Live and Let Die Page #2

He's headin' on in!

Good afternoon.

- Bourbon and water, please.

- The first booth will do.

Tell him neat, would you?

- No ice.

- That's extra, man.

I'd like something on the side as well.

Information.

Three men and a girl came in...

Relax, baby.

Mr Big's gonna take care of you

in a minute.

Black queen on the red king, Miss...?

Solitaire.

My name's Bond.

James Bond.

I know who you are,

what you are, and why you've come.

You've made a mistake.

You will not succeed.

Rather a sweeping statement,

considering we've never met.

The cards have followed you for me.

You get ripped off in Detroit,

you yell out to me! D'you hear?

Is he armed?

You can't be too careful in New York City.

Funny how the least little thing

amuses him.

Fascinating.

That's you, quite obviously.

An amazing resemblance.

Am I in there as well?

Pick a card.

Turn it over.

You have found yourself.

I'm telling you,

go out to LA and clean it up

or I'm coming out there

and clean you up. And I mean that!

Is this the stupid mother

that tailed you uptown?

There seems to be some mistake.

My name...

Names is for tombstones, baby.

Y'all take this honky out

and waste him - now!

- "Waste him"? ls that a good thing?

- The reading is over.

Nothing about my future?

Us?

Now, promise you'll stay right there.

I shan't be long.

Thank you.

Keep your hands up, honky.

What's he think this is?

Blow his friggin' head off.

Drop it!

Now.

Harold Strutter, CIA. Where were you

when I didn't need you?

It got obvious

you weren't coming out front.

Not even with that clever disguise

you were wearing.

A white face in Harlem.

Good thinking, Bond.

Let's get outta here.

I'm surprised they didn't spot you.

There's a remarkable girl back there

with a deck of cards.

I saw those cards on the way up.

Spades, James. Every one.

You were nailed the minute you left 74.

Only one man can pull together

that much black muscle in this town.

Calls himself Mr Big.

You name the business.

They say he has a black concession.

What would a foreign prime minister

like Kananga

want with an American gangster?

Question is, what would Mr Big

want with a two-bit island diplomat?

Mr Big? Where the hell

does he fit into this mess?

A genuine Felix lighter. Illuminating.

Now listen, James,

Kananga's got a private plane and he's

leaving for San Monique within the hour.

- Get me on the next available flight.

- I already did.

I knew you wouldn't pass up a chance

to get away from where the real action is.

The legendary Baron Samedi, folks.

That's Saturday,

for those who speak French.

Voodoo god of cemeteries

and chief of the legion of the dead.

The man who cannot die.

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