“You can't impress me with whatever tricks you use to impress your henchmen”, said Bond. “Baron Samedi is dead. I know, because I killed him. With the assistance of a coffinful of snakes”.
The man stood up. Well over six foot tall, on his way to seven, his arms and legs even longer than they should have been for a man of that height. He was wearing a white topcoat, open, with apparently little under it. Unconcerned by Bond’s bluster, he gave out a huge basso profundo laugh with no sign of merriment in it.
“You killed me, Mr Bond? You killed Baron Samedi, the Lord of the Undead? I think you flatter yourself”.
Bond stared into the eerie eyes. It was easy to believe that this was not a human but a spectral being, and he could understand why many would believe him to be what he said he was.
“I’m not the one flattering myself”, said Bond.
“I am Baron Samedi. I cannot die!” The answer was roared.
Bond could feel his friend shake beside him. Quarrel was a brave man, he knew, who would have taken on a shark or ten thugs without a second thought, but he was still a native of these islands and the fear of and belief in voodoo had been ingrained into his soul from birth, as with so many others. Bond kept his voice steady and spoke to calm the pair of them.
“You are an imposter. You are not Baron Samedi because there is no Baron Samedi – the man I killed was just that, a man. His employer wanted to stir up fears of the supernatural to cover up his own ambitions. Is that what you’re doing now? You are posing as Baron Samedi to cover up whatever it is you’re up to? I have news for you, my friend – I don’t care what you are up to. That’s not why I am here”.
Baron Samedi’s laugh was if anything louder this time as he walked around to stand in front of Bond and Quarrel. He stared down at them unblinkingly.
“I know why you are here, Mr Bond. Mr James Bond of the British Secret Service”. He said the words contemptuously. “Now, both of you, come with me”.
He indicated that Bond and Quarrel should follow him, and covered by pistols aimed at their hearts they did.
They walked down a longish corridor with basic electric lighting on rough-hewn walls that became damper as they progressed – undoubtedly heading for the sea, never far away in this town. After a few minutes they stopped. Baron Samedi theatrically pointed with his arm.
Steel bars had been forced into the rock to form a cell, with a padlocked door. They hadn’t bothered putting lights in the cell. A shape huddled in the corner. Baron Samedi gave yet another laugh, the reverberation thundering in this enclosed space. One of the men pointed a torch as the figure blearily looked out at them. She pushed the long dark hair away from her wary eyes and looked out at them, her eyes widening when she recognised Bond.
“James!”
Once again he found himself saying, “Hello, Solitaire”.
She staggered to the bars and held out a hand. Bond made to take it but was pushed roughly back. He bit his lip.
“All right”, he said, “you’ve made your point. What is it you want?”
Baron Samedi smiled. “You know what I want. You know what I want or you would not be here now. Solitaire no longer possesses the sight – and I believe you are the one responsible for that, Mr Bond, hmmm? But her daughter does and I need her here. The reasons why need not concern you. I am going to let you two go now, and you will bring the young Miss Latrelle here, to me. I take it that you are intelligent enough to realise what will happen if you do not. Now go!”
Their weapons had unsurprisingly not been returned to them when they were led scornfully to their car. The men hadn’t even bothered to hold guns on them. The two drove in silence for the first few minutes, then Quarrel spoke.
“James, I don’t need to be an obeah woman to know what you’re thinking. That was one scary man but you’re right. He’s just a man, he’s not a ghost or a spirit. He looks like the Baron Samedi we met before, all those years ago. That one you told me you killed, and I believe you. But it’s just looks and paint and a hat. A bullet through his head or a knife to his heart will kill him just like it would you or me. So, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m with you, all right?”
Bond knew it had taken some hard thinking for Quarrel Jr to say those words. His father had been superstitious but had still trusted Bond when he told him there was no dragon on Crab Key … and then he had been killed, burned to death by that same dragon. The responsibility for that still weighed on Bond’s soul, even after he had killed the one truly guilty.
“You don’t know how glad that makes me, Quarrel. I can’t do this alone and there’s no-one I’d rather have with me than you”, said Bond.
