always entranced James Bond with its sheer beauty. The island seemed even more like a paradise to him than usual as the plane headed in, since it had been so long since his last visit. Of course he had been to San Monique since, and they were most remarkably similar, but Jamaica held so many memories for him. One day, he thought, I’m going to build a villa on the coast and retire here.
Miss Moneypenny hadn’t been able to book a flight for him to Norman Manley International, which would have brought even more specific memories back to him, so the plane was landing at Montego Bay Airport. As he disembarked his mind went back to M’s office, just yesterday.
“You’ve never met the current Head of Station in Jamaica, I believe, 007”, M had begun.
“No, sir, not yet”, Bond replied.
“He’s a good man”, M puffed his pipe between words. “Name’s Arnold Davidson. You might find yourself meeting him soon. He contacted us with an interesting story. Seems a young lady called at his home and asked to see him, most urgently”.
“Did she explain how she knew how to contact him?”
“It’s always the same in these kinds of places”, said M, “everyone knows who the local people are for us, the CIA, and so on. You can practically get in a taxi and ask and be taken there. Anyway, the girl, I suppose I really should say young woman, asked for you by name. Says she needs your help, and fast”.
“Did she say why?”
“No, just that you have to go there, it’s urgent. And she has even stipulated which hotel you’ve to stay at while you’re there. The Courtyard”.
Bond raised an eyebrow.
“This has gone from strange to suspicious, sir”, he said. “It sounds exactly like a trap”.
“It does. Of course, you don’t have to go. I’ll quite understand”.
“You know better than that, sir. I’m as curious as you are. Of course I’ll go”.
“Miss Moneypenny has your tickets all ready for you, 007. Stay in touch”.
As Bond picked up his luggage he smiled ruefully. The old man had known fine that Bond wouldn’t have said no.
Bond emerged from his taxi with his suitcase and knocked on the door of the two-storey house with the neatly kept garden. A grey-haired man answered and smiled.
“Excuse me”, said Bond, “I’m looking for Universal Export”.
“Then you’ve come to the right place”, the man said.
“And would you be the local representative?”
“None other. Come in, come in”.
The recognition codes had got simpler through the years – easier to remember and less conspicuous if in public. They shook hands and Bond was waved to a seat.
“Now, 007, isn’t it? I’m Arnold. Drink?”
“It’s James. Yes, a vodka martini, shaken not stirred please. I was sent here with no ceremony and not much in the way of details”.
“Yes, yes”, said Arnold as he prepared their drinks, “I really don’t have much to tell you that you don’t already know. A young woman, early twenties, dark hair. Said she needed help and had been told that you were the man to contact”.
Bond frowned.
“Did she say who told her that?”
“No, afraid not”, said Arnold. “The only other thing she said was that you must stay at the Courtyard Hotel. Don’t know why”.
The Courtyard was one of the most expensive hotels in Kingston, in all of Jamaica in fact. It positively shone in a modern way, too modern for Bond’s taste. He walked into the foyer, passing a sign for tonight’s entertainment, and checked in. His room was soft and comfortable and passable. After a hot then cold shower, he changed into fresh clothes and headed for the bar. It, too, was shiny.
After the best part of an hour sipping at his vodka martini it seemed as if he wouldn’t be contacted there and he headed back up to his room. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he set up a small card table out of direct line of sight from the door, brought out a pack of cards, and began to play a game for one.
It didn’t take long. His door softly opened – whoever it was must have had a pass key – and a slim shape stepped in. He pressed a switch and the room flooded with light.
She hadn’t even been surprised, which he realised later wasn’t unusual for her. She turned calmly and looked at him as he stood, her long dark hair framing her face.
“Hello, Solitaire”, said Bond.
To Be Continued
(Intercom buzz)
'Miss Moneypenny, forget the usual repartee...007 is in a hurry.'
'And one more thing...before he leaves for Jamaica, please give him the guitar strings we purchased from the Duesenberg store, so that he can hand them over to the Head of Station...'
'That fellow always ends up breaking the e-string on that shiny guitar of his...'
'Anyway...'
'Will do Sir...'
------
Great start Barbel 👏👏.
Looking forward to Chapter 2.
😅😅😅 Thanks, Sonero!
What a very interesting start…😁
…brought out a pack of cards, and began to play a game for one.
That’s when I knew Solitaire was going to appear 😁
Great start, looking forward to Chapter 2 👏
Oh, and another belter from you @Sonero 😁
Thank you for the kind appreciation @CoolHandBond.
And thank you, everyone. Part Two along shortly.
Chapter Two
“I knew you would say that”, she said, looking into his eyes. “Look more closely, would you, please?”
Puzzled, Bond now realised that although the resemblance was strong this wasn’t Solitaire. Too young, for one thing …
“You’re her daughter”, Bond said as he finally understood. “You’re Solitaire’s daughter. What’s your name?”
“You’re supposed to be good at working things out, Mr Bond”, she said, smiling. “You can work out my name easily enough”.
