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Bond heaved a deep sigh as if he was just waking up. So that was the end of one of
the Spangs, of one of the brutal, theatrical, overblown dead-end adults who made up
the Spangled Mob. He had been a stage-gangster, surrounded with stage properties,
but that didn't alter the fact that he had intended to kill Bond.
"Let's get away from here," Tiffany Case said urgently. "I've had enough of this."
Bond felt the pain creeping back into his body as his tension relaxed. "Yes," he said
shortly. He was glad to turn his back on the memory of the up-turned white face in the
beautiful black, charging engine. He felt light-headed. He wondered if he would make it,
"We'll have to get to the road. It'll be hard going. Come on."
It took them an hour and a. half to cover the two miles and, by the time he collapsed
in the dirt beside the cement highway, Bond was delirious. It was the girl who had got
him there. But for her he would never have kept a straight course. He would have
stumbled about amongst the cactus and rock and mica until his strength was exhausted
and the broiling sun came to finish the job.
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And now she was cradling his head against her and talking softly to him and wiping
the sweat off his face with the corner of her shirt.
And every now and then she paused to look up and down the dead-straight concrete
road whose horizons were already shimmering in the heat waves of early morning.
An hour later she jumped to her feet and tucked in her shirt and went and stood in the
middle of the road. A low black car was coming out of the dancing haze which hid the
distant valley of Las Vegas.
It rolled to a stop just in front of her and a hawk-like face under an untidy mop of
straw-coloured hair stuck itself out of the window. Keen grey eyes briefly looked her
over, They glanced at the prostrate figure of the man in the dust beside the road and
came back to her.
Then, in a friendly Texan drawl, the driver said, "Felix Leiter, Mam. At your service.
And what may I do for you on this beautiful morning?"
21
"NOTHING PROPINKS LIKE PROPINQUITY"
"& and when I get into town I call my friend Ernie Cureo. James knows him. And his
wife is having hysterics and Ernie's in the hospital. So I go right along and he tells me
the score and I figure that James may need some reinforcements. So I jump on my
coal-black mare and gallop through the night and when I get near to Spectreville I see
the light in the sky. Mr Spang's having himself a barbecue, I figure. And the gate in the
fence is open so I decide to join the feast. Well, believe me or believe me not, there's
not a soul in the place except a guy with a busted leg and multiple contusions, who's
crawling down the road trying to get away. And he looks to me mighty like a young
hood called Frasso from Detroit Ernie Cureo tells me was one of the guys that took
James. The fellow's in no state to deny this and I more or less get the picture and I
figure that Rhyolite's my next stop. So I tell the kid he'll soon be having plenty of
company from the Fire Department and I take him to the gate and leave him there and
then after a while there's a girl standing in the middle of the desert looking as if she's
been fired out of a cannon and here we all are. And now you tell."
So it's not all part of a dream and I am lying in the back of the Studillac and this is
Tiffany's lap under my head and that is Felix and we are going hell for leather down the
road to safety, a doctor, a bath, some food and drink and an endless amount of sleep.
Bond moved and he felt Tiffany's hand in his hair to tell it was all real and just like he
hoped, and he lay still again and said nothing and held each moment to him and
listened to their voices and the zip of the tyres on the road.
At the end of Tiffany's story, Felix Leiter gave a reverent whistle. "Jeese, Mam," he
said. "The two of you sure seem to have busted a hole in the Spangled Mob. What in
hell's going to happen now? There are plenty of other hornets in the nest and just sittin'
around buzzin' isn't goin' to be their way. They'll want some action."
"Check," said Tiffany. "Spang was a member of the Syndicate at Vegas and these
guys stick pretty much together. Then there's Shady Tree and those two torpedoes,
Wint and Kidd, whoever they may be. The sooner we cross the State-line the better.
Then what?"
"We're doin' all right so far," said Felix Leiter. "Be at Beatty in ten minutes, then we'll
get on to 58 and be over the line in half an hour. Then there's a long ride through Death
Valley and over the mountains down to Olancha where we hit No6. We could stop there
and get James to a doc and do some eating and cleaning up. Then just stay on 6 until
we get to LA. It'll be a hell of a drive, but we should make LA by lunchtime. Then we
 88
can relax a bit and think again. My guess is that we oughta get you and James out of
the country pretty quick. The boys'll try and fix all kinds of phoney raps on you both, and
once you're located I wouldn't give a nickel for either of you. Best chance would be to
get you both on a plane to New York tonight and off to England tomorrow. James can
take it from there."
"I guess that makes sense," said the girl. "But who is this Bond guy, anyway? What's
his racket? Is he an eye?"
"You better ask him yourself, Mam," Bond heard Leiter say carefully. "But I wouldn't
let that worry you over much. He'll take care of you."
Bond smiled to himself and in the long silence that followed he dropped off into an [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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