Casino Infernale

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The name’s Bond. Shaman Bond. The very secret agent.

They all know my name, in the back streets of London, in the shadowy places where shadowy people do all the things the everyday world isn’t supposed to lust after. Shaman Bond is a face on the scene—a character, a chancer, always au fait with the very latest in sin and diversion. Always up for a little deviltry, with a taste for the illegal and the unnatural. Shaman Bond can turn up anywhere, and no one will ever be surprised. Because his type are ten a penny in the hidden life, the secret world. Not a bad man, necessarily, but always around when the bad stuff is kicking off. Sometimes he does good things, when he thinks no one’s noticing. Sometimes he’ll help out in a con or a sting, especially if they’re designed to show the real Bad Guys the error of their ways. But really, he’s just . . . around. A part of the scene. He hangs out at all the right places, with all the wrong people, smiling his crocodile smile.

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