There was a smack as his fist was caught in the other man’s left hand, and, at the same time as the contact telegraphed to Bond’s mind that there could have been no gun, there came the well-remembered laugh and the lazy voice saying: «No good, James. The angels have got you.»
Bond straightened himself slowly and for a moment he could only gaze into the grinning hawk-like face of Felix Leiter with blank disbelief, his built-up tension slowly relaxing.
«So you were doing a front tail, you lousy bastard,» he finally said. He looked with delight at the friend he had last seen as a cocoon of dirty bandages on a bloodstained bed in a Florida hotel, the American secret agent with whom he had shared so many adventures. «What the hell are you doing here? And what the hell do you mean playing the bloody fool in this heat?» Bond took out a handkerchief and wiped it over his face. «For a moment you almost made me nervous.»
«Nervous!» Felix Leiter laughed scornfully. «You were saying your prayers. And your conscience is so bad you didn’t even know if you were going to get it from the cops or the gang. Right?»
Bond laughed and dodged the question. «Come on, you crooked spy,» he said. «You can buy me a drink and tell me all about it. I just don’t believe in odds as long as this. In fact, you can buy me lunch. You Texans are lousy with money.»
«Sure,» said Leiter. He slipped his steel hook into the right-hand pocket of his coat and took Bond’s arm with his left hand. They moved out on to the street and Bond noticed that Leiter walked with a heavy limp. «In Texas even the fleas are so rich they can hire themselves dogs. Let’s go. Sardi’s is just over the way.»
Leiter avoided the fashionable room at the famous actors’ and writers’ eating house and led Bond upstairs. His limp was more noticeable and he held on to the banisters. Bond made no comment, but when he left his friend at a corner table in the blessedly air-conditioned restaurant and went off to the wash-room to clean himself up, he added up his impressions. The right arm had gone, and the left leg, and there were imperceptible scars below the hairline above the right eye that suggested a good deal of grafting, but otherwise Leiter looked in good shape. The grey eyes were undefeated, the shock of straw-coloured hair had no hint of grey in it, and there was none of the bitterness of a cripple in Leiter’s face. But in their short walk there had been a hint of reticence in Leiter’s manner and Bond felt this had something to do with him, Bond, and perhaps with Leiter’s present activities. Certainly not, he thought as he walked across the room to join his friend, with Leiter’s injuries.
There was a medium dry Martini with a piece of lemon peel waiting for him. Bond smiled at Leiter’s memory and tasted it. It was excellent, but he didn’t recognize the Vermouth.
«Made with Cresta Blanca,» explained Leiter. «New domestic brand from California. Like it?»
«Best Vermouth I ever tasted.»
«And I’ve taken a chance and ordered you smoked salmon and Brizzola,» said Leiter. «They’ve got some of the finest meat in America here, and Brizzola’s the best cut of that. Beef, straight-cut across the bone. Roast and then broiled. Suit you?»
«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 CIA?»
«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. Tut 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 dam 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.»