“Where do you want to go now?” asked Quarrel.
“Back to the hotel. We wait there until she contacts us”.
It was after midnight when the door opened and Simone slipped in. She was not surprised to see that Bond was not alone. He supposed she had foreseen that Quarrel would be there, or perhaps it was just one of the possible futures she had seen.
“Simone, this is Quarrel”, said Bond.
Quarrel rose and took her hand.
“Any daughter of Commander Bond is a friend of mine”, he smiled.
“Yes, I told him”, said Bond at her look into his eyes. “Quarrel is a trusted friend, and he’s not stupid – he’d have worked it out anyway”.
“Yes, of course”, said Simone, “pleased to meet you”.
“I told you I was going to need some help”, said Bond, “and now we’re going to decide just what I’m going to need help with”.
Simone sat down tiredly. “Did you … did you see her?” she said.
“Yes, we saw her. She looks pretty rough, but basically all right. I think you are absolutely correct, they have no intention of releasing her no matter what we do, and if you give yourself up to them they won’t release you either”.
“So we ain’t gonna do that”, said Quarrel. “But I think I know what we can do. I’ve been fishing here for a long time, and I know that stretch of coast where we were pretty well. You remember we went down from the bar to a cellar, then down a corridor?”
Bond nodded.
“That was no corridor, James. That was a tunnel. If we had kept walking we would have got to the sea. So there must be an entrance at the other end, yeah? And I’m pretty sure I know where it is, but you won’t find it unless you’re looking for it”.
“And we can go there by boat?” asked Bond.
“No problem”.
“Then we go tonight, as soon as it’s dark. There’s just one or two things I’d like to go over with you both first ….”
Quarrel stopped his fishing boat about a quarter mile from the shore. In the darkness they would be invisible from land though they could see a few lights. Bond had stripped to swimming trunks and had a broad flat-bladed knife stuck in the waistband. Quarrel leaned over to him.
“You see that light there, James, to port?”
Bond nodded.
“And then that other one over there, yeah? Aim for about halfway between them, that should get you to the entrance. I’ll wait here for an hour or so, then if you’re not back I’ll go get help. Okay?”
Bond said, “Got it. Thanks, Quarrel”.
He slipped quietly into the water and began to swim to shore as silently as he could. The water was only a few degrees cooler than through the day, and he carried out a gentle breast-stroke to minimise his splashing. It was not long before the land was visible ahead, and using the lights as bearings he continued on. Soon he was able to stand, and he crouched as long as possible before emerging near the opening Quarrel had described. Quarrel had been right, Bond thought, a person might not notice it unless they were looking out for it.
Dripping wet, he softly padded towards it and looked around. No guards, or none evident anyway. He bent and entered. Pitch black, though there was a faint light in the distance. He and Quarrel had discussed the viability of a torch, but had decided against it. It would have made him too much of a target. He walked slowly on, one hand feeling the wall ahead. The light grew slowly closer until he could see the corridor he had been in before and Solitaire’s cell ahead. Perhaps that made him overconfident, he later reflected, for he neglected to check the other side from the cell where two men emerged from a hollow, one in front and one behind. The one in front held a pistol and he felt sure the other, now plucking his knife from his trunks, did too.
They led him into the open night air, somewhere adjacent to the bar but having emerged from underground he couldn’t tell exactly. Two other men stood there, either side of a closed pure white coffin, and at the head of that stood Baron Samedi – or his impersonator, though it made no real difference now.
Bond was guided to the foot of the coffin with one armed man on either side. The darkness was broken by a dozen or more flaming firebrands set in a pentacle or some other pattern that no doubt held a significance in voodoo but meant nothing to Bond.
“The fly has come to the spider, I see”, said Baron Samedi. “It was clear that you would make some attempt to break the mother of the Latrelle girl free. Foolish of you. She is here, in my hands, and will stay there”.
