Now Billy Ring brought his hands up from below the table and formed a cat’s cradle with them on the green baize in front of him. For a moment he watched the two thumbs twirling, then he raised his nightmare face to Goldfinger’s. The tic in his right eye had stopped. The two rows of teeth began to operate like a ventriloquist’s dummy. ‘Mister –’ he found difficulty with his b’s, m’s and p’s and produced them by bringing his upper lip down over his teeth like a horse does when it takes sugar out of your hand – ‘long time now my friends and I been back in legal. What I mean, the old days of leaving corpses strewn all over the landscape went out with the ’forties. Me and my associates, we do all right with the girls, the hemp, and the racetrack, and when we’re short there’s our good friends the Unions to slip us the odd fin. Ya see, mister –’ The Grinner opened his hands and then put them back into the cradle – ‘we figger the old days are gone. Big Jim Colossimo, Johnny Torrio, Dion O’Bannion, Al Capone – where are those guys today, huh? Mister, they’re pushing up the morning glory by the fence. Mebbe you weren’t around in the days when we used to hide up between fights in Little Bohemia up behind Milwaukee? Well, siree, in those days, people were shooting at each other so fast you’d often need a programme to tell the act from the spectators. So all right, people got tired of it – those that hadn’t already got tired to death, if you get my meaning – and when the ’fifties come along and I take over the team, it’s unanimous that we get out of the fireworks business. And now what, mister? Now you come along and put it to me that me and my friends assist you to let off the biggest fizzbang in history! So what do I figger to say to your proposition, Mister – er – Whoosis? Well, I tell you, mister. Everybody’s got his price, see? – and for a billion dollars it’s a deal. We’ll put away the marbles and bring out the sling-shots. We’re in.’
‘Grinner, you sure take one hell of a long time to say yes,’ commented Mr Midnight sourly.
Goldfinger said cordially, ‘Thank you for your most interesting statement, Mr Ring. I am very happy to welcome you and your associates. Mr Solo?’
Mr Solo prefaced his reply by reaching into his coat pocket and taking out a battery shaver. He switched it on. The room filled with the noise of angry bees. Mr Solo leant his head back and began running the machine thoughtfully up the right side of his face while his uptilted eyes sought decision in the ceiling. Suddenly he switched the razor off, put it down on the table in front of him and jerked his head down and forward like a snake striking. The black gun-muzzles of his eyes pointed threateningly across the table at Goldfinger and moved slowly from feature to feature of the big moon-face. Half Mr Solo’s own face now looked naked. The other half was dark with the Italian swarthiness that comes from an uncontrollable beard growth. Bond guessed that he probably had to shave every three or four hours. Now Mr Solo decided to speak. He spoke in a voice that brought chill into the room. He said softly, ‘Mister, I been watching you. You are a very relaxed man for someone who speaks such big things. Last man I knew was so much relaxed he got himself totally relaxed by a quick burst of the chopper. Okay, okay.’ Mr Solo sat back. He spread open palms in reluctant surrender. ‘So I come in, yes. But mister –’ there was a pause for emphasis – ‘either we get that billion or you get dead. Is okay with you?’
Goldfinger’s lips bent ironically. ‘Thank you, Mr Solo. Your conditions are quite acceptable. I have every wish to stay alive. Mr Helmut Springer?’
Mr Springer’s eyes looked deader than ever. He said pompously, ‘I am still giving the matter my full consideration. Pray consult my colleagues while I deliberate.’
Mr Midnight commented impatiently, ‘Same old Hell. Waits for what he calls inspiration. He’s guided – messages from the Almighty on the angels’ wavelength. I guess he hasn’t heard a human voice in twenty years.’
‘And Mr Strap?’
Mr Jack Strap crinkled his eyes at Goldfinger. He said smoothly, ‘Mister, I figure you know the odds and you surely pay the best since one of our machines at Vegas got the trots and gave continuous jackpots. I guess if we provide the muscles and the guns this caper’ll pay off. You can count me in.’ Mr Strap turned off the charm. His eyes, now frightening again, turned, with Goldfinger’s, to Miss Pussy Galore.
Miss Galore veiled her violet eyes so as not to have to look at either of them. She said indifferently to the room at large, ‘Business ain’t been so brisk in my corner of the woods.’ She tapped with long, silver-painted finger-nails on the gold bar before her. ‘Mind you, I won’t say I’m overdrawn at the bank. Let’s put it I’m just a shade under-deposited. Yup. Sure I’ll come in. Me and my gals got to eat.’
