Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

“Yeah, right,” Hedy said. “Tell that to the bull.”

Bond decided not to argue. They checked in to the hotel, where the girls had reserved an exclusive bungalow with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a shared living room, and an enclosed patio. They walked through the grounds, which were surrounded by lush foliage and palm trees. When they entered the bungalow, Heidi was ecstatic.

“Now this is the life!” she purred. “We need to get the company to send us on business trips more often.”

“We’ll take this one,” Hedy said, gesturing to the bedroom with twin beds. “You’re in the other one, Mr. Bond. Don’t try any funny stuff. We’re going to guard you in shifts tonight.”

Bond shook his head. “I keep telling you that you don’t need to guard me at all,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Whatever. Let’s go find your matador.”

“Since we’re going to the beach, can I put on my swimsuit?” Heidi asked.

“Jeez, Heidi,” Hedy said, rolling her eyes.

Ten minutes later, all three of them were dressed in beachwear. Bond was wearing a pair of navy shorts, a white polo shirt, sunglasses, and flip-flops. He had asked the girls for his gun, but Hedy refused to give it to him.

Heidi was wearing a yellow and white bikini that revealed just how shapely and athletic she really was. Her muscle tone was perfect and she had an hourglass figure. Hedy chose to wear a red and black bikini, and for the first time, Bond was able to tell them apart. Hedy had a small, sexy mole on her left breast, whereas Heidi had one to the right of her navel. Otherwise, their figures were exactly alike.

“Wait a second,” Hedy announced as they were ready to leave. “One of us should stay here. We have phone calls to make. And we probably shouldn’t be seen together if you’re meeting someone who’s close to Espada.”

Bond saw the logic in that. “So … who’s coming with me?”

“Do we have to flip for it?” Heidi asked her sister.

Hedy waved her hand. “You two go on. I’ll be the responsible one. I’ll get some sun on the patio while I make calls.”

So Bond and Heidi left her, strolled across the hotel grounds, through the beach club and shops, and onto the warm, soft sand. The Mediterranean was calm, creating a flat, blue horizon of serenity. The beach was populated with hotel guests lounging on recliners while staff fetched towels or drinks from the bar.

“Do you see him?” Heidi asked.

Bond peered up and down the beach, and finally spotted a tanned young man lying alone on a lounger some fifty yards away from the rest of the crowd. He was wearing swimming trunks and sunglasses.

“Hola,” Bond said as they approached. Javier Rojo turned his head and smiled. He immediately jumped off the lounger and removed his sunglasses.

“James Bond!” he said enthusiastically. “How are you, my friend?”

They shook hands and embraced.

“I’m fine, Javier, it’s good to see you,” Bond said. “I’m very sorry to hear about your brother.”

Javier lowered his head. “Thank you. I am trying to come to terms with it.”

“Any ideas on how it happened?”

The matador shook his head. “The police are clueless.”

Noting Javier’s unease, Bond quickly changed the subject. “Allow me to introduce you to … Hillary.”

Javier smiled warmly at the beautiful woman. “I should have known that you would be in such company! I’m very pleased to meet you, señorita. ”

Heidi was speechless. Javier was a superb specimen of a Latin male. He had large, round brown eyes and a wicked smile that could melt any woman’s reserve.

Javier held out his hand to Heidi and she took it gingerly, as if she were in a trance.

“Hi …” she muttered.

“Sit down,” Javier said, gesturing to some empty loungers nearby. “Pull them over here. I was trying to stay away from the crowd so no one would recognize me.”

Bond dragged the lounger next to Javier’s and they sat, facing the sea.

“Where have you traveled from?” Javier asked.

“We came from North Africa,” Bond said.

“Ah, that’s a different world over there,” Javier commented. “Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t live there.”

“I do,” Heidi said.

“Oh? Do you enjoy it?”

“Sometimes,” she answered.

“So, James, how long has it been? Three years?” Javier asked.

“Something like that. Four perhaps?”

“I don’t know. The time, it is flying. Ever since I got my alternativa, the world has been spinning,” the handsome young man said.

“What is that?” Heidi asked.

Bond explained. “It’s like a graduation, when a novillero, or novice, bullfighter becomes a full-fledged matador. It occurs at a special corrida, and the novice is proposed and seconded by senior matadors. It’s almost like a christening.”

“Very good, James,” Javier said. “You remember!”

Bond shrugged. “Javier, I asked to see you because we need some information about Domingo Espada.”

Javier nodded. “I thought so. What do you want to know?”

“Tell us your impressions of him. How close are you to him?”

“Domingo is my manager,” Javier said. “He manages several matadors. In the beginning, he was like an uncle. He was a friend. He looked out for his matadors, and I was no exception. He took on my brother when he was a novice. He has a lot of power in the world of bullfighting. Alas, sometimes he misuses that power. I think he bribes bullring owners. I know he bribes the regulators and the presidents at bullfights. He can make sure that the bulls he breeds are sold for corridas. At the same time, as a manager, he can dictate which bulls his matadors will fight. He is a good manager, but I sometimes question his ethics. Lately, he has started demanding that his matadors publicly support his political causes. I don’t particularly like that.”

“Why can’t you just leave?” Bond asked.

“It’s dangerous to leave Domingo Espada. They call him El Padrino down here. I don’t mind telling you; he’s a crook. He has been linked with organized crime for many years. I never used to pay any attention to it. But now … I have reason to believe he’s a murderer. I think he may be responsible for Roberto’s death.”

“Why?” Heidi asked.

“Because Roberto crossed him. I’m still trying to piece together what happened. You see, I know that Domingo Espada also deals in prostitution. He finds young girls from poor families and literally buys them and trains them to be high-class whores. Sometimes special guests are allowed to ‘try them out’ before they go out to work for real. Espada keeps this all very quiet, of course, and he’s got judges and policemen on his payroll. Anyway, I think Roberto—he was, you know, a ladies’ man, as you say—I think he fell for one of Espada’s girls and helped her to escape from the ranch where they are kept as prisoners. They went to Ronda, where Roberto was supposed to fight in a corrida. Espada was there, doing one of his rallies to recruit volunteers for his army.”

“Excuse me,” Heidi said. “How come he’s allowed to do that?”

Javier shrugged. “Because he’s Espada. He runs the corridas. He can do what he pleases.”

“Go ahead,” Bond urged. “What happened to your brother?”

“He and the girl were found dead in his hotel, minutes before the corrida was supposed to have begun. His throat had been cut. No one knows how the killer got away. The hotel had only one entrance—the front.”

“When you say his throat was cut, do you mean ear to ear?” Bond asked.

Javier nodded, swallowing. “I swear, if I find out that Espada was responsible, I will kill him. I’m thinking of killing him tonight.”