if.liveandletdie-第7节

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　'If　Leiter's　interested　and　if　you　don't　mind；'　said　Bond；　'I'd　like　very　much　to　get　up　to　Harlem　this　evening　and　have　a　look　round。　Might　help　to　have　some　idea　of　what　it　looks　like　in　Mr。　Big's　back　yard。'
　Dexter　reflected。
　'Okay；'　he　said　finally。　'Probably　no　harm。　But　don't　show　yourselves　too　much。　And　don't　get　hurt；'　lie　added。　'There's　no　one　to　help　you　up　there。　And　don't　go　stirring　up　a　lot　of　trouble　for　us。　This　case　isn't　ripe　yet。　Until　it　is；　our　policy　with　Mr。　Big　is　〃live　and　let　live〃。'
　Bond　looked　quizzically　at　Captain　Dexter。
　'In　my　job；'　he　said；　'when　I　e　up　against　a　man　like　this　one；　I　have　another　motto。　It's　〃live　and　let　die〃。'
　Dexter　shrugged　his　shoulders。　'Maybe；'　he　said；　'but　you're　under　my　orders　here；　Mr。　Bond；　and　I'd　be　glad　if　you'd　accept　them。'
　'Of　course；'　said　Bond；　'and　thanks　for　all　your　help。　Hope　you　have　luck　with　your　end　of　the　job。'
　Dexter　flagged　a　cab。　They　shook　hands。
　'Bye；　fellers；'　said　Dexter　briefly。　'Stay　alive。'　His　cab　pulled　out　into　the　uptown　traffic。
　Bond　and　Leiter　smiled　at　each　other。
　'Able　guy；　I　should　say；'　said　Bond。
　They're　all　that　in　his　show；'　said　Leiter。　'Bit　inclined　to　be　stuffed　shirts。　Very　touchy　about　their　rights。　Always　bickering　with　us　or　with　the　police。　But　I　guess　you　have　much　the　same　problem　in　England。'
　'Oh　of　course；'　said　Bond。　'We're　always　rubbing　MI　5　up　the　wrong　way。　And　they're　always　stepping　on　the　corns　of　the　Special　Branch。　Scotland　Yard；'　he　explained。　'Well；　how　about　going　up　to　Harlem　tonight？'
　'Suits　me；'　said　Leiter。　'I'll　drop　you　at　the　St。　Regis　and　pick　you　up　again　about　six…thirty。　Meet　you　in　the　King　Cole　Bar；　on　the　ground　floor。　Guess　you　want　to　take　a　look　at　Mr。　Big；'　he　grinned。　'Well；　so　do　I；　but　it　wouldn't　have　done　to　tell　Dexter　so。'　He　flagged　a　Yellow　Cab。
　'St。　Regis　Hotel。　Fifth　at　55th。'
　They　climbed　into　the　overheated　tin　box　reeking　of　last　week's　cigar…smoke。
　Leiter　wound　down　a　window。
　'Whaddya　want　ter　do？'　asked　the　driver　over　his　shoulder。　'Gimme　pneumony？'
　'Just　that；'　said　Leiter；　'if　it　means　saving　us　from　this　gas　chamber。'
　'Wise　guy；　hn？'　said　the　driver；　crashing　tinnily　through　his　gears。　He　took　the　chewed　end　of　a　cigar　from　behind　his　ear　and　held　it　up。　'Two　bits　for　three；'　he　said　in　a　hurt　voice。
　'Twenty…four　cents　too　much；'　said　Leiter。　The　rest　of　the　drive　was　passed　in　silence。
　They　parted　at　the　hotel　and　Bond　went　up　to　his　room。　It　was　four　o'clock。　He　asked　the　telephone　operator　to　call　him　at　six。　For　a　while　he　looked　out　of　the　window　of　his　bedroom。　To　his　left；　the　sun　was　setting　in　a　blaze　of　colour。　In　the　skyscrapers　the　lights　were　ing　on；　turning　the　whole　town　into　a　golden　honeyb。　Far　below　the　streets　were　rivers　of　neon　lighting；　crimson；　blue；　green。　The　wind　sighed　sadly　outside　in　the　velvet　dusk；　lending　his　room　still　more　warmth　and　security　and　luxury。　He　drew　the　curtains　and　turned　on　the　soft　lights　over　his　bed。　Then　he　took　off　his　clothes　and　climbed　between　the　fine　percale　sheets。　He　thought　of　the　bitter　weather　in　the　London　streets；　the　grudging　warmth　of　the　hissing　gas…fire　in　his　office　at　Headquarters；　the　chalked…up　menu　on　the　pub　he　had　passed　on　his　last　day　in　London：　'Giant　Toad　&　2　Veg。'
