Bonds Have More Fun

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July 15, 2018, by Patrick Starks

BONDS HAVE MORE FUN MAIN

There I stood over my Hollywood mansion, over the balcony, sipping on what I would call one of the strongest Martinis to ever be made. The weather was perfect, the morning even, yet the world was not enough, not for me at least. Although, the anonymous beauty that lied on my cloud filled bed would make me feel otherwise—like a pile of leaves she was, like mother nature herself.

I had been called on many assignments in my youthful years, however, it seemed my time in my prime had run out. There isn’t many in this life that can say that they’ve had a license to kill, but for a man like myself that was nothing challenging at all, not in the slightest.

There, of course, were many years before my time when such men achieved this. And first of those men would Sean, the original of us all, the OG, the very one who taught us to fight for what we believe, no matter how much our doctors said no.

Sean was quite the character you see, especially with the ladies, that of which I had heard he was somewhere in Russia chasing love, and none have seen him since. However, ask enough women of this man and you will surely find him soon enough. One would have never thought that an old geezer like he would be into the Simpsons, but he was. And trust when I say if one was ever to put a butter finger in front of this man, it would, in fact, your finger. And the list would go on, undoubtedly.

Second, was George, and not George of the mighty jungle if that’s what you’re thinking. Nevertheless, George could swing on any bullwhip better than Indiana Jones himself, if one asked him to. But I won’t say much about George, for the queen was never fond of him. Although, I can’t really talk, seeing how I was told to never step foot in England again. But that is another story to tell.

Carrying on.

Third, was… wait for it, wait for it… Roger. And again, do not be silly, this is not Mr. Roger from yours or my neighborhood. I’m talking about the “Roger,” the one man that made Sean choke on his martini for the first time ever, however, it was his own fault for ordering it wrong in the first place. It’s supposed to be shaken, not stirred if your reading this Sean.

Roger, like Sean, was also quite the ladies’ man, but of course, we all wielded such extravagant charm. Let’s just say we all had a way of making a woman’s you know what go OCTO for cocoa puffs if that even goes together. But don’t judge me, it’s the only metaphor I could think of.

And out of us all, Roger was always Q’s favorite. I mean, come on! He got a bloody golden gun for Pete sake, and his Christmas list would get even more ridiculous over time. Still, to this day Q says that Roger found the gun on a mission, but I know that that’s a bunch of rubbish. But martini revenge was sweet—Q’s burning eyes would show this.

On top of it all, Roger was the highest paid, he had all the money, while the rest of us only got so much as a penny to spare. And just the thought of it breaks my heart, I just never got the chance to tell her how much I really felt, how much she was, no, is my heart. However, I am a Bond, and that will be no one’s concern but hers and I. Live and let die, you gotta live and let die, Roger always says’s. But who was he trying to be? The next Tony Robbins. Heavenly, that would be the day.

But let us move onto the main star of us all, the fifth element, not Bruce Willis, but my older brother and not from another mother, Pierce—the man with the golden eye, although, they were contacts, to be honest. Pierce, in my opinion, was the best of us all, however, he never really got the credit he deserved. Roger would always come in second place next to Sean, but come on, he was never as good as my brother, and if you disagree, then tell your own bloody story then.

A knock on my door.

“Hello, anyone there?” asked a man.

I couldn’t tell for my vision was blurred. The man was in a nicely tailored suit, hair slicked back but not too much, teeth as white as salt, hair dark as pepper, wielding a watch so fancy it could’ve changed the weather. He was tall, six foot I believe, and by the looks of him, I knew exactly what was about to go down. Although, he did look familiar but I didn’t have my glasses at the time to verify. The only good thing was that he knew not of my whereabouts, my advantage.

I then put down my martini by the balcony bar. And behind it grabbed a gun that probably wasn’t really necessary for one man, but exceptional to make all think otherwise of entry into my castle. The woman in my bed, of course, was still asleep, still naked, about as naked as a peeled banana to be frank. There was no time. I took the blankets and wrapped it around her like a burrito, a picked her up and then laid her down in the walk-in closet. She was beautiful the way she slept, however, a future for her and I? That would be another story. I cannot see it but have always felt it. Nevertheless, I had my reasons to turn the other way.

Hard knocks hit the door, and the door handle twisted and turned. I fired a shot of my long-barreled .44 Magnum, the Smith and Wesson model, 29 revolver, just like Eastwood’s. The gun nearly blew off half the door. And within seconds a British flag would be waived from behind it.

I then dropped my guard but just a little. I got a better look at the man.

“Pierce,” I said. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Me? You mean what the hell are you doing, you nearly blew my head off. And you wonder why the queen kicked you out of England. Jesus.”

I then gave Pierce a look that of which he knew to shut his mouth. And without any further delay, we went over to the balcony bar for there was much to be discussed.

