(man) Nick Nack, Tabasco!
Right away, monsieur Scaramanga.
Hey.
Half. You get the rest later.
Wait for him in there. Through that door.
He will join you in a minute.
Your steam bath is ready, monsieur Scaramanga.
(laughs)
(gun cocks)
(gunman laughs)
(weight hits floor)
(Nick Nack on PA) Oh, that would have been too easy.
It's locked.
You'll have to look elsewhere, monsieur.
(Scaramanga's laughter on PA)
(laughter echoes around the room)
(screech)
(# "The Man with the Golden Gun" on Pianola)
(creak)
(music gets louder)
(gunshots)
(music stops)
(# "The Man with the Golden Gun" in a Twenties jazz style)
(gunshots)
Hey, Al. Al, wherever you are, don't hold it against me.
I wonder where you can find your gun, monsieur Scaramanga.
(Nick Nack) Your little golden gun.
Where can it be?
There is something we haven't had before.
I wonder what it can be.
(Nick Nack laughs)
I fooled you.
You're getting warmer.
Much warmer.
Now, how are you going to get down the stairs?
So near and yet so far.
(laughs)
Bravo, monsieur Scaramanga. You've done it again.
- This one was the best, n'est-ce pas? - Not bad, not bad at all.
But you'll have to do better if you want my money.
I'll get you yet, and I'll enjoy every sou you leave me.
You'll be the death of me yet, Nick Nack.
(# "The Man with the Golden Gun" by Lulu)
# He has a powerful weapon
# He charges a million a shot
# An assassin that's second to none
# The Man with the Golden Gun
# Lurking in some dark doorway
# Or crouched on a rooftop somewhere
# In the next room, or this very one
# The Man with the Golden Gun
# Love is required whenever he's hired
# It comes just before the kill
# No one can catch him
# No hit man can match him
# For his million-dollar skill
# One golden shot means another poor victim
# Has come to a glittering end
# For a price he'll erase anyone
# The Man with the Golden Gun
# His eye may be on you or me
# Who will he bang?
# We shall see
# Love is required whenever he's hired
# It comes just before the kill
# No one can catch him
# No hit man can match him
# For his million-dollar skill
# One golden shot means another poor victim
# Has come to a glittering end
# If you want to get rid of someone
# The Man with the Golden Gun
# Will get it done
# He'll shoot anyone
# With his golden gun
Good morning, sir.
Colthorpe.
Chief of Staff.
What do you know about a man called Scaramanga?
Scaramanga?
Oh, yes. The Man with the Golden Gun. Born in a circus.
Father: the ringmaster. Mother: English, a snake charmer.
He was a spectacular trick-shot artist when ten and a local Rio gunman at 15.
The KGB trained him in Europe,
where he became an overworked and underpaid assassin.
He went independent in the late '50s. Current price: one million dollars a hit.
No photograph on file.
But he does have one distinguishing feature, however: a superfluous papilla.
- A what? - A mammary gland. A third nipple, sir.
He always uses a golden bullet, hence "Man with the Golden Gun".
Present domicile unknown. I think that's all.
Why, sir?
Charming trinket.
- Even has my number on it. - Precisely.
Obviously it's useless as a bullet.
Who'd pay a million dollars to have me killed?
Jealous husbands, outraged chefs, humiliated tailors. The list is endless.
Moreover, this trinket, as you call it,
was sent with a note requesting special delivery to you.
- It's initialed with an S. - Scaramanga's fingerprints were on it.
They've been verified by the CIA.
- Why would he alert me? - Psychological.
He counts on his reputation to terrify his intended victim.
Thank you, gentlemen.
I'm relieving you of your present assignment, 007.
- Sir? - Yes?
The energy crisis is still with us.
I submit that finding Gibson and his solar cell data is more important than ever.
It is indeed.
And I can't jeopardize it or any mission
by having Scaramanga pop up and put a bullet in you.
I'll endorse your request to resign.
Or you can take a sabbatical until this matter is settled.
- Or until he kills me. - Nobody knows where he is,
or what he looks like, so I think it's fair to assume that he has the edge on you.
Wouldn't you agree? That's all, 007.
If I found him first, sir, that might change the situation.
Dramatically, wouldn't you say?
Good day, Bond.
Moneypenny, Fairbanks.
- Alaska. - No. Bill Fairbanks, 002.
Ah, poor Bill. I miss him.
- The Man with the Golden Gun didn't. - That was never confirmed.
Where was 002 when it happened?
Beirut, '69. In a cabaret with a lady called Saida.
Beirut... Moneypenny, you are better than a computer.
- In all sorts of ways. - (buzzer)
But you never take advantage of them.
