Log in

September 2006   01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

[Shorts] [Bond] : ...And Justice For All

Posted by tortillafactory on 2006.05.13 at 00:29
Current Music: Nickelback (kill me, please)
Tags: ,
...And Justice For All

A companion piece to Fleming's "The Hildebrand Rarity." Meant to be read afterwards.

In the moonlight that glowed on his skin, the visage of James Bond bore the same sickly blue as that of the dead man at his feet. What he felt was horror, revulsion. What a death.

But what a life!

A man like this deserved to die like that. Painfully and hopelessly. He might have been able to save himself, too, if he hadn't been so thoroughly sauced in whiskey and sleeping-pills. In this way it was a just death. The killer, Bond knew, could take comfort in this.

But for now there was a mess to clean up.

As he mechanically wiped up the evidence and dumped the horrible corpse overboard, Bond forced himself to think. Fidèle, or the girl? Of whom should he act suspicious? Neither of them was a fool. Though innocent, either Liz or the Creole might suspect there was something more to it than old Milt simply tumbling into the unforgiving water. Bond might find himself accused if he weren't careful. He must have a ready offense if he were faced with such an attack. The law might give it up for lack of evidence, but Liz...she had loved the bastard...

Love and hate, always so intertwined...

Bond crept down towards the stateroom, more because he felt he ought than because he felt it would do any good. One of the crew - an American, hired by Krest no doubt - was humming to himself as he went about his duties. Presently he broke into words.

When I was just a baby
My momma told me, son,
Always be a good boy
Don't play around with guns
But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die
When I hear that whistle blowin'
I hang my head and cry...

Bond flattened himself against the wall until the man had passed. He realized his eyes were closed, childishly, as if he believed it would render him invisible. His conscience gnawed at him. Those lashes, those screams. Was it, after all, his business?

Saving women from themselves. It was a dangerous venture.

In the sudden silence, free of Krest's wet snores, Bond suddenly realized he was tired. Heavily, he trudged back to his makeshift bed under the stars and rehearsed to himself what had happened - what he must believe, to stay in his right mind.

Krest was snoring, and it kept me awake. The snoring stopped. I heard his heels drumming on the deck. I ran up to him. Somebody had shoved the fish down his throat. It was hideous. I got rid of the evidence because I didn't want any trouble.

Fidèle, or the girl? Fidèle, or the girl? Fidèle, or the girl?

And still his mind screamed the truth.

It wasn't keeping him awake. And that, that was what frightened Bond most of all.

Smothered a man in the Seychelles just to watch him die.

And the goddamn' yankee deserved it, too

Curled up on his side like always, almost fetal, Bond felt his eyelids drooping shut.

On his hands was the briny smell of fish.

Previous Entry  Next Entry