"You do, 007," M answered. "But no funny business!" she cautioned, shaking a finger at him like a crazy old lady.
"Aww," James set down his hand-buzzer and water-squirting flower in disappointment.
After James left, Kail said, "Do you think he'll use torture?"
Smiley shook his head. "No. Only Jack Bauer gets results with torture."
"True," Kail said, fondly remembering the awesome adventure they'd all had with the CTU agent in the last fic. (THAT NOBODY GOT TO SEE, HAHAHA).
"Shh, he's starting!" Pussy said, emptying a bag of popcorn into a big bowl for everybody to share.
XXXX
"Ah, James Bond. How are you?" Frightanime asked.
"WHERE IS SHE?" Bond demanded in a loud, gravelly voice, banging his fists on the table.
"Uh..."
James laughed. "Ah, I'm shitting you. I just always wanted to do that. So, why are you trying to kill me?"
Frightanime looked confused. "Kill...you? I don't...think I'm trying to kill you. Are you sure I'M the one trying to kill you? You are a high-profile spy with over half a century of making enemies behind you, after all."
"True, true...but explain THIS!" Bond pulled out the lead bullet from his pocket and thrust it into Frightanime's face. He accidentally lost his grip on the bullet, though, and it hit the assassin in the forehead.
"Ow!" Frightanime reached under the table and picked up the bullet, where it had fallen. "Hmm...it does look like one of mine, I must admit...I certainly don't remember sending you one, though." He pondered the bullet a while longer. "Ah! I see what the problem is! The 007 font isn't in Comic Sans. It's the only font I ever use."
Bond stared coldly at Frightanime. "Comic Sans? You fucking bastard."
On the other side of the glass, Pussy said, "What? What's the big deal about Comic Sans? I use it all the time."
"Me too," Irennie added.
"But...but Comic Sans sucks!" Smiley pointed out flawlessly.
Pussy made a face. "If Comic Sans sucks, then I DON'T," she threatened.
"Comic Sans rules!" Smiley said, with a forced grin.
Back in the interrogation room, Bond was leaning directly towards Frightanime, noses practically touching. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right now," Bond growled.
"Uh..." Frightanime was sweating bullets. (Metaphorical ones...like, drops of sweat. Not actual bullets. Though that would be badass). "I can tell you who made this bullet."
Bond stared at the man. "Well? Who?"
"A man obsessed with lead, who's based his entire waking life on it. His name is Plubic Leadfinger."
XXXX
The Krew walked into the Tiger Woods Memorial Country Club dressed in the jauntiest golf outfits they could find. They were there to meet Leadfinger and ascertain if he was threatening James' life. They knew little of the man, other than he owned a number of lead processing plants, and stockpiled the stuff like it was...gold, or something. This upset Pussy for some reason, but nobody paid any attention to her protests.
Bond approached the main desk. "Excuse me, is Plubic Leadfinger in today?"
The receptionist checked the logbook. "Yes, he is. He just left for the first hole a few minutes ago, actually."
Bond thanked the woman and led the Krew outside. "Ooh, golf carts. Driver!" Kail called out.
"Shotgun!" Smiley shouted.
"Aww," Bond said, slouching in sadness as he climbed into one of the rear seats.
Kail and Smiley made excited fast-sounding motor noises (despite the fact that the cart was electric) as it gently rolled towards the first hole. They reached Leadfinger quickly, who had not yet begun to play yet. He looked impatient and was checking his watch.
"Ah, playing through?" he asked them. "You might want to wait a few minutes, it's not here yet."
"What's not here yet?" Bond asked, stepping out of the cart.
Leadfinger smirked at Bond. "You truly don't know?" A small chuckle escaped his mouth. "This club is singular among all other golf courses in the world, in that each hole holds considerable danger to those who would tread upon it and sink their ball into the hole. Each hole, naturally, is more dangerous than the last. I, myself, have not had the courage to play past the seventh hole."
"Really?" Kail asked, stepping up next to James. "What's on the eighteenth hole?"
Leadfinger shrugged. "Nobody knows. The farthest anybody has ever made it was the thirteenth hole, where they simply spontaneously combusted. Rumor is that anybody who tries to play the eighteenth hole will set off a chain reaction that will make the sun explode."
"Mm, not quite a water hazard, then," Bond mused. "Look, what can you tell us about your business, Mr. Leadfinger? We're British intelligence agents, and you're wanted for questioning in a threat on my life."
"Mm, threat on your life? I don't think I've threatened anybody's life in the past week..." He checked his watch again and smiled. "Ah, good. Tell you what: If you make it through the first hole, I'll tell you everything you want to know." Leadfinger then teed off, watching his ball arc high into the sky. Before it landed, though, he ran back to his golf cart and floored it.