He smiled back. “Simone Latrelle, just like your mother’s real name”.
“Well, to be exact I’m Simone Latrelle Junior – but since nobody ever calls my mother anything except “Solitaire” the Junior part isn’t really necessary”.
He smiled and held out his hand which she took after a moment’s hesitation. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Simone Latrelle Junior. Would you care for a drink?”
“Just a soft one, thanks”.
As he prepared their drinks, Bond said, “So you are the young lady who called on our man here and asked for my help. Well, I’m here, and I’m also guessing it was your mother who told you about me and where to get in touch with me”.
She accepted the drink with a nod.
“Mother told me just exactly that”, she said.
“Before we go any further, Simone”, said Bond as he sat down again, “why was it necessary for me to take a room at this exact hotel? That made us suspicious, you know”.
“It couldn’t be helped. I have the same power as my mother – some call it “the sight”, or even “telepathy”, but I honestly don’t know what it is. I know I can see things that other people can’t, that’s all there is to it. Sometimes I can see the future, always I can tell when someone is lying, and yes, I can read minds to a degree. Anyway, to answer your question, I have a job here in this hotel, working in the cabaret in the evenings, so that’s why I wanted you to come here where I could arrange to meet you discreetly. And it was easy to get a pass key – I just looked in the desk clerk’s mind to see where they were kept, and to get your room number”.
Bond let out the breath he had been holding. He remembered Solitaire and her abilities well and though not a superstitious man by nature he was easily prepared to believe that Simone was telling the truth. He now recalled the sign advertising a magic act that he had paid no attention to on the way in.
“All right”, he said, “that takes care of the “how”. Now, please, tell me “why”. Why have you brought me here?”
“One night some men came to see my act. They knew enough to be able to see that it was not faked like the usual magic acts you see on stage, that I really could do what I say I can do. They asked me to come work for them. I refused. The next day my mother was kidnapped. They left a note saying that if I wanted to see her again then I would have to do what they told me”.
“So what did you do?” asked Bond, his eyes hardening.
“Like I told you, I can see the future – or different possible futures anyway, it’s hard to explain. I could see that if I went to work for them they would keep my mother in their power so that I would have to keep on working for them forever. So I remembered that my mother had told me that if ever I was in a bad situation and needed help, I should contact you and she told me how to do it”.
Bond had no intention of refusing. Solitaire held a deep place in his heart and he would willingly help her in any circumstances.
“All right”, he said, “I’ll help”.
Simone sighed in relief. “I am so glad to hear you say that. I have one more thing to tell you, but I’m relieved you said that first”.
“What?” said Bond, puzzled. “I don’t understand”.
“Well, let’s do some simple mathematics. You knew my mother in 1973, this is 1994, and I’m twenty-one years old. If that isn’t enough, take a closer look at my eyes. Mother was very happy about my eyes”.
He stared into her grey/blue eyes and only now recognised them. Most mornings they stared back at him from the bathroom mirror.
“She said they reminded her of you”, Simone Latrelle Junior said.
To Be Continued
Very good 👏🏻👏🏻
Meeting your daughter after 21 years.
That's an episode of Dr. Phil right there.
Great work Barbel.
A very interesting start.
What a twist! And all these so called professional continuation authors have missed out on a great plot. Step forward and take a bow Barbel, once again this is tremendous work 👏
Many thanks, everyone, I'm just pleased you guys are liking it. Next chapter coming now.
Chapter Three
A hired car was easy to arrange; rather more expensive than he had anticipated, but then he hadn’t been to Jamaica for years. He drove off down the always beautiful coast road and before too long he had found once more the neat cluster of small houses along the shore he had been looking for but this time he didn’t need to count to make sure he had the right one.
He gave a loud knock on the door which was almost instantly responded to. The big man’s look of suspicion was succeeded by a smile that threatened to split his face in two, the dazzling white teeth contrasting vividly with the dark skin.
“Commander Bond!” he almost yelled, a huge arm pulling them close together.
Through his own smile of genuine happiness, Bond managed to say, “How many times do I have to tell you, Quarrel, it’s “James”, okay?”
Quarrel Jr led the way into the small, tidy room. The photographs Bond recalled from his last visit here had been augmented with several of Quarrel’s late mother, who Bond remembered well.
“I was sorry to hear about your mother”, Bond said. “I was halfway around the world when word got to me”.
Quarrel waved that away with one hand while he waved Bond to a comfortable seat with the other.
“I understand, James. You’re a man who gets around, who has things to see to. And I’m guessing you’re seeing to some things right now, yeah?”
Quarrel opened the refrigerator and took out two Red Stripes, opened them and passed one to Bond.
“I am”, Bond said, “but it’s still good to see you again, Quarrel. You want to tell me what you’ve been up to?”
Again Quarrel waved a big hand.
“It don’t matter. Now, you wanna tell me why you’ve come here?”
Bond’s mind went back to his hotel room.
