Page 25 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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to stop, reaching for his weapon as he did so.

Bond saw one hand come up with a pistol, the other held some kind of
wallet in front of his body as though it was a magic charm to stop evil. But the
men kept coming.
James Bond OO7 - printing disabled impotent, pushing his back against the wall, hoping the shadows James Bond OO7 - printing disabled
He felt
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would conceal him.
Then, as the pair of thugs came nearer, so others appeared silently from a
doorway to Bond’s right, moving swiftly with no sound, bearing down on
Porpoise’s back.

Bond wanted to cry out a warning, but his throat felt dry and constricted as
he watched the inevitable which seemed to take place in horrific slow motion.
He saw Porpoise adopt a firing stance with legs apart and his pistol held in
a two-handed grip, arms rigid in front of his body. In his mind, Bond imagined
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the finger already squeezing on the trigger, but before he could get off a shot,
one of the men at his rear came within striking distance, raised his bat and
swung with sickening force to the side of Porpoise’s head.
There was no human sound, only the horrific thud and crack as the bat

connected and the target’s head smashed to one side, followed by the clatter as
the pistol flew from his hands.
The first blow was like a signal for all four men to move in, though the
initial crack to the head could well have killed. The solid baseball bats rose

and fell as Porpoise dropped first to his knees and then to the ground.
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Even when he was down, the quartet of clubs went on rising and falling, a
macabre series of drumbeat thuds, thumping and cracking in unison until all
that was left was a body with a terrible bloody sponge where the head had

once been.
There was nothing he could do. No way to give an alarm or prevent this
brutal overkill. So Bond backed away, still clinging close to the wall. Then he
moved fast, avoiding the boxes and garbage as he hurtled back the way he had

come.
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He stopped running once he had reached the main street and walked at
speed, weaving in and out of the people who still, at this late hour, filled the
sidewalks. He felt guilt wash over him for a second and cursed his lack of any

weapon or means to save the man. Then, as he began the long, thigh-aching toil
back up Nob Hill, he realised that the guilt was really only a reflection of
frustration at not having had the opportunity to question Porpoise. Why had be

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