- Miss Moneypenny? - Yes, sir.
Oh, just one moment, darling.
Yes, James?
Why wasn't Scaramanga confirmed as the killer?
Because they couldn't find the bullet...
darling.
(belly dance music)
Ahmed.
(applause)
Entrez.
Good evening. My name is Bond... James Bond.
Your dancing is superb. And so are you.
Merci.
And you are very handsome.
I don't usually intrude like this, but I... I believe we had a mutual friend.
- Bill Fairbanks. - Fairbanks?
Yes.
I am told you were with him when he was rather rudely interrupted.
Ah, mais oui. Bill!
What a terrible night. I will never forget it.
- Did you see who shot him? - No. I was in his arms.
My eyes were closed.
- At least he died happy. - The bullet went through him.
- Through his back and ended up there? - No, no, through his neck.
I take it out of the wall before the police arrive.
And now it is my lucky charm. I never dance without it.
I'm sure Bill would have loved that.
But let us forget the past.
- I was hoping you'd say that. - Are you staying long in Beirut?
It depends.
Clumsy of me.
You really do have a magnificent abdomen.
Ooph!
(gulps)
Oh, my perfumes! No!
(banging on door)
(shouting from outside)
Ah!
I've lost my charm.
Not from where I'm standing.
- Taxi. Hotel, mister? - No. To the nearest pharmacy.
(groans)
Dumdum bullets like this flatten on impact for maximum wounding effect.
- Very nasty. - Yes, I'm sure it is.
But just tell me where was it made and by whom.
Fortunately it's all in one piece.
20.003 grams, which leads us to deduce it was fired from a 4.2 millimeter gun.
There's no such thing as a 4.2 millimeter gun.
The fact that no recognized munitions manufacturer, military or civil,
produces such a bullet doesn't mean it doesn't exist, 007.
Q Branch have been making irregular calibers for most unusual purposes.
And we don't put markings on them.
(Colthorpe) Making identification almost impossible.
So you can't trace that bullet? You've no idea what it went through to get here.
I wouldn't go so far as to say that.
The workmanship is undemanding according to our standards.
Soft 23-carat gold with traces of nickel.
Hardly ever used in Europe. Comes from India.
Far East?
- Why not India? - Nickel content obviously too low, 007.
- Lazar? - Lazar?
Hm.
Imaginative, highly specialized.
Yes, I concur.
- What the hell is Lazar? - Not "what", "who".
- Portuguese, lives in Macau. - The chap who made the bullet, 007.
I hate to interrupt your dinner, but does senhor Lazar live here?
Lazar.
I was given this address. Does he...?
Senhor Lazar?
My name's Bond... James Bond.
An unexpected honor, Mr. Bond.
Your reputation precedes you. This way, please.
It would be the proudest moment of my career if I could make something for you.
A rifle, perhaps? Now, here we have an interesting problem.
A custom-built model for a client who recently lost two fingers. Please.
- Also lost his trigger. - It is housed in the butt.
Squeeze it.
The sights are a bit off.
You have five fingers. The butt is balanced for the pressure of three.
That is why you were one inch too low.
Here you will find only craftsmanship and quality.
Mass production, your Walther PPK, for instance, I leave to others.
Ammunition?
Designed to individual requirement whatever they may be.
In gold, if I wanted?
- I have already done that for a client. - I know you have.
Francisco Scaramanga.
My relationship with a client, Mr. Bond, is strictly confidential.
Like a doctor, or a priest with a penitent.
Of course.
Yet you make guns for fingerless hoodlums, bullets for assassins.
Mr. Bond, bullets do not kill. It is the finger that pulls the trigger.
Exactly.
I'm now aiming precisely at your groin.
- So speak or forever hold your peace. - I have never seen Mr. Scaramanga.
On a cost-per-bullet basis, he must be your best customer.
True, but unfortunately he seems only to fire them occasionally.
When was the last shipment?
- Mr. Bond, this is impossible. I can't... - (rifle shot)
You're quite right.
An inch too low.
I have just completed an order for immediate delivery.
- Who collects them? - I swear I do not know.
My instructions are to go to the casino. I am paid and they vanish.
(man on PA) In a few moments we will be in Hong Kong harbor,
one of the busiest ports in the world.
Please have your passports and landing cards ready,
in order to avoid unnecessary delay.
On our left is the wreckage of the famous liner Queen Elizabeth,
which sank here under mysterious circumstances in 1971.
Ahead, you can now see Kowloon, and on your right, Hong Kong Island.
Taxi!
Follow that Rolls.
Madam, would you be good enough to move this inverted bedpan?
I'm sorry I'm late, James, but your signal from Macau only just reached the office.
