For Tomorrow I Die : [A James Bond Short Story]

Act I

London, England | 11 November | 18:00 hours

The 1963 Aston Martin DB5 flew down the A3212 with the river Thames on its left. Sure, James Bond could have walked a few blocks from his Chelsea flat, but it had been so long since he drove his car it felt foreign to him—that, and he was late. He could hear his Quartermaster now, lecturing him about how having a double-0 prefix didn't mean he could break the traffic laws. Sorry, Q, Bond thought as he squealed the car onto Lots Road. He brought the DB5 to a sudden halt in front of the 606 Club. He handed the doorman a generous gratuity and walked through the arched brick doorway.

The jazz club interior was exposed brick with oak tables and chairs pushed close together, but plenty of room in the aisles. A mural of jazz greats was painted on the far wall near the stage. Framed black and white photos hung in clean rows over the bar. An old slide trombone was mounted above a purple velvet chair in a far corner near the rear entrance. The lights were dimmed low and live music echoed through the room. The band on stage was called Tin Roof Shanty—a quintet of trumpet, tenor sax, upright bass, drums and piano. The song was Blues by Five...A Miles Davis classic. The jazz cured his malady of adding another year. It was just a number, but that number kept climbing.

Bond approached his...friends. Yes, he could call them "friends" now. He wore a dark blue single-breasted Brioni suit, white sea island cotton shirt, blue silk tie, white silk pocket square, and black brogues. His Walther PPK .380 pistol was holstered in a chamois shoulder rig with a spare magazine and sound suppressor on the opposite side. His watch was a new Omega Seamaster special edition from Q branch.

They were gathered around a corner table furthest from the stage, except his Quartermaster, who was undoubtedly lost. Eve Moneypenny wore a stunning little black dress, while Gareth Mallory echoed James' choice of a dark suit.

"Happy Birthday, James," said Moneypenny standing to give him a warm embrace. Her familiar smell was intoxicating. Her perfume was Parisian, but he couldn't place it.

"You look lovely, Moneypenny," said Bond.

"James," M shook his hand, "congratulations on another year."

Bond took the hand firmly, "Thank you, sir. Glad to see it."

"We took the liberty of ordering you a drink, James," said Moneypenny.

At his empty spot stood a Vesper. The clear concoction called to him as the swirled lemon peel struggled to stay afloat.

Bond sat and picked up the glass. "Shouldn't we wait for Q?"

"I'm sure he wont mind," insisted Mallory. "A toast to you, James. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die."

The trio raised their glasses. M toasted with his ever-present Scotch, while Moneypenny chose Courvoisier on the rocks.

Bond noted the odd phrasing that M chose for his toast, though that was indeed how he lived. The clothes, the car, the gambling, the fine food, the drinking, the women, the excess—it was because he never knew when his last day would be in her majesty's secret service.

M ordered an appetizer—the Calamari with sweet chilli sauce. An hour of small talk passed with topics of Bond's school days, Moneypenny's latest boyfriend, and Emma the previous Head of Section.

"Shall we try him again?" asked M wondering where the hell Q was. "I'm half starved." He dialed Q's mobile and it went straight to voicemail again. "Well, I'm sure he would want us to eat."

"He's a quirky one, our new Quartermaster," Bond noted with a grin bringing hushed laughs to the table. He had grown attached to the young man, but he was peculiar even for his genius level intellect.

They ordered dinner. Bond requested the pan-fried rib eye with thyme butter sauce and vegetables. Moneypenny ordered the roast chicken in bordelaise, and M had been eyeing the honey and orange glazed duck and he told the waiter so.

After another round of drinks, their food arrived. They ate and laughed and tried like hell not to bring up the troubles of the world for just one night. To Bond's delight, M ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon '57 for them to share.

The evening came to a close and still no Q. The hour was getting to be 01:00 and they sobered up a bit for their drive home.

They all said good evening and knew that when the sun came up they would be back to being MI6 agents trying to save the world.

Bond got behind the wheel of his Aston Martin with a nagging suspicion. He didn't think it would be like Q to miss his birthday even being the introvert that he was. He thought it best to check on the old boy just to be sure. The DB5 came to life and headed with purpose to the young man's flat near Langdon Park.