　He　stretched　luxuriously。　Very　soon　he　was　asleep。
　
　Up　in　Harlem；　at　the　big　switchboard；　'The　Whisper'　was　dozing　over　his　racing　form。　All　his　lines　were　quiet。　Suddenly　a　light　shone　on　the　right　of　the　board　…　an　important　light。
　'Yes；　Boss；'　he　said　softly　into　his　headphone。　He　couldn't　have　spoken　any　louder　if　he　had　wished　to。　He　had　been　born　on　'Lung　Block'；　on　Seventh　Avenue；　at　142nd　Street；　where　death　from　TB　is　twice　as　high　as　anywhere　in　New　York。　Now；　he　only　had　part　of　one　lung　left。
　'Tell　all　〃Eyes〃；'　said　a　slow；　deep　voice；'　to　watch　out　from　now　on。　Three　men。'　A　brief　description　of　Leiter；　Bond　and　Dexter　followed。　'May　be　ing　in　this　evening　or　tomorrow。　Tell　them　to　watch　particularly　on　First　to　Eight　and　the　other　Avenues。　The　night　spots　too；　in　case　they're　missed　ing　in。　They're　not　to　be　molested。　Call　me　when　you　get　a　sure　fix。　Got　it？'
　'Yes；　Sir；　Boss；'　said　The　Whisper；　breathing　fast。　The　voice　went　quiet。　The　operator　took　the　whole　handful　of　plugs；　and　soon　the　big　switchboard　was　alive　with　winking　lights。　Softly；　urgently；　he　whispered　on　into　the　evening。
　At　six　o'clock　Bond　was　awakened　by　the　soft　burr　of　the　telephone。　He　took　a　cold　shower　and　dressed　carefully。　He　put　on　a　garishly　striped　tie　and　allowed　a　broad　wedge　of　bandana　to　protrude　from　his　breast　pocket。　He　slipped　the　chamois　leather　holster　over　his　shirt　so　that　it　hung　three　inches　below　his　left　armpit。　He　whipped　at　the　mechanism　of　the　Beretta　until　all　eight　bullets　lay　on　the　bed。　Then　he　packed　them　back　into　the　magazine；　loaded　the　gun；　put　up　the　safety…catch　and　slipped　it　into　the　holster。
　He　picked　up　the　pair　of　Moccasin　casuals；　felt　their　toes　and　weighed　them　in　his　hand。　Then　he　reached　under　the　bed　and　pulled　out　a　pair　of　his　own　shoes　he　had　carefully　kept　out　of　the　suitcase　full　of　his　belongings　the　FBI　had　taken　away　from　him　that　morning。
　He　put　them　on　and　felt　better　equipped　to　face　the　evening。
　Under　the　leather；　the　toe…caps　were　lined　with　steel。
　At　six　twenty…five　he　went　down　to　the　King　Cole　Bar　and　chose　a　table　near　the　entrance　and　against　the　wall。　A　few　minutes　later　Felix　Leiter　came　in。　Bond　hardly　recognized　him。　His　mop　of　straw…coloured　hair　was　now　jet　black　and　he　wore　a　dazzling　blue　suit　with　a　white　shirt　and　a　black…and…white　polka…dot　tie。
　Leiter　sat　down　with　a　broad　grin。
　'I　suddenly　decided　to　take　these　people　seriously；'　he　explained。　'This　stuff's　only　a　rinse。　It'll　e　off　in　the　morning。　I　hope；'　he　added。
　Leiter　ordered　medium…dry　Martinis　with　a　slice　of　lemon　peel。　He　stipulated　House　of　Lords　gin　and　Martini　Rossi。　The　American　gin；　a　much　higher　proof　than　English　gin；　tasted　harsh　to　Bond。　He　reflected　that　he　would　have　to　be　careful　what　he　drank　that　evening。
