Death For Breakfast
A James Bond Fan Fic by Matthew J. Mallecoccio
Chapter 1
A Truly Gorgeous Girl
James Bond rolled out of bed with a terrible hangover. The woman in bed with him yawned and rolled over. She was bound to wake up quite alone. The phone in 007's pants pocket rang and Bond answered it. "James Bond here." He said. "Get to headquarters this instant." Replied Miss Moneypenny. "Why? What have I done this time? Stood you up, or recklessly murdered a lead?" "Bite me." Bond chuckled quietly. "Don't tempt me, Moneypenny." An annoyed sigh could be heard on James Bond's end. "M wants you. It seems Ernst Stavro Blofeld is not dead. Seems the chimney still didn't do the job." Bond replied, "A lackey. It has to be one of his lackeys who found him, patched him back up and so on and so forth. I'll be right there in an hour." Moneypenny was waiting for Bond to change his timetable to two hours because of some lovely young lady, but she was pleased when an hour later Bond opened her door, flung his hat onto the hat rack and gave her a peck on the cheek.
"He wants you to put on a new face. God knows Blofeld's put on enough of them. Oh, and once you do, you must take me out for drinks and escargot." M piped up over the intercom. "There will be no such dinner at the moment. Send him in." Bond went in. "This is a special mission... even for you. I want you to treat it with the same cold objectivity which has been characteristic of 007 and not go on a damned bloody vendetta because of your late wife." "Sir. I may not have forgotten that he murdered Tracy, but I shan't use this mission for that. I shall only do what is required. Eliminate Blofeld and close the file on Operation Bedlam." M grinned. "Of course. Make sure you stop by Q Branch before you take the next flight to Sydney, Australia." "Yes, sir."
Bond exited M's office and leaned over Miss Moneypenny's desk. "Tell me. Do you really think I need a new face?" "Yes," Moneypenny replied, "I rather think looking like Hoagy Charmichael is old hat. Wouldn't you say, James?" "Well, who's the popular likeness these days?" James asked. "Hmm. I think I might like it if you looked like Hugh Jackman. Though not exactly like him. After all, he is an Aussie. You wouldn't fool a person down there. To be honest, I think I could use a new face, myself." Bond shook his head. "Tsk. Tsk. I wouldn't change a thing, Miss Moneypenny. You are a truly gorgeous girl." Moneypenny smirked. "James, I haven't been a girl in thirty years, but don't give up on flattery."
M piped in again. "Enough of that. Don't be late, 007." "No, sir. Time to go down under."
As Bond boarded the third 777 to Sydney at 11 pm. EST, a stewardess with a derriere that wouldn't quit bent her tall figure, as was customary when asking a passenger if he or she needed anything, and did so with the newly blond haired secret agent - a feature he still hadn't quite gotten used to. "Would you like something to drink before we take off?" Bond resisted an urge to say, "Vodka martini, shaken not stirred," and said, "I'd like a bourbon on ice, please." The stewardess nodded and then whispered in his ear. "If there's anything else, anything at all, meet me in the lavatory." Bond knew what the gorgeous stewardess meant and couldn't refuse. He'd been a member of the so - called "Mile High Club" before. He was a charter member in fact, being irresistible to most any woman. This particular woman was raven haired, tall, large bosomed, and as mentioned, had a nice bum. She was just Bond's type - well, one of them at least.
Upon landing at Sydney, Bond exited the John, adjusting his necktie and the stewardess finished buttoning her blouse back up. Bond grabbed his luggage and stepped off the plane. The humid climate was a welcome one to 007, but he would have to adjust to a new name for longer than a few days to a week. James Bond no longer existed. He was even given a different gun. He would be easily recognisable with a Walther PPK, so Q gave him a Glock .38 caliber with an extra magazine chamber. Bond didn't mind a Glock. Come to think of it, Thomas Bridge welcomed it. He would have to. He was going to be Sir Thomas Bridge for quite some time.
He approached the airline agent who immediately looked up at him. "Welcome to Sydney. Your name?" Bridge resisted the urge to say, "The name's Bond, James Bond." Instead he said, "Sir Thomas Bridge. Yours?" "Emma. Here's the ticket to your taxi, and here's my number." Bond walked toward the cab, and thought to himself, "I guess Moneypenny had a point. Resembling Hoagy Charmichael is old hat."