Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

“That’s right, it’s no!” He slammed down the phone. “Bastards,” he muttered.

“Who was it?” Maria asked, a little frightened at the show of temper.

“Someone who works for my ex-manager,” he said. “Espada knows you’re here. I don’t know how he found out, but he did. He wants me to give you back.”

Her eyes widened with fright.

Roberto kissed her. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” He kissed her again. “Espada is trying to control his matadors in ways that he shouldn’t.

It’s part of his grand plan to get his party elected. I’m supposed to be there in time for his speech and stand up there with him. He thinks that if the matadors are part of his political machine, then the rest of the people will follow him, too. Most of the toreros I know can’t stand him. He’s double-crossed them, cheated them, and disgraced the art.”

Rojo got up and slipped on the terry-cloth robe that the hotel supplied. He opened the doors to the balcony and stepped outside. He deeply inhaled the fresh air and used the serenity of the landscape to help calm down.

“Want to take a shower together?” Maria called.

Rojo thought that was an agreeable suggestion. There was still time before he had to get to the bullring.

He went back into the bedroom and gazed at the naked girl on the bed. Perhaps he had time for one more.…

“Let’s do it again first.”

She laughed. “Roberto! You are a machine! No, thank you. You have worn me out. I’m taking a shower.”

Maria got up and went into the bathroom. Roberto was about to follow her, but there was a knock on the door downstairs.

“Christ, who could that be?” he muttered. He bounded down the wooden stairs into the living room. Without bothering to look through the peephole, he unlatched and opened the door.

An absolutely stunning woman with long, flowing dark hair stood in the hallway.

“What do—oh, hello,” he said.

“Roberto Rojo?” Margareta asked, smiling seductively.

Oh, he thought. She was a fan. She probably wanted his autograph.

“How did you find me?” he asked. “The hotel is supposed to keep autograph seekers like you away.” He didn’t recognize her, as Margareta had never met him when he had visited Espada’s ranch.

“I was very determined to see you,” she said.

“Well. Normally I would turn you away, but since you are so beautiful …”

He held the door open and gestured for her to enter. She sauntered in, pausing to run her index finger along his chin as she walked by him.

“Oh, I see you’re not alone,” Margareta said, indicating the sound of the shower upstairs.

“Uhm, no,” Rojo replied. “Another fan. You know how it is.”

“I sure do,” she said. “Now. I want you to sit down in this chair while I take my clothes off for you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Sit in this chair.” She pointed to one of the living room chairs facing the television.

“But what about … ?” he asked, pointing upstairs.

“We’ll ask her to join us,” Margareta said. “If she’s not interested, then she can leave.”

Rojo laughed and practically jumped into the seat. The terry-cloth robe parted, revealing his tight, muscular body. Margareta moved around in front of him and let the backpack slip off to the floor. Then, she slowly pulled down the zipper on the front of the bodysuit, from her neck all the way to her crotch. The suit parted, revealing her shiny, tan skin. She was wearing nothing underneath.

Rojo’s eyes bulged as he swallowed loudly.

Margareta stepped out of the suit, kicked it behind her, and then straddled his lap. She ran her hands up and down his chest and leaned in to kiss him.

As he closed his eyes and explored her mouth with his tongue, Margareta guided him into her. Rojo’s grunts and moans quickly covered the sound of the shower upstairs as the strange woman rocked back and forth on his lap; leisurely at first, then faster and harder.

Margareta allowed herself a cry of pleasure as she climaxed with him. They remained motionless for a minute, clutching each other.

“What is your name?” he asked breathlessly. His eyes were closed.

She slowly disengaged from his body as the sound of the shower stopped. She reached down to the backpack and unsheathed a knife that was fastened to it. She brought it out and readied it.

“Some men call me Mantis Religiosa, ” she said.

Rojo opened his eyes. “Why?”

She paused a second, holding his chin up in her left hand. “Because of what those insects do to their mates. Oh, I almost forgot. I’m here to deliver a message from Domingo Espada.”

With that, she swiftly drew the knife across Roberto Rojo’s throat. Blood shot out in an arc, drenching them both.

Rojo’s eyes bulged in horror. His hands grabbed at his neck as he fought for air and made horrible gurgling sounds. Margareta stood back as he slipped off the chair onto the floor, gagging and struggling for life. Margareta placed her foot on the back of his head and kicked it into the floor. That shut him up. He would die in silence.

Then she realized that she had unintentionally killed him the “Union Way.” Margareta had heard stories of how the Union would sometimes make a statement by leaving a victim with a cut throat. Would this be interpreted as such? She smiled. It would be a good joke on Espada. Why not? She would soon be a full-fledged member of the Union. She was merely “between jobs.”

She had forgotten about Maria until there was a scream on the stairs behind her. Margareta turned to see the wet, naked girl, recoiling in horror at the bloody sight.

Margareta slowly ascended the stairs as Maria fell to her knees on the steps, trembling with fright.

Margareta silenced the girl with one swift slash of the knife.

She then stepped over the body and went into the bathroom. She paused long enough to step into the shower and wash the blood off her body. Back downstairs, she dressed quickly and put on the backpack, then returned to the bedroom and walked through the open balcony doors.

It would not do to stroll back through the hotel lobby and outside in full view of the police.

The valley was one hundred meters below. It was a breathtaking vista.

Margareta reached behind and pulled straps from the backpack, fastened and adjusted them, then stepped up onto the balcony edge. She held herself steady and concentrated on what she was about to do.

BASE-jumping was illegal, but many daredevils liked to attempt it. A BASE rig allowed one to jump from a low altitude, such as a building or a cliff, and use a parachute to land. Margareta’s rig was a Precision Dynamics “Super Raven 4” canopy, which was especially well suited for BASE-jumping. The low aspect ratio chute had been free-packed to ensure against “bag spin” or “bag lock” and enhance the odds of a straight-ahead opening. Even so, she had made sure the rig was set with deep and multiple brake settings so that it would fly slowly. That would buy her time to react if the canopy were to open pointing her toward the deadly cliff face. The slider had been removed to give almost instantaneous inflation of the canopy, but to soften that opening jolt, the chute was made of nonzero porosity fabric.

Margareta raised her arms wide, holding the rig’s pilot chute in her right hand. She leaped from the balcony as far out as possible and dropped into the abyss. Once she was in midair, she threw the pilot chute out into the air stream. The nine-foot bridle line was long enough to ensure that the pilot chute would easily clear the burble of air. As the bridle line snapped taught, it dragged the canopy out of the pack.

The chute snapped open before Margareta had fallen one hundred feet. The seven-cell, ram-air canopy allowed her to glide like a hawk. She floated down to the valley, where a white Percheron stallion was waiting for her. He was tied to a tree, saddled and ready to go. Margareta flared the chute steeply and lightly touched down in seconds. She stripped off the backpack, and untied the horse. She took a moment to pat his neck and whisper quiet endearments in his ear, then she mounted the beautiful beast.