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Mr。 Big spoke on the house…phone。 First to the head waiter。
'Two white men ing in five minutes。 Give them the Z table。'
'Yes； Sir； Boss；' said the head waiter。 He hurried across the dance…floor to a table away on the right； obscured from most of the room by a wide pillar。 It was next to the Service entrance but with a good view of the floor and the band opposite。
It was occupied by a party of four； two men and two girls
'Sorry folks；' said the head waiter。 'Been a mistake。 Table's reserved。 Newspaper men from downtown。'
One of the men began to argue。
'Move； Bud；' said the head waiter crisply。 'Lofty； show these folks to table F。 Drinks is on the house。 Sam；' he beckoned to another waiter； 'clear the table。 Two covers。' The party of four moved docilely away； mollified by the prospect of free liquor。 The head waiter put a Reserved sign on table Z； surveyed it and returned to his post at his table…plan on the high desk beside the curtained entrance。
Meanwhile Mr。 Big had made two more calls on the house…phone。 One to the Master of Ceremonies。
'Lights out at the end of G…G's act。'
'Yes； Sir； Boss；' said the MC with alacrity。
The other call was to four men who were playing craps in the basement。 It was a long call； and very detailed。
CHAPTER VI
TABLE Z
At twelve forty…five Bond and Leiter paid off their cab and walked in under the sign which announced 'The Boneyard' in violet and green neon。
The thudding rhythm and the sour…sweet smell rocked them as they pushed through the heavy curtains inside the swing door。 The eyes of the hat…check girls glowed and beckoned。
'Have you reserved； Sir？' asked the head waiter。
'No；' said Leiter。 'We don't mind sitting at the bar。'
The head waiter consulted his table…plan。 He seemed to decide。 He put his pencil firmly through a space at the end of the card。
'Party hasn't shown。 Guess Ah cain't hold their res'vation all night。 This way； please。' He held his card high over his head and led them round the small crowded dance…floor。 He pulled out one of the two chairs and removed the 'Reserved' sign。
'Sam；' he called a waiter over。 'Look after these gem…mums order。' He moved away。
They ordered Scotch…and…soda and chicken sandwiches。
Bond sniffed。 'Marihuana；〃 he mented。
'Most of the real hep…cats smoke reefers；' explained Leiter。 'Wouldn't be allowed most places。'
Bond looked round。 The music had stopped。 The small four…piece band； clarinet； double…bass； electric guitar and drums； was moving out of the corner opposite。 The dozen or so couples were walking and jiving to their tables and the crimson light was turned off under the glass dance…floor。 Instead； pencil…thin lights in the roof came on and hit coloured glass witchballs； larger than footballs； that hung at intervals round the wall。 They were of different hues； golden； blue； green； violet； red。 As the beams of light hit them； they glowed like coloured suns。 The walls； varnished black； mirrored their reflections as did the sweat on the ebony faces of the men。 Sometimes a man sitting between two lights showed cheeks of different colour； green on one side； perhaps； and red on the other。 The lighting made it impossible to distinguish features unless they were only a few feet away。 Some of the lights turned the girls' lipstick black； others lit their whole faces in a warm glow on one side and gave the other profile the luminosity of a drowned corpse。
The whole scene was macabre and livid； as if El Greco had done a painting by moonlight of an exhumed graveyard in a burning town。
It was not a large room； perhaps sixty foot square。 There were about fifty tables and the customers were packed in like black olives in a jar。 It was hot and the air was thick with smoke and the sweet； feral smell of two hundred negro bodies。 The noise was terrific … an undertone of the jabber of negroes enjoying themselves without restraint； punctuated by sharp bursts of noise； shouts and high giggles； as loud voices called to each other across the room。
'Sweet Jeessus； look who's hyar。。。'
'Where you been keepin yoself； baby。。。'
'Gawd's troof。 It's Pinkus。。。 Hi Pinkus。。。'
'Cmon over。。。'
'Lemme be。。。 Lemme be； Fse telling ya。。。' （The noise of a slap。）
'Where's G…G。 Cmon G…G。 Strut yo stuff。。。'
From time to time a man or girl would erupt on to the dance…floor and start a wild solo jive。 Friends would clap the rhythm。 There would be a burst of catcalls and whistles。 If it was a girl； there would be cries of 'Strip； strip； strip；' 'Get hot； baby！' 'Shake it； shake it；' and the MC would e out and clear the floor amidst groans and shouts of derision。
The sweat began to bead on Bond's forehead。 Leiter leant over and cupped his hands。 'Three exits。 Front。 Service behind us。 Behind the band。' Bond nodded。 At that moment he felt it didn't matter。 This was nothing new to Leiter； but for Bond it was a close…up of the raw material on which The Big Man worked； the clay in his hands。 The evening was gradually putting flesh on the dossiers he had read in London and New York。 If the evening ended now； without any closer sight of Mr。 Big himself； Bond still felt his education in the case would be almost plete。 He took a deep draught of his whisky。 There was a burst of applause。 The MC had e out on to the dance…floor； a tall negro in immaculate tails with a red carnation in his button hole。 He stood； holding up his hands。 A single white spotlight caught him。 The rest of the room went dark。
There was silence。
'Folks；' announced the MG with a broad flash of gold and white teeth。 'This is it。'
There was excited clapping。
He turned to the left of the floor； directly across from Leiter and Bond。
He flung out his right hand。 Another spot came on。
'Mistah Jungles Japhet 'n his drums。'
A crash of applause； catcalls； whistles。
Four grinning negroes in flame…coloured shirts and peg…top white trousers were revealed； squatting astride four tapering barrels with rawhide membranes。 The drums were of different sizes。 The negroes were all gaunt and stringy。 The one sitting astride the bass drum rose briefly and shook clasped hands at the spectators。
'Voodoo drummers from Haiti；' whispered Leiter。
There was silence。 With the tips of their fingers the drummers began a slow； broken beat； a soft rumba shuffle。
'And now； friends；' announced the MC； still turned towards the drums； 'G…G。。。' he paused； 'SUMATRA。'
The last word was a yell。 He began to clap。 There was pandemonium in the room； a frenzy of applause。 The door behind the drums burst open and two huge negroes； naked except for gold loincloths； ran out on to the floor carrying between them； her arms round their necks； a tiny figure； swathed pletely in black ostrich feathers； a black domino across her eyes。
They put her down in the middle of the floor。 They bowed down on either side of her until their foreheads met the ground。 She took two paces forward。 With the spotlight off them； the two negroes melted away into the shadows and through the door。
The MC had disappeared。 There was absolute silence save for the soft thud of the drums。
The girl put her hand up to her throat and the cloak of black feathers came away