Another man appeared, holding Solitaire painfully by the arm. She looked helplessly at Bond, who tried not to meet her eyes. A drummer sitting out of the firelight began an insistent rhythm on a conga. The lit torches guttered slightly as a light wind struck them – Bond remembered Quarrel’s father telling him that this wind was called the Undertaker’s Wind. The Doctor’s Wind would take over at dawn, by which time this whole ghastly business would be concluded one way or another.
“And still you have not realised my aim, Mr Bond? You have not grasped the splendour of my world, the world of the dead. Show him!”
The men standing at the coffin lifted the lid and put it on the ground. Inside lay a body which drew Bond’s eyes to it despite his wishes. He could not believe the sight.
Inside the white coffin, wearing the same outfit as Baron Samedi, lay the body of Aleister Crowley, hands clasped on his chest. Bond knew that Crowley would have been over one hundred years old if he had been alive and this corpse was clearly incredibly aged, but still recognisable and definitely deceased.
“You know nothing of the occult, I know, but you recognise who this is. Tonight, I shall bring our great teacher and master back from the other world!”
Bond struggled to break the spell. He knew he was in danger of falling under some form of hypnotism caused by the mesmerising deep voice and shook his head violently.
“I know that you cannot do this”, he said, though his mouth was dry.
“You think not, Mr Bond? But as I said, you know nothing of our practices so I will tell you. Only by bathing this unredeemed lifeless form in the fresh blood of a virgin while the unwritten words are said aloud can he be brought back to life and live forever. Now, bring in the virgin!”
Another man came out from the darkness. Bond had been dreading this, but somehow he knew. The struggling girl with him was Simone.
To Be Continued
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 30,925Chief of Staff
What a good story this is…gripping from the start 🍸
He lunged forward but was easily stopped by the two men guarding him. One held his pistol aimed at Bond’s heart.
“You see, Mr Bond, the pure blood of a virgin is necessary for the success of this unholy ceremony we are about to perform. And it has to be that of a grown woman, not a child. It is very difficult to be sure of a woman’s purity”, smirked Baron Samedi, “for many of them have been found to be less than honest about such things.
But when I heard of this young woman performing her magic act in the Courtyard hotel I could not believe the reports at first. It might have simply been some clever trick. I went to see for myself and there was no trick. I recognised who she must be and of course I knew that she had to be unsullied by the touch of a man to be capable of such feats. After that it was a simple matter to find Solitaire and imprison her here to ensure young Simone would come to me. I admit, however, I did not expect your presence Mr Bond, but that is merely an added bonus. I shall enjoy seeing you suffer while Solitaire and her …”
He broke off and stared at Simone, then Bond, then Solitaire before breaking into his terrifying laugh.
“But of course! I should have seen this earlier! The added flavour to this most unsanctified of evenings. The girl is the daughter of both of you, of course she must be. And you will both have the experience of seeing her –“
Bond yelled, “Now, Simone, now!” and dived for the ground, but before the words had left his mouth Simone had already reached under her skirt to produce the handgun that had been taped to her thigh and then thrown it to her father. Bond grabbed it as he rolled and shot first Simone’s captor then Solitaire’s before putting a bullet right between Baron Samedi’s eyes. The entire operation had taken less than three seconds. The remaining men, stunned and leaderless, turned to run but a voice through a loudhailer stopped them in their tracks while a harsh spotlight illuminated the entire area as twenty or more of the Jamaican Constabulary Force took over, accompanied by Quarrel.
Bond ran to the two women and seized them in his arms, holding them tight against him as their tears shook their bodies.
“It’s all right”, he said, “it’s all right now” as he kissed their tears away.
“James”, Simone said with difficulty, “I told you to just think “Now” and I would hear you. You didn’t have to shout”.
He smiled and pushed her hair back.
Quarrel and Arnold came over to them after speaking with the police.
“They’re happy to do things our way”, said Arnold. “They’d rather take these men away and charge them and leave everything else to us. They recognise the layout here and understand that there’s been things going on which they would prefer not to get involved with”.
“That’s fine”, said Bond. “Arnold, would you take these ladies away somewhere? I have a room at the Courtyard, or maybe you could take them to your place? Just get them away from here”.
