The red Jaguar was outside the entrance, up against the wall of the enclosure. Bond let them take his g*n and climbed in beside the driver.
“No funny tricks if you want to keep your head on straight,” said suet-face, climbing into the rumble seat beside the golf clubs. “There’s a g*n on you.”
“Nice little car you once had,” said Bond. The shattered windshield had been lowered flat and a piece of chrome from the radiator stuck up like a pennant between the two wingless front tyres. “Where are we going in the remains?”
“You’ll see,” said the driver, a bony man with a cruel mouth and sideburns. He swung the car out on to the road and accelerated back towards the town, and they were soon in amongst the jungle of neon and then through it and going fast down a two-lane highway that ribboned a
