Page 21 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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on to the main street again, Porpoise was still behind him. In spite of the

dampness in the air it was a warm night and a thousand assorted aromas filled
the street – cheap scents used by the whores mingled with cooking smells from
the restaurants, then mixed with the odour of rotting food from the garbage cans
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and old box
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of the crowd which ebbed and flowed around you and you had a concoction,
Bond considered, that could be found only in a few cities of the world.
There was also noise and light. Son et lumiere, he thought. The endless
stream of slow-moving traffic, the sing-song call of street traders, the brazen

advances of the girls and music blaring, overpowering, coming from almost
every clip joint, club and store, while the neon, reds, vivid blues and whites,
flashed and strobed. Instant inferno.
He glanced over his right shoulder, waiting for a dozen or so cars and taxis
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to throb past, each laden with the thumping heavy bass from its onboard stereo,
before dodging the rest of the traffic and crossing the street. Porpoise was still
there, further back on the opposite side of the road now, but preparing to cross.
On the corner a store blazing with lights announced that it sold rare and

beautiful Chinese artifacts. The usual gaggle of female artifacts paced up and
down in front of the store, offering themselves for more basic services. Bond
snarled at one, who was dressed only in some unlikely garment which looked
as though it had come from Fredericks of Hollywood, and entered the store.

Inside, long counters glittered with jade, ivory and semiprecious stones.
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Buddhas, miniature pagodas, delicate fretted work, oceans of it, were all
overseen by attractive Chinese girls in elaborately decorated cheongsams or
attractive silk pyjama suits.

Several people were either actively buying or seriously looking along the
aisles, and the girls tried immediately for the hard sell, offering to show you
the choicest pieces or the best bargains. Bond had to be firmly rude to three of
them before they left him to his own browsing devices, which placed him near

to the windows so that he was able surreptitiously to survey the street outside.
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Porpoise appeared to be haggling with one of the street girls, but with one
eye permanently cocked towards the store doorway; there was little else he
could do, unless he brazened it out and came into the store itself.

Bond continued to look at the Oriental bric-a-brac, appearing to centre his
attention on a statuette, a six-inch-high delicate girl in the robes of ancient
China. One of the omnipresent assistants was quickly at his side.

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