You're a great help, Goodnight.
Now, get on to the License Bureau and trace that car - AU 603, a green Rolls.
- A green Rolls? - A green Rolls-Royce.
There can't be that many in Hong Kong.
Courtesy cars. All green Rolls-Royces belong to the Peninsula Hotel.
You see what a two-year posting to Staff Intelligence does for a girl?
James, it's wonderful to see you.
- Where are you going? - I need some information.
The subject under surveillance is in room 602.
I'll buy you dinner tonight, but first I have some official business.
Yes, I saw the official business.
Goodnight, would I do that to you after two years?
Yes, you bloody well would.
Please.
I can manage. You could open a door for me, though.
- I open champagne? - No, it's a surprise.
Oh, a surprise.
(bellboy giggles)
(shower running)
Good afternoon.
- A water pistol? - Pass me that robe.
Turn around.
Do you always take a shower with a pistol?
Put your hands up and get out of here.
- Keep on walking. - But you haven't answered my question.
(woman) Reception. Can I help you?
This is Miss Anders. Room 602.
Put those down.
I see why these packets carry a government warning.
Give me that!
They certainly can damage your health.
- Argh! You're hurting my arm. - Tell me where those bullets go.
- I can't. - Try.
- They'll kill me. - Who?
Argh!
I can't tell you.
Scaramanga.
You see what you can do when you try?
You work for him?
I don't work for him.
- I'm his, um... I'm his... - So he's a lover too.
Only before he kills.
Bullfighters do the same thing. Claims it improves the eye.
His eye is on me. Where can I find him?
I don't know.
- I said where? - He doesn't tell me everything.
I know he has a date at the Bottoms Up Club tonight.
How will I recognize him?
- Tall, slim and dark. - So is my aunt.
- Anything distinctive about him? - Yes, but how can I...?
He is not like other people. He has three...
Fascinating anatomical tidbit, but the most useless piece of information I ever heard.
Unless the Bottoms Up is a strip club and Scaramanga is performing there.
You'll have to do better.
He usually wears a white linen suit, black tie, and jewelry, all gold.
- You're improving. - I don't want you to twist my arm again.
I don't want to either. So I'll tell you what you're going to do, Miss Anders.
You're going to take those golden bullets to Mr. Scaramanga,
because, if he doesn't get them, he may not show up at the Bottoms Up.
- And I want him there. - Why should you trust me?
I don't,
but neither will Mr. Scaramanga trust you if he hears about this little conversation.
Who knows? He may even use one of those little golden bullets on you.
And that would be a pity, because they're very expensive.
I'll take them to him.
Let's drink to that.
Bottoms up.
- Soda or ginger ale? - Ginger ale.
(man speaks Cantonese)
Police. Drop it.
- Drop it. - (gun drops to ground)
You're under arrest.
Move away from there.
If you take the trouble to examine that gun, you'll notice it hasn't been fired.
Anything you have to say, you can say at the station.
I'm charging him under Section 473.
- I didn't see your identity card. - You will.
- I thought we were going to the station. - Kowloon side.
Kowloon's over there.
We're going to the New Territories.
Hey!
(man) Welcome aboard, Commander Bond.
This way, sir.
Down the hatchway, please.
Good evening, sir.
Would you follow me, please?
It certainly gives you a new slant.
With the Chinese and the American fleet on either side,
down here's the only place in Hong Kong you can't be bugged.
And with current real-estate prices in Hong Kong, quite practical. Any luck?
A Chinese fighter we managed to salvage.
Good evening, 007. Glad to see you're still with us.
In future, Commander Bond, if you must tour the world of Suzie Wong by night,
kindly inform our man Lieutenant Hip.
Sorry, Commander. I had to get you away from the police,
but didn't know how much you knew.
Nothing.
But I should report, sir, that Scaramanga does not have a contract on me.
He couldn't have missed me tonight. Instead he hit some chap.
I got quite a shock when I saw who it was.
I should think you did.
Our missing solar-energy expert Gibson.
Yes, Gibson. He was prepared to come back under certain conditions.
That's why I'm out here with Professor Frazier.
Lieutenant Hip was making a preliminary contact.
I almost wish that Scaramanga had a contract on you.
Was Gibson cooperative?
He wanted to bargain for immunity, suggested another meeting in Bangkok.
- Why Bangkok? - I think he worked there for Hai Fat.
- That name's come up before. - A multimillionaire, of Hai Fat Enterprises.
All legitimate, as far as we know.
What did Gibson propose bargaining with?
A solex. Claimed it was 95 per cent efficient.
If he developed a cell that efficient, he solved the energy crisis.
So you've told me. Coal and oil will soon be depleted. Uranium's too dangerous.