We played our usual game of Texas Hold-em Poker. Unfortunately for me, Pierce was one of the best I’d encounter in my life.

“So did you hear?” asked Pierce.

“Here what?” I asked.

Pierce then took his Macanudo Cigar and put it out on a glass filled with rocks. And what a waste of a perfectly good Martini, I thought.

“Daniel’s got a new movie coming out,” said Pierce. “The talk around town is that its gonna break the charts, possibly make all we have created look like garbage, literally.”

Ah, yes, again, Daniel. The one man, no, the second man next to Roger, Pierce just couldn’t stand. I couldn’t blame him, he literally took his job and made more money off of it then all his films combined. It was a dagger to the chest, something I knew that he very well would not let rest.

“I’m going to call Sean and Roger. We all need to have a meeting about this,” said Pierce as he dialed them from his watch.

“Wait. Hold on, what about the rest?” I asked.

And Pierce gave a grin that of a Pomeranian. It was hysterical. Before I could even conclude what Pierce was planning there sat Sean and Roger at the table, along with the random women they’d bring.

“Nice of you to bring more company fellas,” I said. “How are you?”

And immediately I was shut up. I had forgotten about the sleeping beauty that lied in my closet. There she was, milky skin like Ben and Jerrys, and yes she was just as sweet as such. She was still fully naked as we all watched her glide to the refrigerator like Tinkerbelle herself, to grab what appeared to be an apple juice. I was surprised. I didn’t even know I had any but when you’re a man as wealthy as I, whose ever got time for grocery shopping.

“Nice of you to bring company,” smiled Roger.

I blushed and said nothing else afterward.

“So, let’s get started shall we,” said Pierce. “Who in here know’s where Daniel is shooting his big movie? This is now the time to speak up. It’s vital that we all know.”

We all looked at each other clueless as Alicia Silverstone. Yet, the woman on Sean’s shoulder would say otherwise. She got up and ran to the bathroom. I looked at the beauty with the apple juice in hand, and yes ladies you got me, I don’t remember her name. Give me a break.

The woman in the bathroom knew something, I felt. I then gave the woman whom I do not remember a wink and she would know exactly what to do next. As for us men, we continued to play.

“Goldfish!” yelled Sean.

Everyone in the room looked distraught. We had all forgotten how old Sean was now. Alltimers maybe? Who knows.

“Anyways…” said Roger. “Why exactly are we doing this again, I mean, I have done a pretty damn good job. I have no regrets. Just because…”

“Stop right there Roger,” said Pierce.

The room was silent, and for Sean, no one had a bloody Ace. It wasn’t that kind of game but an old man was an old man, and so, we let him dream.

Glass shattered in the background, scratching and clawing, and heavens only knew what else. I thought it was Blofeld’s cat, but he was supposed to be dead—that cat was old as dirt. Unless Sean had something he wanted to tell the room.

I then ran to the bathroom. The beauty was down for the count, yet still looked as gorgeous as she did before. It kinda turned me on. But no, down boy.

“Christ! What the hell happened?” yelled Pierce.

“That woman, that whore of Seans knew something,” I said.

Sean smiled and pulled out his phone.

“Children I swear. Let the old man show you how its done lads,” said Sean.

He spoke into his phone and said, Russian Love. His phone started to ping and the rest was history. Not long after we all sat in the back of his Rolls Royce.

“If I may ask, Sean. But, how exactly where you able to track her,” asked Pierce, and then Roger.

“Yeah, I was wondering the same.”

“Well, she and I were fooling around the other night and you know,” said Sean.

“No. I don’t think we do,” I said.

“Relax gentleman. Bonds are meant to have fun, are we not?” said Sean

No further questions your honor.

We followed the woman around a corner and through an alley. She was slowing down. Her breast, I mean, her breath was heavy all of which again turned me on like a vampire in the night, for I could see every pump of blood from her neck to her chest being used for restoration.

A gunshot went off. And the woman was down just like the sleeping beauty from… wait I remember now, her name was Lavender, Barretta Lavender. Suck it, ladies! Moving on.

The shot came out of the blue, we looked everywhere until Roger had finally spotted him with his smoldering looks.

“Hey! That’s my bloody golden gun!” yelled Roger.

“Son of a…” paused Pierce.

Sean, on the other hand, was too busy pulling an object out of the woman’s butt. Comes to find out that’s where he’d put the tracker the whole time—dirty old bastard he was indeed.

At the top of the fire escape of a six-story building was the man of the hour or the day I should say, Daniel.

His eyes were as blues Alaskan waters, chin brawled enough to break any man’s hand if hit the wrong way. His suit was the best of them all, never ever getting so much as a speck of dirt on it and if it did, it was easy to get rid of by just a fell swoop.

“Tag,” said Daniel. “You’re it.”

And from then on we all knew it was game on. We all needed to stop him, but there lied a woman no longer with a tracker up her butt, our only witness.

TO BE CONTINUED