All language subtitles for The.Man.With.The.Golden.Gun.1974.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC-RARBG

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.

Oh!

That would have been too easy.

It’s locked.

You’ll have to look elsewhere, monsieur.

Hey, Al. Al.

Wherever you are, don’t hold it against me.

I wonder where you can
find your gun, Monsieur Scaramanga.

Your little golden gun.

Where can it be?

There is something we haven’t had before.

I wonder what it can be.

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.

Bravo, Monsieur Scaramanga.

You’ve done it again.

This one was the best, was not he?

Not bad. Not bad at all.

But you’ll have to do better than that

if you want to come into 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.

Good morning, sir.

Colthorpe.

Chief of Staff.

What do you know about
a man called Scaramanga, 007?

Scaramanga?

Oh, yes. The Man with the Golden Gun.

Born in a circus. Father,
the ringmaster, possibly Cuban.

Mother, English, a snake charmer.

He was a spectacular trick shot
artist by the time he was ten

and a local Rio gunman at fifteen.

The KGB recruited him there
and trained him in Europe

where he became an overworked, underpaid assassin.

He went independent in the late 50s.

Current price, $1 million 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.

I mean, sir, who would 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 respectfully submit that finding Gibson

and his solar cell data
is even 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 and

go to ground until this matter’s 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.

Oh, poor Bill. I miss him.

The Man with the Golden Gun didn’t.

Officially, that was never confirmed.

Where was 002 when it happened?

Beirut, ’69.

In a cabaret with a lady called Saida.

Beirut, hmm?

Moneypenny, you are better than a computer.

In all sorts of ways.

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.

Ahmed.

Good evening. My name is Bond.

James Bond.

Your dancing is superb.

So are you.

And you are very handsome.

Well, I don’t usually intrude like this, but I...

I believe we had a mutual friend.

Bill Fairbanks.

Fairbanks?

Yes.

I’m told you were with him

when he was rather rudely interrupted.

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.

Oh, my perfumes! No!

I’ve lost my charm!

Not from where I’m standing.

Taxi? Hotel, mister?

No. The nearest pharmacy.

Dumdum bullets like this flatten on impact

for maximum wounding effect.

Very nasty.

Yes. I’m sure it is.

But just tell me where it was 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.

Colthorpe, 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
or serial numbers on them.

Making identification almost impossible.

You mean to say there’s
no way to trace that bullet?

You have 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 karat gold with traces of nickel.

Hardly ever used in Europe. Comes from India.

The Far East?

Why not India?

Nickel content obviously too low, 007.

Lazar?

Imaginative. Highly specialized.

Yes, I concur.

Well, what the hell is Lazar?

Not what. Who. Portuguese.

Lives in Macau.

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, Mr. Bond.

A rifle, perhaps?

Now, here we have an interesting problem.

A custom-built model for a client

who recently lost two fingers. Please.

He 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.

What about ammunition?

Designed to individual
requirements 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 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 "piece."

I have never seen Mr. Scaramanga.

On a cost-per-bullet basis,
he must be your best customer.

That is true, but unfortunately

he seems only to fire them occasionally.

When was the last shipment?

Mr. Bond, this is impossible. I cannot...

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 the casino.

I am paid and they vanish.

In a few moments, ladies and gentlemen,

we will be in Hong Kong Harbor,

one of the busiest ports in the world.

May I remind you to 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.

AU603. 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 occupying Room 602.

I’ll buy you dinner tonight, Goodnight.

But first I have a little
official business to attend to.

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.

Oh, you could open a door for me, though.

I open champagne. It’s a surprise.

Oh, a surprise!

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.

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.

You’re hurting my arm.

I’ll break it unless
you tell me where those bullets go.

I can’t.

Try!

- He’ll kill me.
- Who?

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.

He’s... I’m his...

Oh, so he’s a lover, too.

Only before he kills.

Bullfighters do the same thing.

Claim it improves the eye.

His eye is on me. Where can I find him?

I don’t know.

I said where?

I don’t know 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’s not like other people. He has three...

Oh.

Fascinating anatomical tidbit

but probably the most useless
piece of information I ever heard.

Unless of course 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
interesting 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, please.

Police! Drop it! Drop it.

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.

Here.
I thought we were going to the police station.

Kowloon side.

Kowloon’s over there!

We are going to the New Territories.

Welcome aboard, Commander Bond.

This way, sir.

Down the hatchway, please.

Good evening, sir.

Would you follow me, please?