“Of course, of course. I’ll do that”. He held out a hand. Simone and Solitaire were reluctant, wanting Bond to come away with them.
“I’ll be with you as soon as I can. There’s something I have to do. It won’t be long. Please, just go from here now”.
Slowly they went with Arnold to his car. Bond watched them drive away then turned to Quarrel.
“Did you bring it?”
Quarrel nodded and held up two large jerricans before placing them down. The two then walked over to the body of Baron Samedi and lifted it, throwing it on top of Crowley’s withered corpse in the white coffin. Taking a jerrican each, Bond and Quarrel then soaked the two bodies in petrol, the fumes reaching their eyes and making them weep. When the cans were empty, the two men stood back, wiping their faces.
“Would you like to do it, or me?” asked Quarrel, holding out a box of matches.
“I’ll do it”, said Bond.
He lit a match and threw it onto the bodies. Then another. The petrol-soaked clothing burst into flames, and they watched as the fire grew higher.
“The man who cannot die, huh?” said Quarrel without a smile.
When the flames began to go down they walked away.
Oooh, you never know. Certainly I don't! This story popped whole and structured into my ageing brain, complete down to even some lines of dialogue. All I had to do was start typing. So I'm just going to wait for another one to appear, rather than force it - I always think a reader can tell if the story is being forced, you know what I mean? And that comes from decades of experience as a reader.
First draft of the ending to the Bond meets Quarrel scene, Chapter Three:
Quarrel said, “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”.
“Yes, that would be a really unsatisfactory conclusion to an unbelievably long story”.
“Yes, Quarrel, but –“
“I mean, after people get very attached to a character and understand how things have always been, to upset the whole thing without as much as a by your leave -”
“Of course, but you see –“
“Suddenly finding out you have a kid you didn’t know about, well, that’s one thing and after all the decades you’ve been busily screwing your way around the world it would be more surprising if you didn’t have more of them – maybe one in Japan, for example –“
“Look, Quarrel, I –“
“But then just as you’re getting used to the idea you’ve got a kid, to get yourself killed in some contrived and avoidable way just because someone who’s not going to be around any more wanted it, well, that’s just –“
“Quarrel! Enough! I think they’ve got it now”.
“Oh. Yes, sorry”.
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 30,925Chief of Staff
A very good story, @Barbel with just enough of Bond and just enough of Hammer to make it a cross-over hit. I dislike anything that suggest Bond has family, but I'll forgive you the impertinence and indulge your literary whim instead. Good climax.
Thank you for your gracious words, @chrisno1, you're very kind.
As it happens I agree on the family thing, but as I said above this story just appeared in my head pretty much exactly as it is here and I only had to write it out. Removing the daughter angle would have drastically altered and, I think, weakened the structure. It's not like SP where the whole foster brother subplot could have been written out without harm (I'd even say it would be an improvement).
And I think my thoughts on NTTD are clear from post 5242 above. 😁
Comments
Illustration by Sonero
(I really like this one)
Chapter Four
This was impossible.
“You can't impress me with whatever tricks you use to impress your henchmen”, said Bond. “Baron Samedi is dead. I know, because I killed him. With the assistance of a coffinful of snakes”.
The man stood up. Well over six foot tall, on his way to seven, his arms and legs even longer than they should have been for a man of that height. He was wearing a white topcoat, open, with apparently little under it. Unconcerned by Bond’s bluster, he gave out a huge basso profundo laugh with no sign of merriment in it.
“You killed me, Mr Bond? You killed Baron Samedi, the Lord of the Undead? I think you flatter yourself”.
Bond stared into the eerie eyes. It was easy to believe that this was not a human but a spectral being, and he could understand why many would believe him to be what he said he was.
“I’m not the one flattering myself”, said Bond.
“I am Baron Samedi. I cannot die!” The answer was roared.