　'We'll　have　to　keep　on　our　toes；　where　we're　going；'　said　Felix　Leiter；　echoing　his　thoughts。　'Harlem's　a　bit　of　a　jungle　these　days。　People　don't　go　up　there　any　more　like　they　used　to。　Before　the　war；　at　the　end　of　an　evening；　one　used　to　go　to　Harlem　just　as　one　goes　to　Montmartre　in　Paris。　They　were　glad　to　take　one's　money。　One　used　to　go　to　the　Savoy　Ballroom　and　watch　the　dancing。　Perhaps　pick　up　a　high…yaller　and　risk　the　doctor's　bills　afterwards。　Now　that's　all　changed。　Harlem　doesn't　like　being　stared　at　any　more。　Most　of　the　places　have　closed　and　you　go　to　the　others　strictly　on　sufferance。　Often　you　get　tossed　out　on　your　ear；　simply　because　you're　white。　And　you　don't　get　any　sympathy　from　the　police　either。'
　Leiter　extracted　the　lemon　peel　from　his　Martini　and　chewed　it　reflectively。　The　bar　was　filling　up。　It　was　warm　and　panionable　…　a　far　cry；　Leiter　reflected；　from　the　inimical；　electric　climate　of　the　negro　pleasure…spots　they　would　be　drinking　in　later。
　'Fortunately；'　continued　Leiter；　'I　like　the　negroes　and　they　know　it　somehow。　I　used　to　be　a　bit　of　an　aficionado　of　Harlem。　Wrote　a　few　pieces　on　Dixieland　Jazz　for　the　Amsterdam　News；　one　of　the　local　papers。　Did　a　series　for　the　North　American　Newspaper　Alliance　on　the　negro　theatre　about　the　time　Orson　Welles　put　on　his　Macbeth　with　an　all…negro　cast　at　the　Lafayette。　So　I　know　my　way　about　up　there。　And　I　admire　the　way　they're　getting　on　in　the　world；　though　God　knows　I　can't　see　the　end　of　it。'
　They　finished　their　drinks　and　Leiter　called　for　the　check。
　'Of　course　there　are　some　bad　ones；'　he　said。　'Some　of　the　worst　anywhere。　Harlem's　the　capital　of　the　negro　world。　In　any　half　a　million　people　of　any　race　you'll　get　plenty　of　stinkeroos。　The　trouble　with　our　friend　Mr。　Big　is　that　he's　the　hell　of　a　good　technician；　thanks　to　his　oss　and　Moscow　training。　And　he　must　be　pretty　well　organized　up　there。'
　Leiter　paid。　He　shrugged　his　shoulders。
　'Let's　go；'　he　said。　'We'll　have　ourselves　some　fun　and　try　and　get　back　in　one　piece。　After　all；　this　is　what　we're　paid　for。　We'll　take　a　bus　on　Fifth　Avenue。　You　won't　find　many　cabs　that　want　to　go　up　there　after　dark。'
　They　walked　out　of　the　warm　hotel　and　took　the　few　steps　to　the　bus　stop　on　the　Avenue。
　It　was　raining。　Bond　turned　up　the　collar　of　his　coat　and　gazed　up　the　Avenue　to　his　right；　towards　Central　Park；　towards　the　dark　citadel　that　housed　The　Big　Man。
　Bond's　nostrils　flared　slightly。　He　longed　to　get　in　there　after　him。　He　felt　strong　and　pact　and　confident。　The　evening　awaited　him；　to　be　opened　and　read；　page　by　page；　word　by　word。
　In　front　of　his　eyes；　the　rain　came　down　in　swift；　slanting　strokes　…　italic　script　across　the　unopened　black　cover　that　hid　the　secret　hours　that　lay　ahead。
　
　CHAPTER　V
　NIGGER　HEAVEN
　
　At　the　bus　stop　at　the　corner　of　Fifth　and　Cathedral　Parkway　three　negroes　stood　quietly　under　the　light　of　a　street　lamp。　They　looked　wet　and　bored。　They　were。　They　had　been　watching　the　traffic　on　Fifth　since　the　call　went　out　at　four…thirty。
　'Yo　next；　Fatso；'　said　one　of　them　as　the　bus　came　up