James Bond had been through many experiences in his life. Some had been very pleasant, others a lot less so, but none of them had prepared him for this. He stood up, a victim to the male urge to do something, anything, when a severe emotional impact had just arrived. He didn’t know if he felt good or bad. He had never felt this strange feeling before and had nothing to compare it to.
“You’re my … “, he managed to say.
Simone took one of his hands.
“Yes, at least I think so. You might want to have blood tests taken to be absolutely sure, but I think we both know it’s true. My mother told me that there hadn’t been anyone before you, and we both know we can believe her”.
Yes, thought Bond, we certainly can. He remembered how things had been very well. He had used a rigged pack of tarot cards to make her see things his way and never given a thought to the chance that there would perhaps be consequences twenty-one years later. Beginning to adjust to the situation, he was surprised to find that he was a lot happier about having a child than he had expected he would be.
“All right”, he said awkwardly, “I can accept the situation, and I am very pleased to meet you, Si –“
“Oh stop that right now!” she laughed. “Stop being the stiff-ass Brit and give me a hug – immediately!”
She threw her arms around him and after only a second he responded, joining in with her laugh. He spun her round off her feet, and she kissed him happily on the cheek.
“Now, first things first”, she said, “do you want me to call you “Dad” or “Daddy” or even “Father” if you want to be formal? Of course, I could call you “Mr Bond” but that would be a little strange”.
He held her at arms’ length.
“You call me “James”, all right? You’re not a little child, and I don’t have any other family that might object”.
“James it is”.
“Now, I’m still getting used to this, but we have a task before us. No doubt these men told you where you had to go if you accepted their conditions”.
“Yes, they told me to go to the Sole de Fillet bar at the edge of Kingston. I’ve heard of it, it’s not a very nice place. If I go there and work for them they said they would let me see my mother”.
“Simone, I don’t have the same gift as you but I think that would be a very bad move. Both for you and for your mother. They will keep her prisoner, just like you said, to make you do whatever it is they want you to do”.
“So what should I do, then?” she asked.
“For the moment you do nothing. I’m going to look into this, and I believe I might need some help, and I know just the man to ask about that”.
Bond finished filling Quarrel in and put his beer down, shaking his head at the offer of another.
“I know that place, James”, he said. “It ain’t a place I would go by choice, but if you want a look at it I’ll go along with you”.
“I hoped you would say that”, said Bond. “I’ve got a car outside and you can show me the way to go”.
“Just one moment, first – seems to me I remember you always carried a gun, do you still do that?”
Bond showed him.
“Right. I’ll take ol’ Betsy here”.
He reached over to a drawer and produced a large knife, smiling at Bond’s look.
“It comes in handy when out fishing, that’s all. I don’t normally take it out for a drink with me, but this time I think I just might. And there’s one more thing I want to say. Just you be careful, my friend – I can’t think of anything worse than to suddenly find out you have a daughter you hadn’t known about and then, in no time, to die yourself. That would be a terrible end”.
Bond nodded. “You’re right, Quarrel. That sounds awful”.
The bar lived down to the impression both Simone and Quarrel had given. It needed a fresh lick of paint and clearly had done for some years. The only bright thing about it was the neon sign announcing Sole de Fillet over the door. They went inside, their eyes adjusting to the dimness of the interior after the bright sun.
Quarrel did the ordering and Bond did the paying, both aware of the unsympathetic eyes upon them of the customers and sullen barmen. They sat down at a table near a small grimy stage.
“They have entertainment here?” asked Bond.
“Strippers, mainly. Maybe a comedian”.
“I don’t suppose you –“
His words were cut off by a sudden whooshing sound as the dimness became complete darkness. With an unwelcome feeling of déjà vu Bond realised that their table had been pulled down through the floor and they were in a cellar below. He pulled his gun out as a strong light abruptly shone on them.
“Hold it. Don’t move”.
The voice came from somewhere behind the light, which meant that the owner of it could see them but they couldn’t see him. Bond froze and felt Quarrel do the same. They were relieved of their weapons within seconds by at least two men.
“Over here”.
Stumbling they were led to two chairs at a table. The lights started to fade to a more normal level until they could see that they were being held at gunpoint and that someone was sitting at the head of the table. A man, a very tall thin man. His features came into focus as Bond blinked to adjust his eyes. The man had a hat on. A top hat. One side of his face was painted chalk white, the other his natural black.
A deep voice said, “Hello, Mr Bond. It’s good to see you again”.
To Be Continued
Barbel...that hotel room scene.
Does that mean you liked it or you didn't?
Barbel..it got me a little emotional.
Meeting a daughter you never knew existed.
Great writing 👏👏.
I'm grateful, and very pleased. Time for another of your splendid illustrations -
This is shaping up to be one of your best yet 😁👏🏻
There’s so much to enjoy here, the story and the little references are wonderful, a daughter, Red Stripe, Sole de Fillet…and the Baron? 👏
You're very kind, gentlemen, I appreciate it.
I forgot to say it’s another fine picture from @Sonero and rereading chapter 3 I noticed “no time, to die” 😁
Now, would I do something like that? 😇