Ian Fleming. The Spy Who Loved Me. James Bond #10

The thin man gave a short, barking laugh. “Ixnay, Sluggsy. I said later. Leave the stupid slot be. There’s all night for that. Git goin’ like I said.”

The eyes in the pale moon-face were now red with excitement. The man rubbed his cheek. The wet lips parted in a slow smile. “You know what, baby? You just earned yourself one whale of a night. An’ it’s goin’ to be long and slow an’ again and again. Get me?”

I looked at them both from behind the raised chair. Inside I was whimpering. These men were dynamite from Nightmare-Land. Somehow I kept my voice steady. “Who are you? What’s this all about? Let’s see those credentials. The next car that comes by, I’ll break a window and get help. I’m from Canada. You do anything to me and you’ll be in bad trouble tomorrow.”

Sluggsy laughed. “Tomorrow’s tomorrow. What you got to worry about’s tonight, baby.” He turned to the thin man. “Mebbe you better wise her up, Horror. Then mebbe we’ll get some cooperation.”

Horror looked across at me. His expression was cold, uninterested. “Ya shouldn’t of hit Sluggsy, lady. The boy’s tough. He don’t like the dames not to go for him. Thinks it may be on account of his kisser. Been like that since he done a spell in solitary at San Q. Nervous sickness. What’s that the docs call it, Sluggsy?”

Sluggsy looked proud. He brought the Latin words out carefully. “Alopecia totalis. That means no hair, see? Not a one.” He gestured at his body. “Not here, or here, or here. What d’ya know about that, eh, bimbo?”

Horror continued. “So Sluggsy gets mad easy. Thinks he ain’t had a fair deal from society. You had that puss of his, mebbe you’d be the same. So he’s what we call in Troy an enforcer. Guys hire him to make other guys do what they want, if you get me. He’s on Mr. Sanguinetti’s roll, and Mr. Sanguinetti thought he and I better come along and keep an eye on this joint till the truckers come. Mr. Sanguinetti didn’t care for a young lady like you bein’ all alone here at night. So he sent us along for company. Ain’t that so, Sluggsy?”

“That’s the spiel. Sure is.” He giggled. “Just to keep you company, bimbo. Keep the wolves away. With them statistics of yours, there must be times when you need protection real bad. Right?”

I lowered the chair onto the table top. “Well, what are your names? What about these credentials?”

There was a single tin of Maxwell House coffee on the shelf above the bar counter, all by itself. Sluggsy suddenly swiveled, and his right hand—I hadn’t even seen him draw a gun—shot flame. There was the crash of gunfire. The tin jumped sideways and then fell. In midair Sluggsy hit it again and there was a brown explosion of coffee. Then a deafening silence in which the last empty shell tinkled away on the floor. Sluggsy turned back to me. His hands were empty. The gun had gone. His eyes were dreamy with pleasure at his marksmanship. He said softly, “How’s them for credentials, baby?”

The small cloud of blue smoke had reached me, and I smelled the cordite. My legs were trembling. I said, scornfully I hope, “That’s a lot of wasted coffee. Now, what about your names?”

The thin man said, “The lady’s right. You didn’t ought to of spilled that java, Sluggsy. But ya see, lady, that’s why they call him Sluggsy, on account he’s smart with the hardware. Sluggsy Morant. Me, I’m Sol Horowitz. They call me ‘Horror.’ Can’t say why. Kin you, Sluggsy?”

Sluggsy giggled. “Mebbe one time you gave some guy a scare, Horror. Mebbe a whole bunch of guys. Leastwise that’s what they tell me.”

Horror made no comment. He said quietly, “Okay. Let’s go! Sluggsy, see to the cabins like I said. Lady, you make us some chow. Keep ya nose clean and cooperate and ya won’t get hurt. Okay?”

Sluggsy looked me over greedily. He said, “Not much, that is. Eh, bimbo?” and walked over to the key rack behind the desk and took down all the keys and let himself out through the back entrance. I put down the chair and, as coolly as I knew how, but painfully aware of my toreador pants, walked across the room and went behind the counter.

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