Hmm. It certainly gives you a new slant.

What with the Chinese on one side

and the American fleet on the other,

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, really.

Any luck?

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 here, Lieutenant Hip.

Sorry, Commander.

I had to get you away from the Hong Kong police

but didn’t know how much you knew.

Nothing. But I think 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 coming out of a club.

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 to discuss terms.

Why Bangkok?

I got the impression
he worked there for Hai Fat.

That name’s come up before.

A multimillionaire.

Head of Hai Fat Enterprises.

All of them legitimate as far as we know.

What did Gibson propose
bargaining with, Lieutenant?

A solex. Claimed it was 95% efficient.

If he developed a solar 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

on an industrial basis.

It’s only about that size.

It won’t take me long to
check out Gibson’s efficiency claim.

This is really exciting.

May I see it, Lieutenant?

He showed it to me at the bar
and replaced it in his pocket.

And after he was shot,

it wasn’t there.

I looked.

Gentlemen, I congratulate you.

Instead of getting our hands on 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 could afford a million dollars.

Are you suggesting Hai Fat?

He could afford it.

Out of petty cash.

A thought has just occurred to me, sir.

If Hai Fat hired Scaramanga,

it’s highly unlikely that he met him personally.

Why?

In the event of anything going wrong,

there’s nothing to connect the two.

And 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.

I have some relatives in Bangkok.

I have often passed his place.

He lives in a big 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.

Good morning. How’s the water?

Why don’t you come in and find out?

Sounds very tempting, Miss...

Chew Mee.

Really?

Well, there’s only one small problem.

I have no swimming trunks.

Neither have I.

What are you doing here?

Get out.

Immediately.

I will have you...

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 always thought your abnormality was a myth.

There are cults where it is considered
a sign of invulnerability

and great sexual prowess.

I’ve learned to live with it.

Why are you here?

Bond. James Bond.

Do I know the gentleman?

Well, he knows you.

Without being immodest,

there’s hardly anyone in this
part of the world 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.

9:00 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.

Goodnight, you know I’d
much rather have dinner with you.

Oh, I understand, James. Please hurry back.

I’ll ring as soon as 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.
- Bye-bye.

"And everything else warm?"

I hope you don’t mind giving my nieces a lift.

Good evening.

Hai Fat’s is on the way.

I’ll drop the girls,
come back here and hang around.

- Bye-bye.
- Bye-bye.

The name’s Scaramanga.

Mr. Fat is expecting me.

"Grislyland."

A pleasant evening.

Get him. Come on.

Stop it.

Not here.

This is my home.

Take Mr. Bond to school.

Heaven.

Definitely heaven.

Tashman.

Chula.

Chula! Chula! Chula!

Chula! Chula! Chula!

Chula! Chula! Chula!

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!

What you might call
a Mexican screw off, gentlemen.

Pretty lady. 100 baht.

No, no. 80 baht.

50 baht, pretty lady.

Real elephant. 50 baht.

Elephant. Bargain, mister. 100 baht.

Elephant. Real elephant.

50 baht.

You are very handsome man. 40 baht.

For you, mister, 20 baht.

I’ll tell you what, sonny,
I’ll give you 20,000 baht

if you can make this heap go any faster.

20,000 baht.

I’m afraid I’ll have to owe you.

Bloody tourist! 20,000 baht!

Goddamn little brown water hog!

Oh, what’s the matter, J.W., hon?

You just try that in my bayou, boy!

I’d haul your ass!

Oh, look, J.W.

I just gotta have me
one of those cute little elephants.

Elephant?

We’re Democrats, Maybelle.

If you got your little
pointy heads out of them pajamas,

you wouldn’t be late for work!

I knew it!

You pointy-heads has no more idea

of traffic control

than a goony bird!

Get your cotton-picking
schnoz out of my pants. Hear, now?

Boy. You is ugly.

J.W.?

Where are you?

What do they teach in that school?

Ballet dancing?

I find nothing remotely
amusing about Mr. Bond’s escape.

You underestimated him.

Even my influence doesn’t extend

into the British Secret Service.

I shall lie low, too.

I don’t intend to jeopardize the project

in which I’ve invested half my fortune

when it’s ready to yield billions.

Where will you hide out?

That does not concern you.

Take this.

Return it to the plant

and don’t leave there without my permission.

May I remind you that you work for me.

I took you on as a junior partner

to be an occasional convenience, nothing more.

I did not hire you to interfere in my affairs.

Is that clearly understood?

