Syrupy Muzak, drifted through the already smoke laden air in the dive. The 22 carat, Swiss action, gold plated Dunhill, smoothly clicked, under light pressure from Bond’s thumb.
He was about to comply with Moneythingy’s request to “Light her”. He had learned long ago, not to question female logic….Though, where to start?
Miss Moneythingy was wearing a low cut, sleeveless minidress. Thankfully, she gestured with her eyes, for a second time now, to an expensive tipped cigarette she was holding delicately between two fingers in her left hand….Bond HAD thought, that he may have left his fly zip undone, when she had first diverted her eyes downward.
Bond lit the cigarette…..In a graceful, fluid motion, Moneythingy quickly spun round, a Glock automatic, 7.43mm special …In her right hand. He had previously wondered fancifully what she had been fiddling about with under her side of the table. A table so small, that left little to the imagination, but now Bond was thinking of other things….
“Hmmmm, A Glock”, he thought, and bemusedly wondered why it was called that odd name.
“Maybe, because it rhymed with clock? Well, when the slide was pulled back….It made a sound like a…Tick…and when it was fired using a silencer….As she was….It made a sound like …Tock….”
His weapon of choice would be a Buretta of course…”Very manly”, he thought….Though only half the size, the name suggested to him something like a fast Italian mo-ped, and suited his self perceived impeccable persona, to a tee….No matter that it jammed more frequently than Bob Marley on weed, and was inaccurate…It made a very satisfying loud bang when it was let off, that’s what HE liked! “A bit like a sheep in wolf’s clothing”, he said quietly, smiling to himself…..(They hadn’t really taught him much about metaphors at Oxford, where he majored in poker and champagne recognition).

Tock….Tock….The man in the far corner looked momentarily surprised, and so he should, he had just been very professionally, ”Double tapped”, in the centre of his forehead….
“One day”, thought Bond…”One day, …M might give him Double Oh status, and HE would be allowed to do that”…..The body sort of slid, like in slow motion, to the floor….
Wasting no time, Moneythingy, instantly called the waiter over and ordered a Bomb……An iced cream Bomb….double chocolate….Brandysnap on the side.
Bond stared from a distance into the dead mans eyes, that were now strangely crossed….He recognised him from Berlin…His arch Nemesis….Fingers Slim…..Then he glanced over to the other side of the dive at miss Camelback, she was looking a bit grey now, and still stared at him in a really weird way….
The body count was mounting, he thought, and he would most likely get the blame…..
Then a voice behind him…..”A pity about the girl….Allah Akbar…Hey Bond?”…….
Because….They said things like that in Casablanca……
Gun smoke, laced with the smell of cordite, curled up from under the table, from the hot Glock…..