He shrugged off the sadness and picked up his controller. He had a game to get back to and he was going to kick some serious ass. He sniggered once more, thinking about Imani’s mother. The assassin got no respect on that quarter.
Ϫ
Imani arrived home in late evening. It had been a wonderful vacation and she’d enjoyed the time with her parents. Her mother had eventually stopped the pestering for grandchildren. They’d gone down to the shore and gone out on a small fishing skiff. Her mother enjoyed fishing as much as her father and they’d spent a pleasant afternoon on the water and had even eaten a packed lunch, with a carafe of wine.
Nobu was on the couch, playing his games. She grinned at him. He lifted a hand and saluted her and went back to playing.
“Have a good time? Got a tan, I see.” Nobu said.
“Yeah, it was nice seeing my folks, and man oh man, the food was wonderful.” Imani grinned.
“How’s your mother?” Nobu grinned.
“Kiss my ass, Nobu.” She laughed.
“Honey, when are you going to going to give me a grandbaby? If you’d just grow your hair, you’d look normal and you’d get a man.” Nobu said in a falsetto voice and sniggered.
“Idiot!” She laughed and flipped him off on the way to her room. She put her suitcase next to the bed and fell onto the bed.
“I just wanna sleep.” She said disjointedly, tired from the trip and the sun. Slumber took her swiftly.
Ϫ
Imani stood and cheered, she was sitting in the middle row at Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballeria de Sevilla. She was red in the face from cheering, she secretly cheered for the bull. When ever she was in Spain, she made time for the bull fights. Americans didn’t like it and screamed animal cruelty. She however, loved the tradition of it, the thrill and sometimes, the bull got his hit in. It was a festive air and there were thousands. In Portugal, they had Cavaleiro, men on horseback.
Also, in Portugal, they had the Forcados, which she loved, they were eight brave or crazy men who stopped the bull with sheer strength. The men line up and took the bull head on. Now that was bull fighting. She’d also attended the running of the bulls on the beach, where the general populous pitted themselves against the fifteen-hundred-pound beast.
She followed the massive beast’s progress around the ring and the matador antagonized the bull. The bull charged, and with scant hair’s breadth, missed the matador. She rose along with the other citizens and cheered.
She had a hit scheduled for tomorrow. Later this evening, she’d go and grab some dinner. There was a new place she wanted to try at the Plaza de San Sebastian, it was the Ispal Restaurante. She thought she should write a blog about all the places she’d eaten at, but how could she justify the travel. Her eyes watched the bull’s advance, she smiled. The matador was earning his paycheck. This bull was vicious and he was fast on his tiny hooves.
As the bull passed, the matador jabbed the colorful banderillas into the bull’s shoulder. The crowd cheered. The bull had numerous banderillas bouncing off his massive hump, he looked like a colorful porcupine. Then came the time for the estocada, the thrust of death. If the matador failed to kill the bull in one smooth strike, the crowd would give a heartfelt curse and boo’s and catcalls. Imani watched intently, this is where true artistry came in. Many a matador was gored during this precarious maneuver.
A collective ahh and cheers erupted when the bull went to his knees, the strike swift and true. She sat back and smiled. She joined the crowd in her adoration and applauded. She got up to get something to eat, there was another fight in about fifteen minutes. She could get a bathroom break and something to eat.
Sometimes she felt sorry for many Americans. They just didn’t know what they were missing from the cultures of other countries. She couldn’t imagine living her life any other way. To immerse one’s self, was glorious. And the food was ganging.
It was early evening the following day, she had her target in sight. He was a portly man in his sixties. She didn’t know who he was, nor did she care. She had her syringe and succinylcholine for this hit. It wasn’t one of the easiest ways to hit a target. She’d practiced on Nobu, and Nobu had been a good sport.
She sniggered to herself now. Nobu had volunteered to take walk by shots in the ass until she was good enough that he could barely feel the hit. She’d worked with different gauge needles and strength behind the hit.
Nobu was paranoid for a good while, he’d jump every time she walked by him in the house. She ended up hitting him when they were out in town. She sniggered again at the memory, him screaming and looking around, then realizing and giving her a filthy look. She was sure he wanted to kill her.
The man was hailing a cab and she stepped up her pace, it was now or never. Coming alongside, she tapped his ass with the needle as he got into the cab. She kept walking as the cab pulled away. She smiled, it would be a minute or so before the man died. If she were lucky, the driver wouldn’t notice until the destination. It would seem like natural causes. She crossed the street, she was on Calle Luis Cadarso. She was hungry and she was in the mood for paella. She’d catch a flight out in the morning.
She sighed happily, she’d not had the repeated jink or that awful hinky feeling from