Yes. Very clearly.

I now regret having even
considered employing your services.

But that is beside the point.

Bond doesn’t know you’re in Bangkok.

He’s never seen you. But he knows me.

That’s the problem.

That’s no problem.

What happened?

Mr. Fat has just resigned.

I’m the new chairman of the board.

He always did like that mausoleum.

Put him in it.

Sorry about that, darling. It was Hip.

There’s still no sign of Hai Fat.

Every inquiry gets a polite Oriental brush-off.

With compliments.

"Phuyuck?"

’74, sir.

I approve.

You do?

Oh, not the wine.

Your frock.

Tight in all the right places.

Not too many buttons.

Standard uniform for Southeast Asia.

The buttons are down the back.

Designed by Q, no doubt.

One of them’s a suicide pill, I suppose?

No, but the bottom one has a homer in it.

How original.

A toast.

To this moment

and the moment yet to come.

In our profession, I’m afraid,

you never can count on that moment to come.

Who knows where you and I
will be this time next year?

Opposite sides of the world, most likely.

That’s too far apart.

Now, if Hip doesn’t come up with a lead,

there’s really nothing
very much for us to do tonight.

Or is there?

Oh, darling, I’m tempted.

But killing a few hours as
one of your passing fancies

isn’t quite my scene.

"Phuyuck."

Ah. Goodnight, what a pleasant surprise.

My hard-to-get act
didn’t last very long, did it?

I was trained to expect the unexpected,

but they never prepared me
for anything like you in a nightie.

James, I thought this would never happen.

What made you change your mind?

I’m weak.

Don’t move.

Miss Anders.

I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.

I bribed the bellboy to let me in.

I’ve come to warn you.

You’re in great danger.

I usually am.

That’s why l use the old three-pillow trick.

Please believe me.
I’m risking my life to come here.

Well, your concern for my well-being is touching

but puzzles me.

Scaramanga is in Bangkok.

He was in Hong Kong, too, but not after me.

We’ve been through that routine.

He’s a monster. I hate him.

Then leave him.

You don’t walk out on Scaramanga.

There’s no place he wouldn’t find me.

You need a good lawyer.

I need 007.

Who do you think sent that bullet

to London with your number on it?

I did.

And it wasn’t easy getting
his fingerprint on the note.

You’ll forgive me if I’ve been
a little slow on the uptake.

Don’t you see you’re the only man
in the world who can kill him?

What gives you that idea?

The way Scaramanga speaks about you.

Even has a likeness of you.

I’m flattered.

I want him dead.

Name your price. Anything. I’ll pay it.

You can have me, too, if you like.

I’m not unattractive.

At last you’re starting to tell the truth.

I’ve dreamed about you setting me free.

I’ve been dreaming about a solex agitator.

Ever heard of one?

Perhaps you can have that, too.

No, my clothes are in there.

I’ll kill that woman. Later.

Charming.

It was an inspiration sending that bullet.

You’re late.

It was a double feature.

What are you doing?

Putting my jewelry away.

You can come out now.

What time is it?

2:00-ish.

2:00?

Do you mean I’ve been in here for two hours?

All in the line of duty.

Duty? I’m resigning in the morning.

Oh, Goodnight, come on, don’t let us down.

The Service needs women like you.

Well, obviously you don’t.

Forgive me, darling.

Your turn will come, I promise.

As soon as she brings me that solex.

For killing Scaramanga?

If she gets me the solex agitator first.

First?

James, you must be good.

We’ll find out about
that the next time I meet her.

She’s making the arrangements.

Sorry I’m late.

Bangkok traffic’s worse than Piccadilly.

He’s made contact.

How’s the charm boy doing?

Need you ask?

Meet you outside.

Did you bring it?

Darling, I left it in your handbag.

It must be in here somewhere, dear.

I saw the man in the shop give it to you.

Without the ticket,
we can’t get a receipt for customs.

You won’t find it in there, Mr. Bond.
I looked before you came.

I wouldn’t do that either.

Look behind you.

Lower.

A gun and a bag of peanuts. How original.

What will they think of next?

My name is Scaramanga.

Francisco Scaramanga.

I feel I know you,

although I never thought
we should ever really meet.

It’s a very great pleasure for me, Mr. Bond,

thanks to Miss Anders.

You’ve a strange way of showing your gratitude.

A mistress cannot serve two masters.

A difficult shot, but most gratifying.

Well, we all get our jollies one way or another.

Mine have always been guns, Mr. Bond.