Bond could feel his friend shake beside him. Quarrel was a brave man, he knew, who would have taken on a shark or ten thugs without a second thought, but he was still a native of these islands and the fear of and belief in voodoo had been ingrained into his soul from birth, as with so many others. Bond kept his voice steady and spoke to calm the pair of them.
“You are an imposter. You are not Baron Samedi because there is no Baron Samedi – the man I killed was just that, a man. His employer wanted to stir up fears of the supernatural to cover up his own ambitions. Is that what you’re doing now? You are posing as Baron Samedi to cover up whatever it is you’re up to? I have news for you, my friend – I don’t care what you are up to. That’s not why I am here”.
Baron Samedi’s laugh was if anything louder this time as he walked around to stand in front of Bond and Quarrel. He stared down at them unblinkingly.
“I know why you are here, Mr Bond. Mr James Bond of the British Secret Service”. He said the words contemptuously. “Now, both of you, come with me”.
He indicated that Bond and Quarrel should follow him, and covered by pistols aimed at their hearts they did.
They walked down a longish corridor with basic electric lighting on rough-hewn walls that became damper as they progressed – undoubtedly heading for the sea, never far away in this town. After a few minutes they stopped. Baron Samedi theatrically pointed with his arm.
Steel bars had been forced into the rock to form a cell, with a padlocked door. They hadn’t bothered putting lights in the cell. A shape huddled in the corner. Baron Samedi gave yet another laugh, the reverberation thundering in this enclosed space. One of the men pointed a torch as the figure blearily looked out at them. She pushed the long dark hair away from her wary eyes and looked out at them, her eyes widening when she recognised Bond.
“James!”
Once again he found himself saying, “Hello, Solitaire”.
She staggered to the bars and held out a hand. Bond made to take it but was pushed roughly back. He bit his lip.
“All right”, he said, “you’ve made your point. What is it you want?”
Baron Samedi smiled. “You know what I want. You know what I want or you would not be here now. Solitaire no longer possesses the sight – and I believe you are the one responsible for that, Mr Bond, hmmm? But her daughter does and I need her here. The reasons why need not concern you. I am going to let you two go now, and you will bring the young Miss Latrelle here, to me. I take it that you are intelligent enough to realise what will happen if you do not. Now go!”
To Be Continued
Baron Samedi is one of the great Bond villains and you’ve brought in (back) to life brilliantly, Barbel 🍸👏
It's that laugh, isn't it? Nobody laughs like Baron Samedi!
It certainly is…the laugh is meant for his enjoyment only and to strike fear in anyone who hears it…the joke is definitely ON them.
Great chapter…very evocative 😁🫣
'...a basso profundo laugh with no signs of merriment... '
Beautiful writing Barbel.
Keep up the great work.
Looking forward to reading Chapter 4.
Thank you all very much, guys. Next part to follow soon.
Chapter Five
Their weapons had unsurprisingly not been returned to them when they were led scornfully to their car. The men hadn’t even bothered to hold guns on them. The two drove in silence for the first few minutes, then Quarrel spoke.
“James, I don’t need to be an obeah woman to know what you’re thinking. That was one scary man but you’re right. He’s just a man, he’s not a ghost or a spirit. He looks like the Baron Samedi we met before, all those years ago. That one you told me you killed, and I believe you. But it’s just looks and paint and a hat. A bullet through his head or a knife to his heart will kill him just like it would you or me. So, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m with you, all right?”
Bond knew it had taken some hard thinking for Quarrel Jr to say those words. His father had been superstitious but had still trusted Bond when he told him there was no dragon on Crab Key … and then he had been killed, burned to death by that same dragon. The responsibility for that still weighed on Bond’s soul, even after he had killed the one truly guilty.
“You don’t know how glad that makes me, Quarrel. I can’t do this alone and there’s no-one I’d rather have with me than you”, said Bond.
“Where do you want to go now?” asked Quarrel.
“Back to the hotel. We wait there until she contacts us”.
It was after midnight when the door opened and Simone slipped in. She was not surprised to see that Bond was not alone. He supposed she had foreseen that Quarrel would be there, or perhaps it was just one of the possible futures she had seen.