Geothermal and tidal control too expensive. I know all that.
- Where's the solex now? - Solex agitator, sir.
The essential unit to convert radiation from the sun into electricity industrially.
That size.
It won't take me long to check out his efficiency claim. This is exciting.
May I see it, Lieutenant?
He showed it to me at the bar and replaced it in his pocket.
After he was shot, it wasn't there.
I looked.
Gentlemen, I congratulate you.
Instead of getting a perfected solex,
we're left with a useless corpse and no leads.
One lead, sir.
Assuming Gibson was killed by Scaramanga,
whoever hired him had a million dollars.
- Are you suggesting Hai Fat? - He could afford it.
- Out of petty cash. - (Bond) A thought has occurred to me.
If Hai Fat hired Scaramanga,
- it's unlikely that he met him personally. - Why?
Should anything go wrong, there's nothing to connect the two.
That gives me an idea as to how to approach him.
Q, I'll need this.
- Really, 007. - I admit it's a little kinky.
You'll take Miss Goodnight with you.
Goodnight, sir?
After tonight's debacle, an efficient liaison officer wouldn't come amiss.
Thank you, sir.
You won't get anywhere near Hai Fat's. I have often passed his place.
He lives in a house on a mountainside surrounded by guards.
No way. The place is crawling with guards. Have a look.
Hai Fat takes his privacy very seriously.
I'm sure he'll see me.
(they speak Thai)
Good morning. How's the water?
- Why don't you come in and find out? - Sounds very tempting, Miss...?
- Chew Mee. - Really?
There's only one problem. I have no swimming trunks.
Neither have I.
(man) What are you doing here?
Get out.
Immediately. I will have you...
(speaks Thai)
Please forgive me, Mr. Scaramanga.
- Excuse me, Chew Mee. - Bye.
You understand my surprise.
I thought it was understood.
We were never to meet, Mr. Scaramanga. I thought your abnormality was a myth.
There are cults that consider it a sign of invulnerability and sexual prowess.
I've learned to live with it.
- Why are you here? - Bond... James Bond.
- Do I know the gentleman? - He knows you.
Without being immodest, there's hardly anyone in this region who doesn't.
And there are very few people who haven't heard of Bond.
British Secret Service, 007, licensed to kill.
He's good, even by my standards. He was near the Bottoms Up Club.
- A coincidence. - I don't believe in them.
The man's a menace. He knows something.
Are you suggesting I invest another million to remove him?
- That's up to you. - I will give it some thought.
Since you have chosen to meet me, perhaps you will dine here tonight.
- I'll be delighted. - Nine o'clock, then.
Ling Po, see this gentleman out.
- Don't tell me you saw him? - He even invited me to dinner.
He must have found me quite titillating.
In due time, I shall be laid to rest here in my mausoleum.
After a useful, happy, long life.
And I do not intend to allow Mr. Bond to shorten it.
I'll get the car.
You know I'd rather have dinner with you.
I understand, James. Please hurry back.
I'll ring when I do. A midnight snack might be just the thing.
I'll keep the wine properly chilled.
And everything else warm, I trust.
Bye-bye.
And everything else warm?
I hope you don't mind giving my nieces a lift.
- Good evening. - (they speak Thai)
I've had this all the way.
I'll drop the girls, come back here and hang around.
(girls) Bye-bye.
The name's Scaramanga. Mr. Fat is expecting me.
Grislyland.
A pleasant evening.
Argh!
Get him. Come on.
(man) Stop it.
Not here.
This is my home. Take Mr. Bond to school.
Heaven.
Definitely heaven.
(gong)
Argh!
(man) Hassman.
(gong)
Chula.
(men chant) Chula.
(speaks Thai)
- Are you all right? - How did you find me?
Hai Fat owns this place.
Stand back, girls.
Forgot to tell you.
Their father runs a karate school.
Hang on.
(they speak Thai)
What you might call a Mexican screw-up, gentlemen.
(engine splutters)
(engine backfires)
(horn)
Pretty lady, 100 bahts.
- No, no. - 80 bahts. 50 bahts.
Pretty lady, real elephant. 60 bahts.
(speaks Thai)
Elephant. Bargain, mister, 100 bahts.
Elephant, real elephant.
50 bahts.
You are very handsome man. 40 bahts.
For you, mister, 20 bahts.
Sonny, I'll give you 20,000 bahts if you can make this heap go any faster.
20,000 bahts.
- I'm afraid I'll have to owe you. - Bloody tourist! 20,000 bahts.
(speaks Thai)
Goddamn little brown water hog!
What's the matter, JW?
You just try that in my bayou, boy. I'd haul your ass.
(shouts in Thai)