"What's he in a hurry for?" Smiley asked, walking up with the clubs on his shoulder.
Kail tilted his head. "Do you hear that?"
Bond narrowed his eyes. "I do...it sounds like...an Apache."
"That's impossible," Smiley dismissed. "There isn't a Native American reservation within miles of here."
Bond rolled his eyes. "No, Smiley. An Apache attack helicopter."
They stood around like idiots for a moment before they realized what Bond said.
"Attack..." Kail gulped.
"...Helicopter?" Smiley finished.
"TEE OFF! TEE OFF!" the two shouted simultaneously.
James fished a ball and some tees out of his pocket, dropping one of the tees. He pushed the tee into the earth, placed the ball atop it, and swung as hard as he could.
The ball soared far; a good hit. "Back to the cart," James said tersely.
They made it back just as the helicopter roared over the nearby treetops. Kail kicked the cart into high-gear just as a missile was launched from the Apache. "MISSILE!" Smiley announced unnecessarily.
"Hand me a club," Bond instructed.
"Five iron!" Smiley offered.
Bond took the club, leaned out the back, and hurled it like a javelin. The club struck the missile, blowing it up just shy of destroying the Krew Kart.
"Another club!" Bond commanded. Smiley handed one over silently; Bond leaned out the side and, with a mighty swing, sent the ball soaring again.
The chopper zeroed in directly behind the cart and opened up with its machine guns. Kail began swerving wildly to avoid him and his friends from being chewed to bite-sized chunks by the hail of gunfire.
XXXX
Leadfinger was lining up his final putt. He grinned; he was going to make par for the first time -- one benefit of having those buffoons distract the Apache.
The Krew Kart launched itself over a nearby row of bushes, landing squarely on top of Leadfinger's ball, the helicopter in fast pursuit. Leadfinger actually had to throw himself to the ground, as the Apache was low enough to the ground that the pilot could lean out and touch the grass if he felt like it.
Leadfinger pulled himself up and looked at where the golf ball had been. It was still there: the problem was that it had been shoved almost completely into the green by one of the cart's tires. "Bastards!" he called after the Krew, shaking his fist at them.
XXXX
Bond calculated the distance between his ball and the hole. "You have to slow down!" he said to Kail. "I can't make the putt otherwise!"
"I'd love to, but that Apache will fly straight up our ass if I do. Something I'm sure you'd enjoy." Bond glared at Kail.
James thought for a moment, then grabbed the roof of the golf cart. "Hit the roof release switch!" he instructed.
"...No! You can't do that! That's CRAZY!" Smiley shouted.
"It's crazy NOT to do it!" Bond rebutted.
"...Touche."
Kail triggered the switch, disengaging the roof from the golf cart. The roof acted as an impromptu hang-glider, pulling James upward and toward the oncoming Apache. He just barely made it under the blades, where he let go of the roof and leapt onto the cockpit of the helicopter. The pilot inside barely had time to make a shocked face when James thrust the business end of the putter through the glass, hooked the man's flight suit, and sharply yanked back. The pilot's head collided with an intact part of the canopy, causing him to black out and slump over the control stick.
Hastily, James leapt off the helicopter as it turned into a steep dive. The nose of the Apache met ground and crumpled inward, turning the unconscious pilot into paste. The blades dug into the ground, digging a great furrow until they caught onto something stronger than loose earth and snapped off, flying off in all directions at very unsafe speeds. The aircraft eventually settled on its back, tail rotor idly spinning to a stop.
The Krew gazed in awe at James, who casually brushed himself off before walking up to the nearby ball and sinking the putt -- making par for the hole.
XXXX
The Krew arrived via limousine at Leadfinger's villa in the Swiss Alps. He had begrudgingly offered to tell them what they wanted to know, but they would have to do it at a party he was throwing. They were dudded up to the nines, naturally -- James and the other men in fancy tuxedos, the Galore sisters in classy evening gowns -- and were excited at the prospect of free food.
"I bet he has a chocolate fondue!" Kail said enthusiastically as they walked up the paved path to the villa's front door. "With marshmallows, and graham crackers, and chocolate..." Kail had to mop up the drool with the fancy handkerchief that came with the rent-a-tux.
"I hope they have bacon wraps, myself," Smiley added. "Mom used to make them for me at Christmastime -- just take some breadsticks, wrap uncooked bacon around them, cook it, and coat in parmesean cheese." Smiley borrowed Kail's handkerchief and added his own drool to one of the dry parts.
"I hope he has a cheese fondue," Pussy said.
"You bitch, I already said fondue!" Kail complained.
"You said CHOCOLATE fondue. I want a CHEESE fondue." Pussy stomped her foot stubbornly.
"If he has a cheese fondue, I'm going to PEE IN IT!" Kail shrieked.
