The Man with the Golden Gun Page #2

Taxi? Hotel, mister?

No. To the nearest pharmacy.

Dumdum bullets like this

flatten on impact|for maximum wounding effect.

- Very nasty.|- Yes, I'm sure it is.

But just tell me|where it was made and by whom.

Well, fortunately it's all in one piece.

Which leads us to deduce|it was fired from a 4.2 millimetre gun.

Colthorpe, there's no such thing|as a 4.2 millimetre gun.

The fact that no recognised munitions|manufacturer, military or civil,

produces such a bullet|doesn't mean it doesn't exist, 007.

Q Branch have been making irregular|calibres for most unusual purposes.

- And we don't put markings on them.|- Making identification almost impossible.

You mean we can't trace it? You've|no idea what it went through to get here.

I wouldn't go so far as to say that.

The workmanship is undemanding|according to our standards.

Soft 23-carat gold with traces of... nickel.

Hardly ever used in Europe.|Comes from India.

Far East?

- Why not India?|- Nickel content obviously too low, 007.

- Lazar?|- Lazar!

Hm. Imaginative.

Highly specialised.

Yes, I concur.

- Well, what the hell is Lazar?|- Not what. Who. Portuguese.

- Lives in Macau.|- Chap who made the bullet, 007.

I hate to interrupt your dinner,|but does Senhor Lazar live here?

Lazar.

I was given this address. Does he...

Senhor Lazar?

My name's Bond. James Bond.

An unexpected honour, Mr Bond.

Your reputation precedes you.|This way, please.

It would be my proudest moment if|I could make something for you, Mr Bond.

A rifle, perhaps.

Now, here we have|an interesting problem.

A custom-built model for a client

who recently lost two fingers. Please.

- Also lost his trigger.|- It is housed in the butt.

Squeeze it.

The sights are a bit off.

You have five fingers. The butt|is balanced for the pressure of three.

That is why you were one inch too low.

Here you will find only|craftsmanship and quality.

Mass production,

your Walther PPK, for instance,|I leave to others.

What about ammunition?

Designed to individual requirements,|whatever they may be.

In gold... if I wanted?

- I have already done that for a client.|- I know you have.

Francisco Scaramanga.

My relationship with a client, Mr Bond,|is strictly confidential.

Like a doctor. A priest with a penitent.

Oh, of course!

Yet you make guns|for fingerless hoodlums,

bullets for assassins.

Mr Bond, bullets do not kill.|It is the finger that pulls the trigger.

Exactly!

I'm now aiming precisely at your groin.

So speak or for ever hold your peace.

I have never seen him.

On a cost-per-bullet basis,|he must be your best customer.

True, but unfortunately|he only fires them occasionally.

When was the, er... last shipment?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes