Alligator Page 2
“How’s the old man this morning, Penny?” he asked.
“Frightful shape,” she answered. “He’s been pacing around in there like a caged bear. I heard something break a while ago. You’ve heard about the bridges haven’t you?”
B*nd shook his head. “No, I just woke up.”
“All the bridges between here and the mouth of the Thames collapsed last night. Of course it’s out of our jurisdiction, being a local affair, but it’s got the old boy worried. Bit much for mere coincidence—all of them falling down like that.”
B*nd looked dubious. “Doubt if that’s what he wants me for,” he said. “Case for the Yard if there’s anything to it.”
She gave him an encouraging smile as the double doors swung shut behind him. The red light above the doors flashed on, and there was a heavy clunk as the steel bolt shot home, indicating that * was not to be disturbed.
4. Interview With *
NOW B*nd sat across the desk from *, watching as he took a damnably long time to light his pipe. The lined sailor’s face looked tired and angry above the stiff white collar and loosely tied spotted bow-tie. * tamped the tobacco carefully with his nicotine-stained left forefinger and reached for his matches. Inadvertently he knocked the match box across the desk. B*nd caught it and threw it back. * grunted.
The desk top was a red leather pool of light under the green lamp, while the rest of the room reflected the dull grey of the outside London fog. *’s pipe glowed briefly and he absentmindedly knocked it out in the shell base tobacco jar at his left. His mind made up, he turned and fastened the damnably shrewd, cold grey eyes on B*nd.
“J*mes,” he said, “I’ve a favour to ask of you.”
B*nd’s pulse quickened. In the line of business * always referred to him as 007. This must be something personal, and B*nd knew how much * hated to use the service for personal reasons. No wonder he seemed so much unlike his usual self.
“Yes, sir?” B*nd queried.
“Dammit,” said *. “This is a bloody messy business. The only reason I ask you is because I know you’re interested in this sort of thing.” He refilled his pipe. “Smoke if you want.”
Gratefully B*nd took out the pig iron cigarette case and lighter.
* looked at him keenly. “Ever heard of a fellow named Alligator? Lacertus Alligator?”
B*nd couldn’t help it. He laughed sharply and then swore.
* looked up. “What is it? What’s there to laugh about?”
Briefly B*nd recounted the happenings of the day before, running through the facts as concisely as possible. * hated elaboration.
* snorted disapprovingly. He had never liked B*nd’s “womanizing,” felt it a weakness and an unnecessary sap of his energies. He looked out the window at the rolling mist.
“Good,” he finally said. “Then you know the chap. Saves me a lot of trouble.”
“Curious fellow,” B*nd mused. “Way he dresses, and that purple spray.”
* turned on him sharply. “I was getting to that,” he barked.
“Sorry, sir.”
* turned back to his desk and picked up a heavy black folder. He leafed through a few pages and then put it down. He leaned back and lit a match, sucking thoughtfully at his pipe.
“You were right when you said he was a curious fellow. Even more curious history. Would it surprise you to learn that he’s one of the richest men in the world?”
B*nd shook his head. “No sir. Looks like the type. I never trusted short people. Their mothers always tell them about how well Hitler and Napoleon did and they grow up thinking they can do the same thing.”
“Quite, quite.” * leaned back, his hands behind his head. “Alligator is, as you guessed, an American, though his holdings all over the world are immense. Mostly in Swiss francs and Venezuelan bolivars.”
The soundest currencies in the world! B*nd whistled. His opinion of the man had risen tremendously.
“His parents were German immigrants,” * continued, “very poor. Sneaked into the U.S. somehow and then died. Alligator went to work in the New York City sewer system, took his name from the reptiles that apparently live down there. There was a big fad awhile back—people bought the creatures when they were very small—conversation pieces or something. Then when they got too big or their owners became bored with them, they flushed them down the toilet. In the sewers they just went right on growing. Thrived there. Apparently he grew very attached to them and they to him. Found he could do a very good business selling them to zoos, and of course he could sell the baby ones for conversation pieces.” * snorted and lit another match.
“Anyway his business grew by leaps and bounds, and he was soon a very prosperous reptile dealer. ’Gators would mysteriously disappear from zoos, and he’d be right there ready to supply ’em with another one. Never could pin anything on him, though the ones he supplied often looked suspiciously like the ones that had vanished. Hard to tell because he always injected them with something that turned their skins purple. Naturally there was quite a demand for them, being a bit unusual.
“Then he went into the hide business. Bags, shoes, belts, all manner of goods, things you wouldn’t even dream of. They say they’re the best quality in the world.”
B*nd thought of Anagram’s shoes and knew that * was right. But then, he always was.
“The details are in here.” * tapped the black folder. “Let it suffice that he practically cornered the market. Of course he was too smart to deal only in purple hides for mass taste. Invested his money wisely, and . . .” * shrugged. “The purple colour in his face is due to some sort of a mysterious heart disease.”
“Where do I come in, sir?” B*nd was eager to learn more about this mysterious man and his beautiful mistress.
* was silent for a few minutes as he stared out the window.
“You remember when I took you to my club?”
B*nd nodded.
“Rather a keen group of card players at Glades. Alligator is a member. Let in a few weeks ago. Disconsent, of course, but he has some powerful connexions. Anyway he’s been winning quite a lot of money lately. A very great deal, in fact.”
B*nd looked at him blankly. There was a long pause.
“What would you say,” * said slowly, “if I told you that Lacertus Alligator cheats at cards?”
5. The Man He Loved and Obeyed
J*MES B*ND swerved his Stutz Bearcat to avoid hitting an Isetta 300 which had seemingly materialised from nowhere, did a neat racing change to brake his speed from 80 to a more conservative 65, lit a cigarette, and turned sharply onto King’s Road. He squinted sideways at *, and thought of the morning’s interview with the man he loved and obeyed above all others.
“Cheats at cards?” B*nd had said curiously.
“Yes, cheats at cards,” * had answered drily. “Seems a bit peculiar for a man of his wealth and position, doesn’t it?”
B*nd had nodded.
* had sat for a moment in silence. His pipe had died, and he relit it. He went on, “Anyway, seems the fellow will play only one game—‘Go Fish.’ Ever hear of it?”
B*nd had answered, “Yes sir. Bastardised version of ‘Authors,’ isn’t it?”
“Right,” * had said. “As I said, Alligator’s been winning really fantastic sums, and with a game like ‘Go Fish’ where luck plays such an important role, it seems impossible that the fellow’s not cheating, although no one’s caught him at it as yet. Besides, my friend Dingletump, chairman of Glades, is afraid of accusing him outright. There’s never been a scandal in the whole history of Glades. Doesn’t want one now. So Dingletump came up with the idea of beating him at his own game; that is, if he could prove beyond doubt that Alligator was indeed playing dishonestly. Asked me if I had a man who knew his cards and could pull it off.”
The cold, damnably clear grey eyes had stared directly at B*nd. Then * had picked a large Ronson table lighter from the desk and fired it directly at B*nd’s head. “That’s where you come in,” he had said.
*’s pipe had rasped audibly as he sat staring at his most trusted agent. “Well, J*mes,” he had said finally, “do you want to take it on?”
“I’ll certainly give it a try, sir,” B*nd had answered, and they had decided that * would have Dingletump arrange for a “Go Fish” game between Alligator and B*nd that very evening. B*nd, they had agreed, would pick up * after dinner and would drive him over to Glades.
After work, B*nd had gone home to his Chelsea flat, and had busily set about preparing for the evening ahead. He had obtained four Bicycle packs, two red and two blue, and had spent several minutes carefully arranging one of each. When he had finished, he had placed the blue and red decks in the right and left pockets, respectively, of his dinner jacket. Next, he had searched through the two remaining packs and removed the seven of spades and the seven of clubs from each. He had secreted the blue-backed cards in the right sleeve, the red-backed ones in the left. Then he had quickly showered and dressed, tossed down seven double martinis, eaten the delicious cheese rarebit that his Welsh treasure had prepared for him, and swallowed fourteen benzedrine tablets he had gotten Lil to wangle out of surgery, reasoning that the overconfidence the drug would produce could be a tremendous asset when the stakes reached a dangerously high level. He had then walked the few short blocks to the garage where he kept the Stutz Bearcat and had picked up *. Now they had reached Sloane Square and B*nd accelerated to 85, performed his favourite racing change from third into neutral, coasted on two wheels through the turn onto Park Street and screeched to a halt in front of the recessed Adam frontage of Glades. As they got out of the car, * turned to him. “I say, J*mes, have you any ideas on what Alligator’s method might be?”
B*nd lit a cigarette. “I don’t know. Could be he’s dealing seconds, bottoms, or middles. Or maybe it’s a question of Edge Work or Line Work.” He paused thoughtfully. “Or then again, it might be he’s using arm presser holdouts or belly strippers. Then too, you can’t rule out ace-waxing or luminous readers. And there’s always the possibility of a ‘shiner’—one of those tiny mirrors Americans often use for reading the cards as they’re dealt.”
“Yes, quite,” said * drily. “Oh, one more thing. How will I know when you’ve cracked Alligator’s system?”
B*nd thought for a moment. “Why don’t we arrange some sort of a signal? I might propose a toast or something of that order.”
“Done and done,” said *. He pushed open the wide swinging doors. Millard, the aging steward of Glades, rushed up to greet them. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he croaked. “I believe Mr. Alligator and Lord Dingletump are waiting for you upstairs in the card room.” He beckoned to a page.
“Thank you, Millard,” said * warmly, and the two followed the page up the wide marble staircase with its fine mahogany balustrade. B*nd’s heart raced with excitement. In a moment he would have a chance to do battle with the bullying, boorish, loud-mouthed vulgarian he had loathed at sight.
6. “What’s Your Limit, Alligator?”
WHEN B*nd and * entered, the far end of the card room had already filled with bridge and poker players. At the round poker table under the centre chandelier, his back to them, sat Alligator; across from him, shuffling the cards, was Lord Dingletump, chairman of Glades, smoking a Partagas Visible Immensas. A few feet behind the peer were the two deaf-mutes, conversing in animated sign language.
As B*nd approached the table, he noted that the faces of Dingletump and the Bulgars were tinted purple. By Alligator’s right hand was the telltale aerosol can of mauve vegetable colouring. B*nd wondered again why a man of Alligator’s wealth and power would have such an unseemly habit. As if he were dealing with human muck so far beneath contempt that there was no need to make even a pretense of decent behavior. And the cheating at cards, if indeed he were cheating, only added to this impression. Why, the man must be a raving megalomaniac, thought B*nd. And, at any time he chose, Alligator might unleash the secret power behind that purple face in any direction his brilliant mind might choose. A dangerous man, B*nd reflected, and a dangerous situation.
Or was he fooling himself? Indeed, he thought, what had Alligator done to him? B*nd had, in fact, taken liberties with Alligator on their only previous meeting, running off with Anagram when the man had momentarily stepped out of the room.
But still, B*nd mistrusted Alligator’s red hair, his football-sized head, his steel teeth, and his love of purple. In his long years in the double O section of the Secret Service, he had learned that these things invariably stood for evil.
Besides there were the two deaf-mute Bulgarian bodyguards. Bulgarians, B*nd had always known, are inherently stupid and muscular. Lacking the intelligence to be criminal masterminds in their own right, they usually ended up as hired thugs. He remembered that while he had been working on that Casino case in France, the Deuxieme Bureau had uncovered a whole pool of Bulgars expert in sabotage and murder jobs. Alligator had probably hired his bodyguards from just such a pool.
“Ah, Admiral *,” greeted Dingletump, who had stood as he noticed B*nd and * walking toward the table. “It’s a pleasure to see you. And this gentleman must be Commander B*nd.” He shook B*nd’s hand vigourously. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Lacertus Alligator.”
Alligator rose, and, picking up his aerosol can, quickly sprayed the faces of the two newcomers. A smile flickered across the millionaire’s huge, hairy face as he greeted *, but it quickly vanished as he acknowledged B*nd. “I believe Commander B*nd and I have had the pleasure of meeting before.” He waved his hand in the direction of the Bulgarians. “Gentlemen, my two associates, Mr. Kynstondi and Mr. Pazardzhik. I am afraid I must greet you in their behalf, for they are both, quite unfortunately, deaf-mutes.” He laughed uproariously and gave the two bodyguards an extra squirt from the spray can.
B*nd nodded in their direction and, after pausing to light a cigarette, addressed himself to Alligator. “I understand you are quite a ‘Go Fish’ player, Mr. Alligator. I don’t like to impose, but I wonder if I might play a few hands with you when you’ve finished your game with Lord Dingletump. I like to consider myself an expert, although, of course, I haven’t had the experience you . . .”
“Certainly, certainly,” Alligator interjected, a cruel sparkle dancing in his doll’s eyes.
Dingletump heaved a sigh and turned to B*nd. “I think you’d do well to take my place right now Commander,” he chuckled gaily. “I’m afraid our friend Alligator’s just about cleaned me out. He has the most uncanny faculty for seeming to know what’s in his opponent’s hand.”
Alligator grinned widely, and his huge steel teeth caught the light from the chandelier and sent it flashing about the vast room. “It’s all in knowing the cards, chum,” he said patronisingly, but not unpleasantly, to Dingletump. “But you have no need to be ashamed of yourself or your performance. For a novice at ‘Go Fish’ you’ve done surprisingly well.”
“Well, considering that we were playing for the highest stakes ever recorded for a ‘Go Fish’ game at Glades, I guess I was lucky to keep my losses down to £4,000.” Dingletump chuckled grimly at his plight and turned to B*nd who was in the process of killing his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “Best of luck, Commander,” he said cheerfully, “and I advise you to be moderate in your decision concerning the stakes. Mr. Alligator has yet to lose a hand in the six weeks he’s been coming to Glades.” The chairman patted B*nd on the shoulder as he sat down in the vacated chair.
“Thank you for the advice,” B*nd replied warmly, as he took out his pig iron cigarette case and removed one of the Arabian Cigarettes. “If I may ask, what stakes were you playing for?” He lit his cigarette, and squinted sideways at Dingletump.
“£1 per point, 50 points per book,” Alligator interjected. “Of course I don’t expect you to . . .” B*nd c
ut him short. “What’s your limit, Alligator?” he snapped.
Alligator shrugged, and then flashed his hideous steely smile. “It’s up to you, chum,” he said warmly. “I’ve been known to play for as high as £3 per point, 100 points per book, but I realise . . .”
“Well then,” said B*nd confidently, “suppose we make it £30 per, 1,000 a book. I feel rather generous tonight.”
Alligator stared for several seconds at his adversary in utter disbelief. B*nd took the respite to beckon a passing waiter.
“Gentlemen,” he said expansively, “what will you have?”
“Some coffee and a snifter of the club brandy for me,” * said and Dingletump ordered the same.
“I’ll have my usual bourbon and grape juice,” said Alligator, who had recovered his composure. He made a series of finger signs in the direction of the Bulgars, who nodded gleefully. “Make that three,” he added.
“Very good, sir,” the waiter replied. “And you, sir?”
“Yes,” answered B*nd, “I’d like the following. First chill a glass to 28° F. No more than two cubes of ice per measure. Basically it is two ounces of Wolfschmidt’s and two ounces of Beefeater’s with a half ounce of Cointreau. On the side have the bartender mix an ounce of creme de menthe with one of light Bacardi and a dash of Angostura and Falernum (not too heavy). The whole is then firmly shaken with a half cup of sugar and poured slowly over the ice in the glass. A twist of lemon once around the lip and into the glass and it is made.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the beaming waiter. He turned and started to walk away.
B*nd called him back. “Oh, and waiter, just in case anyone should order that drink again, it’s called an Anagram. I’ll have three of them.”
As he added these final words, B*nd squinted sideways at Alligator. At the mention of Anagram, his pupils had suddenly grown smaller, and the whites shone angrily around them. The steel teeth were gritted in a furious sneer. “All right, chum,” he snarled, “£30 per, 1000 it is.”