
You Only Live A Bunch Of Times: The Return of Goldfinger

by James Bond as told to Robert Hankins

I was attending a jolly gala some weeks ago in Newcastle at the
elegant home of Lord Dumpy Rothchild, the Earl of Oversized Shirts.
I was having a particularly keen time drinking my usual vodka-martini
when I glanced toward the main entrance way.  There before me stood
the curious chap known as Goldfinger.  

Although he was much older now, I knew it was he --- for they'd given
him one of those party name tags to wear which read "Goldfinger" on
it.  He and I had a bit of a row some years ago when he tried to
steal all the gold in Fort Knox.  Last I saw of the bloke he was
being sucked out the window of a DC-9.  As I approached a red-head, I
called to Goldfinger. "Hello old boy, nice to see you".  

The cherubic face responded with a thick German accent. "Vhy Mister
Bond, vhat a surprize!  Perhaps later vee can play charades, or maybe
Trivial Pursuit, eh?  Ha ha."  

The red-head's name was Elizabeth Stevens, but her friends called her
Pasha, an obscure term denoting a former high-ranking official in
Turkey.  The number to which we danced was a lively mambo which
lasted several minutes.  When it was over, I was missing my expensive
wrist-watch made exclusively for me by the Bentley-Welles Company of
Rumpton, and my solid gold cigarette case manufactured for me by
Brunhill of Davidshire.  I could only conclude they had fallen off my
person during the fray on the dance floor.

My suspicions began to fall on Auric Goldfinger, for he more than
anyone else in the room had a reputation for craving gold.  I sought
out the German madman over by the punch bowl.  "Alright Goldfinger,
you stole my watch and cigarette case.  Let's have them back!"  

He produced the items from his coat pocket.  "Vhy Mister Bond, STEAL
is such a strong word!  I merely found zeese things on zah dance
floor, obviously lost by some unfortunate person."  

"They're mine and you know it," I said.  

Goldfinger paused to immerse a Frito in some Ranch Dip, then replied,
"I do not see your name on zem, Mister Bond.  Ha Ha Ha."  Goldfinger
was right.  He'd beaten me and he knew it.  

"One question Goldfinger: Why?" I asked.  

"I've lost all my money and can longer do things as in zah old days,
ya?  Like vhen I could strap you to a table and threaten you wit a
giant laser beam?  I did it for all zah evil geniuses zat have given
up on dominating zah vorld because of you, like zah pitiful Dr. No,
who changed his name to Dr. Goldstein and now has a small practice in
Vermont, or zah once evil Blofeld whose passion for cats led him to
open a pet store in Kansas City." 

"Well," I said, "you might as well know something about the watch,
old chum.  Even though it claims to be water resistant, what that
means is, you can get it a LITTLE wet, but don't go swimming with it
or anything like that." 
    
Goldfinger stared at the watch. "Vhere does it say zis about being
vater resistant?"  

"Look closer," I said, and as Goldfinger put the watch to his face I
pressed a special button in my right pocket, releasing a cloud of
tear gas into the gold-monger's eyes.  Goldfinger's head hit the
table and a large tray of smoked meats fell on him.  "Honestly
Goldfinger, you're such a ham," I said.  This was my cute 'throw away
line' that I always think of after dangerous situations have been
resolved.  

Pasha came to my side and said, "Oh James, you're so witty."  

I thought about letting the washed-up fiend keep the cigarette case;
after all, I was half to blame for losing it and could have easily
procured a new one for free, one of the many perks I get by serving
Her Majesty.  But the old bean had tried to kill me several times in
the past(once by handcuffing me to an atomic bomb!), and when someone
crosses that line your relationship with them changes drastically.
As Pasha and I were leaving the party, Goldfinger shouted the usual,
you know, how I hadn't seen the last of him and that he'd return
someday.  Bloody strange chap don't you think?                  {RAH}
--------------
Robert Hankins lives in Lake Charles, LA.  No other information about
him is available, as he's in the Federal Witless Protection Program.