“Simone, this is Quarrel”, said Bond.
Quarrel rose and took her hand.
“Any daughter of Commander Bond is a friend of mine”, he smiled.
“Yes, I told him”, said Bond at her look into his eyes. “Quarrel is a trusted friend, and he’s not stupid – he’d have worked it out anyway”.
“Yes, of course”, said Simone, “pleased to meet you”.
“I told you I was going to need some help”, said Bond, “and now we’re going to decide just what I’m going to need help with”.
Simone sat down tiredly. “Did you … did you see her?” she said.
“Yes, we saw her. She looks pretty rough, but basically all right. I think you are absolutely correct, they have no intention of releasing her no matter what we do, and if you give yourself up to them they won’t release you either”.
“So we ain’t gonna do that”, said Quarrel. “But I think I know what we can do. I’ve been fishing here for a long time, and I know that stretch of coast where we were pretty well. You remember we went down from the bar to a cellar, then down a corridor?”
Bond nodded.
“That was no corridor, James. That was a tunnel. If we had kept walking we would have got to the sea. So there must be an entrance at the other end, yeah? And I’m pretty sure I know where it is, but you won’t find it unless you’re looking for it”.
“And we can go there by boat?” asked Bond.
“No problem”.
“Then we go tonight, as soon as it’s dark. There’s just one or two things I’d like to go over with you both first ….”
Quarrel stopped his fishing boat about a quarter mile from the shore. In the darkness they would be invisible from land though they could see a few lights. Bond had stripped to swimming trunks and had a broad flat-bladed knife stuck in the waistband. Quarrel leaned over to him.
“You see that light there, James, to port?”
Bond nodded.
“And then that other one over there, yeah? Aim for about halfway between them, that should get you to the entrance. I’ll wait here for an hour or so, then if you’re not back I’ll go get help. Okay?”
Bond said, “Got it. Thanks, Quarrel”.
He slipped quietly into the water and began to swim to shore as silently as he could. The water was only a few degrees cooler than through the day, and he carried out a gentle breast-stroke to minimise his splashing. It was not long before the land was visible ahead, and using the lights as bearings he continued on. Soon he was able to stand, and he crouched as long as possible before emerging near the opening Quarrel had described. Quarrel had been right, Bond thought, a person might not notice it unless they were looking out for it.
Dripping wet, he softly padded towards it and looked around. No guards, or none evident anyway. He bent and entered. Pitch black, though there was a faint light in the distance. He and Quarrel had discussed the viability of a torch, but had decided against it. It would have made him too much of a target. He walked slowly on, one hand feeling the wall ahead. The light grew slowly closer until he could see the corridor he had been in before and Solitaire’s cell ahead. Perhaps that made him overconfident, he later reflected, for he neglected to check the other side from the cell where two men emerged from a hollow, one in front and one behind. The one in front held a pistol and he felt sure the other, now plucking his knife from his trunks, did too.
They led him into the open night air, somewhere adjacent to the bar but having emerged from underground he couldn’t tell exactly. Two other men stood there, either side of a closed pure white coffin, and at the head of that stood Baron Samedi – or his impersonator, though it made no real difference now.
Bond was guided to the foot of the coffin with one armed man on either side. The darkness was broken by a dozen or more flaming firebrands set in a pentacle or some other pattern that no doubt held a significance in voodoo but meant nothing to Bond.
“The fly has come to the spider, I see”, said Baron Samedi. “It was clear that you would make some attempt to break the mother of the Latrelle girl free. Foolish of you. She is here, in my hands, and will stay there”.
Another man appeared, holding Solitaire painfully by the arm. She looked helplessly at Bond, who tried not to meet her eyes. A drummer sitting out of the firelight began an insistent rhythm on a conga. The lit torches guttered slightly as a light wind struck them – Bond remembered Quarrel’s father telling him that this wind was called the Undertaker’s Wind. The Doctor’s Wind would take over at dawn, by which time this whole ghastly business would be concluded one way or another.