When I was a boy, I was brought up in a circus.

My only real friend was
a magnificent African bull elephant.

One day his handler mistreated him
and he went berserk.

Bleeding, dying,

he came and found me.

Stood on one leg, his best trick,

picked me up and put me on his back.

The man emptied the gun into his eye.

I emptied my stage pistol into his.

An eye for an eye.

Nut?

You see, Mr. Bond,
I always thought I liked animals

and l discovered that
I liked killing people even more.

Keep this. Whatever you do, don’t lose it.

I have to get back to help James.

Something’s gone wrong?

There’s a midget with a gun on him.

A midget?

Same one I saw outside the Bottoms Up.

And the girl is dead. Call the police.

Forget the girl. She’s replaceable.

I shall find what she stole from me.

Personally, I’ve got
nothing against you, Mr. Bond,

so let us hope our paths never cross again.

Please don’t try to follow me.

Your peanut-toting
friend back there wouldn’t like it.

No, he wouldn’t.

You want to try one of mine?

Where’s the solex? I gave it to Goodnight.

- And where’s Goodnight?
- Outside.

She must be by the car.

Women. Walkie-talkie.

Goodnight, where are you?

Somebody locked me in a boot.

In a what?

The midget’s car. I’m locked in.

It’s a bronze car with a black roof, number 7543.

The keys. I haven’t got them.

Oh, no.

Goodnight, where are the car keys?

I’ve got the keys. And I’ve got the solex, too.

Taxi!

Stay in there, Goodnight. We’ve got you spotted.

Taxi! Taxi!

How about a demonstration, boy?

Certainly, sir.

What the hell is going on?

Now I know you!

Oh, no.

You’re that secret agent.

That English secret agent from England.

You’re chasing somebody.

Who you after this time, boy? Commies?

Let’s go get them.

I’m with you all the way.

Uh-oh! I think we’ve got trouble.

Pull your cars over,
you little brown pointy-heads!

I’m a peace officer!

James, are you still there? James?

Can you hear me? James!

All right, Goodnight. Don’t panic.

- Who’s that?
- It’s...

- It’s headquarters.
- Let me talk to them.

Hello. This is Sheriff
J.W. Pepper, Louisiana State Police.

Now, you call my wife at the Narai Hotel

and tell her I’m on a mission.

I’ve been deputized.

Right? Right.

Which car are we all chasing, boy?

Move it! Move it!

Get that piece of junk off the road!

They went to the left, boy.

Press that pedal, boy.

Where the hell they got to?

You goofed, boy.

Nearest bridge is two miles back.

God damn! What the...

What’s going on?
What the hell you doing now, boy?

The bridge is that way!

You’re not thinking of...

I sure am, boy.

Ever heard of Evel Knievel?

I never done that before!

Well, neither have I, actually.

Let’s go get them, boy!

You stay put, boy. This is my department.

Glad to see you boys are on the ball.

Sheriff J.W. Pepper, Louisiana State Police.

Here’s my identification.

This is the Law Enforcement
Association, American Legion.

Me and my partner here,
we’re on a secret mission.

Hey! What the hell you doing?

Hey! Give me my wallet back.

Doors.

You can’t do this to me!

I want my wallet back!

Take these goddamn bracelets off!

I’m gonna sue ya for
false arrest, police brutality!

I got connections! I’m gonna get
the FBI on your ass, the CIA.

God damn it, I’m gonna get Henry Kissinger!

Look at me when I’m talking to ya, boy!

What’s the matter?

Ain’t none of you pointy-heads
ever seen an airplane before?

James? James, are you still there?

Can you hear me? I think we’ve stopped.

That is really all there is to report, sir.

So, if I heard correctly, Scaramanga got away.

Yes, sir.

In a car that sprouted wings.

That’s perfectly feasible, sir.

As a matter of fact, we’re working on one now.

Oh, Q, shut up.

And Miss Goodnight was in the boot. Yes, sir.

We found the car-plane abandoned

about two hundred miles west of Bangkok.

And the solex? In Goodnight’s handbag, sir.

Where is Goodnight now?

We don’t know, sir.

Communications aren’t picking up the signal

from the homer she has, supplied by Q.

Rubbish! They’re simply not stepping up

the reception sufficiently to enable...

Oh, shut up, Q.

Of all the fouled-up, half-witted operations.

What do you want?

We’ve picked up Goodnight’s signal, sir.

Well, that’s something.

But there is something rather curious, sir.

