Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

NINETEEN

DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON

JAVIER ROJO ARRIVED AT THE ESPADA ESTATE AT 7:00 ON SUNDAY MORNING. He told the guard at the gate that he had been invited to breakfast on the morning of the corrida. Since Javier was a familiar face at the ranch, the guard let him in without verifying the appointment.

He drove the Porsche around the annex and parked at the back. He quietly entered the house from the back door, which he knew would be unlocked. Javier thought that if Espada were really involved in criminal activities, then he should have better security!

He heard people talking in a room beyond the kitchen. They were indeed having breakfast on the patio, located off the immense living room. If he could creep into the living room and hide behind some furniture, perhaps he could hear their conversation.

Javier started to sneak into the room, but the sound of footsteps in the corridor to his right stopped him. He quickly moved back and stood behind a tall cactus in a painted clay pot.

He couldn’t believe what he saw.

A man came out of the corridor and went into the living room, obviously headed for the patio.

It was James Bond! What the hell was he doing here?

In confusion, Javier stepped out from behind the cactus, hoping to get another look before the man disappeared outside.

“May I help you?”

It was the woman. Margareta Piel. She must have been just behind Bond.

“Hola,” Javier said. “I thought I saw someone I knew.…”

“Were you invited here this morning, Javier?” she asked.

“Well, no, but I thought that … considering that today … tonight …”

“Domingo isn’t here,” she said. “As much as I’d like to say I would love to have breakfast with you, Javier, it’s just not convenient this morning. I’m sorry. You’ll have to leave. Besides, Javier, you need to be ready for tonight! Go on! You know Domingo wouldn’t like it if he saw you here, anyway. You’re supposed to be preparing for the corrida! ”

“Fine,” Javier said. Now he wasn’t so sure that he had seen what he had thought. Perhaps his eyes had been playing tricks on him. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Señorita Piel. ” He said it as if he were spitting on her.

She flared her eyes at him as he left the way he had come in.

Jimmy Powers stepped out of the corridor. He had been listening just a few feet away the entire time.

“I hate to say I told you so,” he said to Margareta. “He came looking for something, all right. What did he see?”

“I’m not sure, but I think he saw Peredur,” she replied.

“Well,” Powers said. “Please tell Nadir. Someone needs to keep an eye on the kid and make sure he doesn’t go near our friend in Marbella before tonight. I’m off to Gibraltar.”

Powers left the room. Margareta turned and went outside to the patio to find Yassasin.

“Nadir, I need to speak with you,” she said. She led him to a corner of the patio and whispered softly. Peredur Glyn watched her, totally absorbed by the gorgeous woman he had spent the night with. When they came back to the table, Margareta sat in the chair next to him and squeezed his thigh.

Margareta told the servant what she wanted, then turned to Peredur. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever met. Dark. Cold. She liked that.

When Peredur Glyn had arrived at the ranch yesterday, she knew she had to sleep with him. He was terribly good-looking. The fact that she knew he was going to die tomorrow excited her even more.

They killed time in Bar Flor, the sidewalk café directly across the street from Málaga’s Plaza de Toros La Malagueta. Bond sat with Heidi at one of the sidewalk tables, while Hedy, wearing the red wig, a scarf and sunglasses, sat inside the cafeteria, apart from them. She could hear their conversation by means of an earpiece and a small microphone attached to a button on Heidi’s blouse.

It was a busy little place, crowded with anxious spectators waiting for the doors of the bullring to open. The two slot machines made a tremendous racket, and the air was buzzing with patrons’ exuberance. These were people who loved bullfighting, and bullfighting is as widely discussed there as football is debated in Britain.

The throngs of people outside the bullring fascinated Bond and Heidi. They were all dressed in traditional garb for corridas —the women wore large, colorful dresses and headpieces, and carried fans. Every man was equipped with a cigar, and groups carried botas, pouches full of wine. While the atmosphere was not as festive as during the annual August feria, which had occurred a week earlier, there was still enough excitement to generate anticipation in even the most jaded person.

Bond wanted to catch Domingo Espada’s speech before the bullfight, so he finished the sherry and took one last bite of pork.

“Hedy doesn’t like the idea of you going in there alone,” Heidi said.

“Hedy, don’t worry,” Bond said, directing his voice at the button on Heidi’s blouse. “Something is destined to happen here. I just wonder if the Union are expecting me. And … thanks for giving me back my gun.”

Hedy had handed it over before they reached Málaga. “I’m giving this back to you on one condition,” she had said. “That you promise not to run away from us, do anything rash, shoot us, or kill more tourists.”

She had gradually warmed to Bond over the last twenty-four hours. While Heidi was the consummate flirt and continued to show the most obvious interest, Bond was beginning to find Hedy the more attractive of the twins. He liked her style.

“I suggest you follow me at a very safe distance,” Bond said to Heidi. “No doubt I’m being watched. You know whom to call if something goes wrong. I’m going to do my best to obtain a face-to-face meeting with Espada. Hopefully this ticket will be for a seat somewhere near him.”

He stood and left some pesetas on the table. He leaned over and kissed Heidi on the cheek. “That was for you, too, Hedy,” Bond said to the button.

“Good luck,” Heidi said.

Bond crossed the street and joined the masses of people entering the beige bullring. While not as old as the one in Ronda, it is a beautiful, historic landmark. It is the site of not only bullfights, but also rock concerts, motorbike shows, operas, elections, and political rallies. The city had grown around it; tall apartment buildings stood on all sides of the ring, offering spectacular views for tenants owning binoculars.

The energy around him was palpable as Bond entered the pasillo and walked past the refreshment stands. Much like at an American sporting event, hawkers sold sweets, sunflower seeds, beer, and soft drinks during the corrida. Bond stopped and bought a beer, and then swallowed four of Dr. Feare’s tablets, noticing that he was running low. What would he do when he needed to refill the prescription?

The place was filling up quickly, so Bond made his way to the tendidos. His seat was in one of the best sections, the tendido sombra, where patrons are able to sit in the shade. Next to it was the apoderados section, where managers and other bullfighting regulators sat. Some prime seats there had obviously been draped and reserved for VIPs, presumably Espada and his team. The president of the corrida and his aides sat in a section a few rows higher than Bond. Directly across the ring was the orchestra, the members of which were settling down, ready to begin the music. The fight was completely sold out; the roar of the spectators grew louder as the seats filled, section by section. The seat next to Bond’s, however, remained empty.