“And still you have not realised my aim, Mr Bond? You have not grasped the splendour of my world, the world of the dead. Show him!”
The men standing at the coffin lifted the lid and put it on the ground. Inside lay a body which drew Bond’s eyes to it despite his wishes. He could not believe the sight.
Inside the white coffin, wearing the same outfit as Baron Samedi, lay the body of Aleister Crowley, hands clasped on his chest. Bond knew that Crowley would have been over one hundred years old if he had been alive and this corpse was clearly incredibly aged, but still recognisable and definitely deceased.
“You know nothing of the occult, I know, but you recognise who this is. Tonight, I shall bring our great teacher and master back from the other world!”
Bond struggled to break the spell. He knew he was in danger of falling under some form of hypnotism caused by the mesmerising deep voice and shook his head violently.
“I know that you cannot do this”, he said, though his mouth was dry.
“You think not, Mr Bond? But as I said, you know nothing of our practices so I will tell you. Only by bathing this unredeemed lifeless form in the fresh blood of a virgin while the unwritten words are said aloud can he be brought back to life and live forever. Now, bring in the virgin!”
Another man came out from the darkness. Bond had been dreading this, but somehow he knew. The struggling girl with him was Simone.
To Be Continued
What a good story this is…gripping from the start 🍸
Excellent, very exciting 👏
Thanks, gentlemen. A slight correction to the above - it should have finished with "To Be Concluded".
Keep up the great work Barbel 👍👍.
Another great illustration @Sonero they give extra atmosphere to Barbel’s already superb tales.
Thank you for the kind words @CoolHandBond.
Thanks as ever, @Sonero, for the illustration and this time also for the Fleming quote.
Final part on it's way.
Chapter Six
He lunged forward but was easily stopped by the two men guarding him. One held his pistol aimed at Bond’s heart.
“You see, Mr Bond, the pure blood of a virgin is necessary for the success of this unholy ceremony we are about to perform. And it has to be that of a grown woman, not a child. It is very difficult to be sure of a woman’s purity”, smirked Baron Samedi, “for many of them have been found to be less than honest about such things.
But when I heard of this young woman performing her magic act in the Courtyard hotel I could not believe the reports at first. It might have simply been some clever trick. I went to see for myself and there was no trick. I recognised who she must be and of course I knew that she had to be unsullied by the touch of a man to be capable of such feats. After that it was a simple matter to find Solitaire and imprison her here to ensure young Simone would come to me. I admit, however, I did not expect your presence Mr Bond, but that is merely an added bonus. I shall enjoy seeing you suffer while Solitaire and her …”
He broke off and stared at Simone, then Bond, then Solitaire before breaking into his terrifying laugh.
“But of course! I should have seen this earlier! The added flavour to this most unsanctified of evenings. The girl is the daughter of both of you, of course she must be. And you will both have the experience of seeing her –“
Bond yelled, “Now, Simone, now!” and dived for the ground, but before the words had left his mouth Simone had already reached under her skirt to produce the handgun that had been taped to her thigh and then thrown it to her father. Bond grabbed it as he rolled and shot first Simone’s captor then Solitaire’s before putting a bullet right between Baron Samedi’s eyes. The entire operation had taken less than three seconds. The remaining men, stunned and leaderless, turned to run but a voice through a loudhailer stopped them in their tracks while a harsh spotlight illuminated the entire area as twenty or more of the Jamaican Constabulary Force took over, accompanied by Quarrel.
Bond ran to the two women and seized them in his arms, holding them tight against him as their tears shook their bodies.
“It’s all right”, he said, “it’s all right now” as he kissed their tears away.
“James”, Simone said with difficulty, “I told you to just think “Now” and I would hear you. You didn’t have to shout”.
He smiled and pushed her hair back.
Quarrel and Arnold came over to them after speaking with the police.
“They’re happy to do things our way”, said Arnold. “They’d rather take these men away and charge them and leave everything else to us. They recognise the layout here and understand that there’s been things going on which they would prefer not to get involved with”.