Our sector’s here

and we’re receiving her signal from somewhere

off this coastline off shore here.

Now, here it is on a much larger scale.

That’s where she is.

In this group of small islands.

That’s all we need, Red Chinese waters.

Well, we could stray
inadvertently into them, sir.

I could fly low under their radar screen.

Absolutely out of the question.

If the PM gets to hear of this,

hell hang me from the yardarm.

Officially, you won’t know a thing about it, sir.

There’s a small seaplane approaching your island.

Do you want us to take any action?

No. No, please don’t do anything.

Yes, it’s a guest I’m expecting.

No, he won’t be leaving.

I am Nick Nack.

I prefer the’62 myself.

Still, beats a bag of peanuts.

Monsieur Scaramanga will welcome you personally.

Forgive me, Mr. Bond.

A vulgar display, but I couldn’t resist it

because I am so delighted to see you again.

A harmless toy.

I am, as you can see now, completely unarmed.

Cigarette?

We have so much in common, Mr. Bond.

We have so much to discuss,

and we will never have this opportunity again.

Ours is the loneliest profession,

so let us spend a few pleasant hours together.

How can I refuse such a gracious invitation?

Splendid. Splendid!

Nick Nack, I expect you to surpass yourself.

He’s a Cordon Bleu, you know.

By the way, where’s Miss Goodnight?

Oh, she’s around here somewhere.

There’s no way for her to leave,

so she does as she pleases.

How do you like my island?

A bit off the beaten track, isn’t it?

It’s rent-free.
I do my landlords an occasional favor.

A cozy arrangement.

Servant problem, I suppose.

Not at all.

Nick Nack does for me very nicely.

Usually there’s just the two of us,

but having guests is no inconvenience.

We’re entirely self-supporting.

We have every electrical laborsaving device

you could possibly think of.

This is an air lock, as you are doubtless aware.

Automatic, of course.

Naturally, we have an
ample supply of electricity here.

Let me show you.

This should run a few electric toothbrushes.

Up here.

A solar energy station.

So this is what it’s all about.

Thermoelectric generators to convert

solar energy into electricity.

All built by Hai Fat’s
construction company, no doubt.

Somehow I seem to have inherited it from him.

It’s all fully automated.

That’s Kra, maintenance and security.

He looks after everything in here.

Nick Nack does everything else
when he isn’t polishing the silver.

They tell me the electricity
is stored in here somewhere.

Science was never my strong point.

Superconductivity coils cooled by liquid helium.

If I were you, I wouldn’t stick my finger,

or anything else for that matter, in there.

At 453 degrees below zero,

that liquid helium would
break it off like an icicle.

You really know far more
about it than I do, Mr. Bond.

I’m arranging for every country
that can afford the price

to send their experts here
to see for themselves.

But no solex until
the money is in the bank. Right?

Right.

I have run across similar situations.

Not what I’ve got here.

This way the highest bidder can build

hundreds of these stations

and sell franchises for hundreds more.

He will literally have the sun in his pocket.

A monopoly on solar power.

The oil sheiks will pay you just to keep
solar energy off the market.

The thought had occurred to me.

This is the collection point.

Ah. So that’s where it belongs.

Our famous solex in the still down there

transmits heat to the thermal generators.

It’s collected through this?

But where is it collected from?

You need the sun.

Watch that mushroom-shaped rock.

Ingenious, isn’t it?

The panels lock on to the sun
and then track it automatically.

Something like that, yes.

Ah.

Reflected through this,
those panels must produce a heat

of at least 3,500 degrees Fahrenheit.

If you say so, Mr. Bond.

But I do know that we can
focus the power wherever we want.

Over here. I’ll show you.

This is a bonus.

Goes with the solex. No extra charge.

This is the part I really like.

Now, that’s what I call solar power.

That’s what I call trouble.

You must admit, Mr. Bond, I am now undeniably

the Man with the Golden Gun.

Ah. Lunch.

This way, Mr. Bond.

Ah! Miss Goodnight.

James!

Aren’t we a little overdressed, Goodnight?

I like a girl in a bikini.

No concealed weapons.

Miss Goodnight, please. Mr. Bond.

Now let’s see what Nick Nack has for us.

Ah. Mushrooms.

The fried mushroom looks terribly interesting.

Yes, I noticed that. I’ll get around to it later.

Having fun in the sun, Goodnight?

Yes.

I could stay here forever.

Excellent.

Slightly reminiscent of a ’34 Mouton.

Then I must add it to my cellar.

