"… and when I get into town I call my friend Ernie Cureo. James knows him. And his wife is having hysterics and Ernie's in the hospital. So I go right along and he tells me the score and I figure that James may need some reinforcements. So I jump on my coal-black mare and gallop through the night and when I get near to Spectreville I see the light in the sky. Mr Spang's having himself a barbecue, I figure. And the gate in the fence is open so I decide to join the feast. Well, believe me or believe me not, there's not a soul in the place except a guy with a busted leg and multiple contusions, who's crawling down the road trying to get away. And he looks to me mighty like a young hood called Frasso from Detroit Ernie Cureo tells me was one of the guys that took James. The fellow's in no state to deny this and I more or less get the picture and I figure that Rhyolite's my next stop. So I tell the kid he'll soon be having plenty of company from the Fire Department and I take him to the gate and leave him there and then after a while there's a girl standing in the middle of the desert looking as if she's been fired out of a cannon and here we all are. And now you tell."
So it's not all part of a dream and I am lying in the back of the Studillac and this is Tiffany's lap under my head and that is Felix and we are going hell for leather down the road to safety, a doctor, a bath, some food and drink and an endless amount of sleep. Bond moved and he felt Tiffany's hand in his hair to tell it was all real and just like he hoped, and he lay still again and said nothing and held each moment to him and listened to their voices and the zip of the tyres on the road.
At the end of Tiffany's story, Felix Leiter gave a reverent whistle. "Jeese, Mam," he said. "The two of you sure seem to have busted a hole in the Spangled Mob. What in hell's going to happen now? There are plenty of other hornets in the nest and just sittin' around buzzin' isn't goin' to be their way. They'll want some action."
"Check," said Tiffany. "Spang was a member of the Syndicate at Vegas and these guys stick pretty much together. Then there's Shady Tree and those two torpedoes, Wint and Kidd, whoever they may be. The sooner we cross the State-line the better. Then what?"
"We're doin' all right so far," said Felix Leiter. "Be at Beatty in ten minutes, then we'll get on to 58 and be over the line in half an hour. Then there's a long ride through Death Valley and over the mountains down to Olancha where we hit No6. We could stop there and get James to a doc and do some eating and cleaning up. Then just stay on 6 until we get to LA. It'll be a hell of a drive, but we should make LA by lunchtime. Then we can relax a bit and think again. My guess is that we oughta get you and James out of the country pretty quick. The boys'll try and fix all kinds of phoney raps on you both, and once you're located I wouldn't give a nickel for either of you. Best chance would be to get you both on a plane to New York tonight and off to England tomorrow. James can take it from there."
"I guess that makes sense," said the girl. "But who is this Bond guy, anyway? What's his racket? Is he an eye?"
"You better ask him yourself, Mam," Bond heard Leiter say carefully. "But I wouldn't let that worry you over much. He'll take care of you."
Bond smiled to himself and in the long silence that followed he dropped off into an uneasy sleep which lasted until they were half way across California and had pulled up outside a white wicket gate that said 'Otis Fairplay, MD'.
And then, a mass of surgical tape and streaked with mercuro-chrome, washed and shaved and with a huge breakfast inside him, he was back in the car and back in the world and Tiffany Case had withdrawn into her old ironical and uncompromising manner and Bond was making himself useful by watching for speed cops as Leiter kept the car in the eighties down the endless dazzling road towards the distant cloudline that hid the High Sierras.
Then they were rolling easily along Sunset Boulevard between the palm trees and the emerald lawns, the dust-streaked Studillac looking incongruous among the glistening Corvettes and Jaguars, and finally, towards evening, they were sitting in the dark, cool bar of the Beverley Hills Hotel, and there were new suitcases in the lobby and brand new Hollywood clothes and even Bond's battle-scarred face didn't mean they hadn't all just finished work at the studios.
There was a telephone on the table beside their Martinis. Felix Leiter finished talking to New York for the fourth time since their arrival.
"Well that's fixed," he said, putting back the receiver. "My pals at the office have got you on the Elizabeth. Been delayed by a strike at the docks. Sails tomorrow night at eight. They'll meet you in the morning at La Guardia with the tickets and you'll go on board any time in the afternoon. They picked up the rest of your things at the Astor, James. One small case and your famous golf clubs. And Washington's obliged with a passport for Tiffany. There'll be a man from the State Department at the airport. You'll both have some forms to sign. Got one of my old pals at the CIA to work it. The middays have made a big splash with the story-'Ghost Town goes West' and so on-but they don't seem to have found our friend Spang yet and your names don't figure. My boys say there's no call out for you with the cops, but one of our undercover men says the gangs are looking for you and your description's been circulated. Ten Grand attached. So it's as well you're skipping quick. Better go aboard separately. Cover up as much as you can and go down to your cabins and stay there. All hell's going to bust loose when they get to the bottom of that old mine. That'll make leastwise three corpses to nothing and they don't like that kind of score."
"Pinkertons seem to have quite a machine," said Bond with admiration. "But I'll be glad when we're both out of here. I used to think your gangsters were just a bunch of Italian grease-balls who filled themselves up with pizza pie and beer all the week and on Saturdays knocked off a garage or a drug store so as to pay their way at the races. But they've certainly got plenty of violence on the payroll."
Tiffany Case laughed derisively. "You ought to get your head examined," she said flatly. "If we make the Lizzie all in one piece, it'll be a miracle. That's how good they are. Thanks to Captain Hook here we've got a chance, but it's not more than that. Greaseballs!"
Felix Leiter chuckled. "Come on, lovebirds," he said, looking at his watch. "We ought to get going. I've got to get back to Vegas tonight and start looking for the skeleton of our old dumb friend Shy Smile. And you've go............