“That’s fine”, said Bond. “Arnold, would you take these ladies away somewhere? I have a room at the Courtyard, or maybe you could take them to your place? Just get them away from here”.
“Of course, of course. I’ll do that”. He held out a hand. Simone and Solitaire were reluctant, wanting Bond to come away with them.
“I’ll be with you as soon as I can. There’s something I have to do. It won’t be long. Please, just go from here now”.
Slowly they went with Arnold to his car. Bond watched them drive away then turned to Quarrel.
“Did you bring it?”
Quarrel nodded and held up two large jerricans before placing them down. The two then walked over to the body of Baron Samedi and lifted it, throwing it on top of Crowley’s withered corpse in the white coffin. Taking a jerrican each, Bond and Quarrel then soaked the two bodies in petrol, the fumes reaching their eyes and making them weep. When the cans were empty, the two men stood back, wiping their faces.
“Would you like to do it, or me?” asked Quarrel, holding out a box of matches.
“I’ll do it”, said Bond.
He lit a match and threw it onto the bodies. Then another. The petrol-soaked clothing burst into flames, and they watched as the fire grew higher.
“The man who cannot die, huh?” said Quarrel without a smile.
When the flames began to go down they walked away.
THE END
A superb story Barbel.
Amazon / MGM need to create a James Bond TV series with Barbel and Chrisno1 as the writers.
Keep up the great work.👍👍
That was a really good story @Barbel thoroughly enjoyable 🍸
Very enjoyable 👏 and maybe not the end of Baron Samedi? 😁
Oooh, you never know. Certainly I don't! This story popped whole and structured into my ageing brain, complete down to even some lines of dialogue. All I had to do was start typing. So I'm just going to wait for another one to appear, rather than force it - I always think a reader can tell if the story is being forced, you know what I mean? And that comes from decades of experience as a reader.
Thank you all very much, guys, you are very kind.
First draft of the ending to the Bond meets Quarrel scene, Chapter Three:
Quarrel said, “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”.
“Yes, that would be a really unsatisfactory conclusion to an unbelievably long story”.
“Yes, Quarrel, but –“
“I mean, after people get very attached to a character and understand how things have always been, to upset the whole thing without as much as a by your leave -”
“Of course, but you see –“
“Suddenly finding out you have a kid you didn’t know about, well, that’s one thing and after all the decades you’ve been busily screwing your way around the world it would be more surprising if you didn’t have more of them – maybe one in Japan, for example –“
“Look, Quarrel, I –“
“But then just as you’re getting used to the idea you’ve got a kid, to get yourself killed in some contrived and avoidable way just because someone who’s not going to be around any more wanted it, well, that’s just –“
“Quarrel! Enough! I think they’ve got it now”.
“Oh. Yes, sorry”.
🤣🤣🤣
That’s very good 😁😂🍸
😀
A very good story, @Barbel with just enough of Bond and just enough of Hammer to make it a cross-over hit. I dislike anything that suggest Bond has family, but I'll forgive you the impertinence and indulge your literary whim instead. Good climax.
Thank you for your gracious words, @chrisno1, you're very kind.
As it happens I agree on the family thing, but as I said above this story just appeared in my head pretty much exactly as it is here and I only had to write it out. Removing the daughter angle would have drastically altered and, I think, weakened the structure. It's not like SP where the whole foster brother subplot could have been written out without harm (I'd even say it would be an improvement).
And I think my thoughts on NTTD are clear from post 5242 above. 😁
Plot line for the James Bond movie:
Captain Tyson J. Rhesus, a battle hardened ex-special forces monkey escapes from a high-security zoo in Kingston, Jamaica with the help of Dr. No.
He now seeks vengeance against all those who refused to feed him bananas and his favorite butter tarts during his incarceration.
Rhesus never forgets!
-------
On second thought...
This movie might not work.
😀😁😂🤣😃😄😉
That’s brilliant @Sonero you’ve just opened up a whole new world in Imaginary Conversations 😁😂🤣🍸
@chrisno1 @CoolHandBond Thank you for the kind words.