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'Just that；' said Leiter； 'if it means saving us from this gas chamber。'
'Wise guy； hn？' said the driver； crashing tinnily through his gears。 He took the chewed end of a cigar from behind his ear and held it up。 'Two bits for three；' he said in a hurt voice。
'Twenty…four cents too much；' said Leiter。 The rest of the drive was passed in silence。
They parted at the hotel and Bond went up to his room。 It was four o'clock。 He asked the telephone operator to call him at six。 For a while he looked out of the window of his bedroom。 To his left； the sun was setting in a blaze of colour。 In the skyscrapers the lights were ing on； turning the whole town into a golden honeyb。 Far below the streets were rivers of neon lighting； crimson； blue； green。 The wind sighed sadly outside in the velvet dusk； lending his room still more warmth and security and luxury。 He drew the curtains and turned on the soft lights over his bed。 Then he took off his clothes and climbed between the fine percale sheets。 He thought of the bitter weather in the London streets； the grudging warmth of the hissing gas…fire in his office at Headquarters； the chalked…up menu on the pub he had passed on his last day in London： 'Giant Toad & 2 Veg。'
He stretched luxuriously。 Very soon he was asleep。
Up in Harlem； at the big switchboard； 'The Whisper' was dozing over his racing form。 All his lines were quiet。 Suddenly a light shone on the right of the board … an important light。
'Yes； Boss；' he said softly into his headphone。 He couldn't have spoken any louder if he had wished to。 He had been born on 'Lung Block'； on Seventh Avenue； at 142nd Street； where death from TB is twice as high as anywhere in New York。 Now； he only had part of one lung left。
'Tell all 〃Eyes〃；' said a slow； deep voice；' to watch out from now on。 Three men。' A brief description of Leiter； Bond and Dexter followed。 'May be ing in this evening or tomorrow。 Tell them to watch particularly on First to Eight and the other Avenues。 The night spots too； in case they're missed ing in。 They're not to be molested。 Call me when you get a sure fix。 Got it？'
'Yes； Sir； Boss；' said The Whisper； breathing fast。 The voice went quiet。 The operator took the whole handful of plugs； and soon the big switchboard was alive with winking lights。 Softly； urgently； he whispered on into the evening。
At six o'clock Bond was awakened by the soft burr of the telephone。 He took a cold shower and dressed carefully。 He put on a garishly striped tie and allowed a broad wedge of bandana to protrude from his breast pocket。 He slipped the chamois leather holster over his shirt so that it hung three inches below his left armpit。 He whipped at the mechanism of the Beretta until all eight bullets lay on the bed。 Then he packed them back into the magazine； loaded the gun； put up the safety…catch and slipped it into the holster。
He picked up the pair of Moccasin casuals； felt their toes and weighed them in his hand。 Then he reached under the bed and pulled out a pair of his own shoes he had carefully kept out of the suitcase full of his belongings the FBI had taken away from him that morning。
He put them on and felt better equipped to face the evening。
Under the leather； the toe…caps were lined with steel。
At six twenty…five he went down to the King Cole Bar and chose a table near the entrance and against the wall。 A few minutes later Felix Leiter came in。 Bond hardly recognized him。 His mop of straw…coloured hair was now jet black and he wore a dazzling blue suit with a white shirt and a black…and…white polka…dot tie。
Leiter sat down with a broad grin。
'I suddenly decided to take these people seriously；' he explained。 'This stuff's only a rinse。 It'll e off in the morning。 I hope；' he added。
Leiter ordered medium…dry Martinis with a slice of lemon peel。 He stipulated House of Lords gin and Martini Rossi。 The American gin； a much higher proof than English gin； tasted harsh to Bond。 He reflected that he would have to be careful what he drank that evening。
'We'll have to keep on our toes； where we're going；' said Felix Leiter； echoing his thoughts。 'Harlem's a bit of a jungle these days。 People don't go up there any more like they used to。 Before the war； at the end of an evening； one used to go to Harlem just as one goes to Montmartre in Paris。 They were glad to take one's money。 One used to go to the Savoy Ballroom and watch the dancing。 Perhaps pick up a high…yaller and risk the doctor's bills afterwards。 Now that's all changed。 Harlem doesn't like being stared at any more。 Most of the places have closed and you go to the others strictly on sufferance。 Often you get tossed out on your ear； simply because you're white。 And you don't get any sympathy from the police either。'
Leiter extracted the lemon peel from his Martini and chewed it reflectively。 The bar was filling up。 It was warm and panionable … a far cry； Leiter reflected； from the inimical； electric climate of the negro pleasure…spots they would be drinking in later。
'Fortunately；' continued Leiter； 'I like the negroes and they know it somehow。 I used to be a bit of an aficionado of Harlem。 Wrote a few pieces on Dixieland Jazz for the Amsterdam News； one of the local papers。 Did a series for the North American Newspaper Alliance on the negro theatre about the time Orson Welles put on his Macbeth with an all…negro cast at the Lafayette。 So I know my way about up there。 And I admire the way they're getting on in the world； though God knows I can't see the end of it。'
They finished their drinks and Leiter called for the check。
'Of course there are some bad ones；' he said。 'Some of the worst anywhere。 Harlem's the capital of the negro world。 In any half a million people of any race you'll get plenty of stinkeroos。 The trouble with our friend Mr。 Big is that he's the hell of a good technician； thanks to his oss and Moscow training。 And he must be pretty well organized up there。'
Leiter paid。 He shrugged his shoulders。
'Let's go；' he said。 'We'll have ourselves some fun and try and get back in one piece。 After all； this is what we're paid for。 We'll take a bus on Fifth Avenue。 You won't find many cabs that want to go up there after dark。'
They walked out of the warm hotel and took the few steps to the bus stop on the Avenue。
It was raining。 Bond turned up the collar of his coat and gazed up the Avenue to his right； towards Central Park； towards the dark citadel that housed The Big Man。
Bond's nostrils flared slightly。 He longed to get in there after him。 He felt strong and pact and confident。 The evening awaited him； to be opened and read； page by page； word by word。
In front of his eyes； the rain came down in swift； slanting strokes … italic script across the unopened black cover that hid the secret hours that lay ahead。
CHAPTER V
NIGGER HEAVEN
At the bus stop at the corner of Fifth and Cathedral Parkway three negroes stood quietly under the light of a street lamp。 They looked wet and bored。 They were。 They had been watching the traffic on Fifth since the call went out at four…thirty。
'Yo next； Fatso；' said one of them as the bus came up out of the rain and stopped with a sigh from the gre