You live well, Scaramanga.

At a million dollars a contract,
I can afford to, Mr. Bond.

You work for peanuts.

A hearty "well done" from Her Majesty the Queen

and a pittance of a pension.

Apart from that, we are the same.

To us, Mr. Bond.

We are the best.

There’s a useful four-letter word,

and you’re full of it.

When I kill, it’s on the
specific orders of my government.

And those I kill are themselves killers.

Oh, come, come, Mr. Bond.

You disappoint me.

You get as much fulfillment
out of killing as I do,

so why don’t you admit it?

I admit killing you would be a pleasure.

You should’ve done that when you first saw me.

But then of course the English don’t consider it

sporting to kill in cold blood, do they?

Don’t count on that.

I could’ve shot you down when you landed

but that would’ve been ridiculously easy.

You see, Mr. Bond, like every great artist,

I want to create an indisputable

masterpiece once in my lifetime.

The death of 007,

face to face,

will be mine.

You mean, stuffed and displayed
over your rocky mantelpiece?

That’s an amusing idea,
but I was thinking in terms of history.

A duel between titans.

My golden gun against your Walther PPK.

Each of us with a 50-50 chance.

Six bullets to your one?

I only need one.

Sounds a bit old-fashioned, doesn’t it?

I mean, pistols at dawn, that sort of thing.

Indeed, it is, Mr. Bond,

but it still remains the
only true test for gentlemen.

I doubt if you qualify on that score.

However, I accept.

As soon as I finish this delicious lunch

that Nick Nack has prepared for us.

Messieurs, I will remind you
this is a duel to death.

Only one of you can leave the field of honor.

If a quietus is necessary,

as your referee, I will administer it myself.

I do not expect wounds. Only a clean kill.

On my command,

each contestant will take twenty paces.

Are you ready, Monsieur Scaramanga?

Ready.

Are you ready, Monsieur Bond?

Ready.

I will now begin the count.

One, two, three, four, five,

six, seven, eight, nine,

ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen,

fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,

seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty!

If you kill him,

all this be mine.

This way, Monsieur Bond.

Monsieur, good shooting.

I’ve never killed a midget before,

but there can always be a first time.

Oh, monsieur.

You only have three bullets left!

I fooled you.

- Goodnight.
- James!

James.

Steady, Goodnight.

Where is he?

Flat on his quietus.

Come on. Let’s get out of this
fun palace and find that solex.

Wait here.

I’ll take care of the maintenance man.

I already did.

I laid him out cold.

You did? Yes.

There’s more to you
than meets the eye, Goodnight.

Goodnight, I hate to ask stupid questions,

but where exactly did you knock him cold?

He landed in that one.

Don’t you believe in signs?

We’ve got about five minutes before his

body temperature raises
that helium well above zero.

Then this whole damn place will go sky high.

I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

Kill the beam!

Hit the master override switch!

The what?

Goodnight?

Yes, James.

Now, listen carefully.

There’s a console up there.

Now, there must be
a scanner interlock button on it.

Push it!

Goodnight, are you still there?

It’ll be on the auxiliary feedback
circuit.

Computer interlock. Is that it?

Just push every damn button, will you?

Good girl, Goodnight. You’ve done it.

Oh, I have?

Goodnight, get the hell
out of there! I’ve got it!

I hope you can swim, Goodnight.

This way.

His junk is moored around the corner.

But, darling, who is at the wheel?

George. George?

Automatic pilot.

We should make Hong Kong in about eight hours.

Give or take a little.

I always wanted to take a slow boat from China.

I’ll kill you.

I’ll kill you!

Why, you...

Wait! Just wait!

Son of a bitch! Ow!

Hey! Hey, what are you doing? Get in there.

Come on! I can’t breathe!

You’ll be sorry!

I may be small, but I never forget!

I’ll kill you if you don’t let me out of here!

Let me out, you big bully!

Shut up.

What did you do with him?

What do you think?

Oh, James, you didn’t.

Yes, I damn well did.

Got all the glass out of the bed, I trust.

We don’t want anything
else to disturb our peace, do we?

Now, where were we?

Oh, James.

What’s the matter?

Something came up.

Hello?

Ah! There you are, Bond.

Well done. Congratulations.

Thank you, sir.

Is Miss Goodnight with you?
I’d like a word with her.

Hold on, sir.

Bond? Bond, are you there?

Goodnight?

She’s just coming, sir.

Goodnight?

Goodnight. Good night, sir.