"If he has a chocolate fondue, I'm going to POO IN IT!" Pussy screamed back.
James intervened before the two could start a cat-fight. "Now, now, guys. I'm sure he'll have both a cheese and a chocolate fondue. AND BATHROOMS THAT YOU CAN USE." He sternly eyed the two of them to make sure they got the picture. "That's good. Myself, I'm looking forward to being devoured by whores."
The rest of the Krew stopped and stared at James. "Uh, what?" Kail finally asked.
"You know, they always have whores devours at parties."
Kail sighed. "James, you're thinking of hors d'oeuvres, which is basically French for appetizers. You know, like the free garlic biscuits at Red Lobster."
James' eyes widened. "Oh shit, I hope he has THOSE!" The Krew nodded in agreement -- it would be a very good thing if he had them. Hell, I hope he has them myself, and I'm just an omniscient third-person narrator.
After being greeted at the door and making their way to the refreshment table, though, they were sorely disappointed.
"What the fuck," Kail said, as he idly spooned through some black clumpy shit.
"I think that's roe," Irennie said, as she nibbled on a cracker.
"Row row your boat?"
Irennie shook her head. "Roe is fish eggs. That stuff's totally raw, by the way."
Kail spat out the bit he had tasted, picking up a napkin (he didn't want to use his handkerchief, which had Smiley Germs on it) to wipe off his tongue. "Ewewewewew," he chanted.
Leadfinger noticed them and approached. "Ah, James Bond and his friends. Allow me to introduce you to one of my peers, Bill Gates."
"Hi, everybody!" Bill said. "Who wants a free Zune?"
"Ooh! Ooh! We do!" the Galore sisters said. Gates gave them each a fancy model, with gigabytes and everything.
Kail sneered at the software mogul. "You can't fool me. You're just EVIL."
Gates narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Excuse me?"
"You founded Microsoft, one of the biggest monopolies on the plaent! You're totally evil!"
"Uh, not really? We get strong competition from OS X and Linux. Plus, I've donated billions of dollars to charity." He crossed his arms. "How much money have you ever donated to charity?"
"Charities are a scam!" Kail rebutted loudly. He was starting to draw a crowd.
XXXX
Bond and Leadfinger slipped away from the growing spectacle Kail was making of himself, with Plubic leading James to his den. "So, Mr. Bond. What do you wish to know about my activities?"
Bond showed Leadfinger the incriminating bullet. "You made this."
Leadfinger nodded. "It's quite possible. I make many bullets every day. I sell them to so many people: armies, terrorist organizations, schoolchildren...it's so hard to keep track." He opened up a liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass. "Firewhiskey, Mr. Bond?" he offered. James shook his head no. "Fair enough."
"What else do you make besides bullets?" Bond asked.
"Oh, lots of stuff. I make sinkers for fishermen -- that's a very important industry, you know. And of course, I'm the number one importer of lead to China. Why, if it weren't for me, there wouldn't be a single toy in all America."
James frowned at Leadfinger's attitude, but declined to say anything harsh. "So you don't have the slightest clue who threatened my life?"
"Not a one. Sorry!"
XXXX
Smiley and Pussy had snuck off from the main party as well -- mainly to make out somewhere, but also because they wanted to disassociate themselves from Kail, whose screaming rants about the Illuminati and chemtrails was now audible even a room or two away.
They finally found a quiet room (a bedroom) and slipped into the closet. They had just started doing the tongue tango when the back wall of the closet slid open. As they happened to be leaning against that wall, they fell inward, flattening a man who had been standing on the other side of the wall.
"Get the hell off of me!" the man shouted. Once he managed to stand back up, he took an inquisitive tone. "Who the HELL are you?" he demanded.
"Oh, I'm Churchill Smiley, and this is Pussy Galore, Jr. We were just looking for a place to make out."
The man looked skeptical. "You're not spies or anything, are you?"
"Well...technically we are, but we're off-duty at the moment. So, if you're using this closet, where can we go make out at?"
He thought for a moment. "Well, go left out the hallway, pass the first hall, and enter the first door on the right."
"Okay, thanks!" Smiley said.
Just as they turned to leave, Pussy stopped and asked, "Say, what was your name, again?"
The man turned towards them ominously. "Call me...Wise Glass." Cue foreshadow-y music!
XXXXXXXXXX
Well! I haven't written a chapter for this in a while!
I was caught up on the golf course action sequence for the longest time. I was considering having Samuel L. Jackson take down the helicopter with the power of awesomeness, but that would just have been silly. Also, I named the course months ago, long before the whole Tiger Woods scandal thing. (I guess I have a psychic touch).
Hopefully, I'll be able to churn out chapters again at a regular rate. Maybe I'll even get it finished within a week!
