“You know what, I’m really getting sick of this guy,” snapped Garcia.
He leaned back in his chair, Ferragamo shoes on the desk. Two of the world’s deadliest women sat across him, silently staring, awaiting their instructions.
On the right was Lola Dare. Yesterday, she was Cheryl Riscke. The day before, she called herself Elena Massakar. Last week, she was walking home when shady-looking man, who had obviously been drinking, stopped her, insisting he knew her and demanding she give him her name. She broke his neck in one swift move and continued walking, never looking back. Her name that day, for the record, was Francesca Morte.
Adopted by a wealthy Argentinean family at the age of four, Lola Dare was kidnapped by guerillas and held for ransom on her 16th birthday. Her parents refused to pay for her safe release, and would never see her again. She spent the next four years trapped in a vicious cycle of rape, violence and sexual servitude. She eventually escaped after gathering the courage to slit her captors’ throats as they slept. She honed her survival skills living in the jungle for a year, in isolation. She emerged a different creature – stealthy, dangerous, and able to adapt to any situation without hesitation. Having never spoken a single word since her maturation from innocence to brutality, Lola Dare was now a mute by choice. Meanwhile, she earned a comfortable living as one of the world’s most lethal assassins.
To Lola Dare’s left sat an older woman, Asian, well into her 50s, and still exceptionally sultry. Men fawned over and lusted after her, as she maintained the sexiness of an innocent, wide-eyed young Lolita. Unfazed by the dogs who could not ignore her beauty, she was renowned to the richest and most powerful men in the world… A little too well-known at times. The woman with no name (for she never revealed her name to anyone, not even Garcia) moved from Japan, having concocted there an impressive mixture of natural herbs and poisons. She created a powerful killing tool: a clear, tasteless, liquid that – when swallowed – caused its victim’s insides to stop functioning, while the poisons and herbs themselves dissipated without a trace.
The true genius of her poison was that it only proved harmful when ingested, allowing her to sip discreetly from a small vial, while kissing her victims. She made sure to probe their mouths with her tongue long enough to force them to swallow; less than a day later, they were dead. In fact, her trademark method was so infallible that in the past 10 years, medical scientists had developed a name for the mysterious condition of her victims. She never bothered to learn it.
Staring at his computer screen, Garcia quickly swung his legs down, slammed them on the floor and spoke.
“Every time it’s the same goddamn thing,” he muttered. He pounded the desk with his fist and motioned for the girls to lean in closer. “No more bullshit, no more nonsense. This prick just doesn’t get it. I tell him I want details only, no bullshit. What does he give me? His life fuckin’ story! I don’t have that kind of goddamn time, to sit around listening to irrelevant bullshit from the likes of his sorry ass!! Enough!! No more being subtle! I have weapons… downstairs… I know what you two are capable of, and I appreciate your special skills, both of you…”
The women nodded slightly, never taking their eyes off his.
“But I also know that you’re both a good shot… No more being fucking subtle. I want him dead, I want you to shoot him, I want him dead. Dead. Do you hear me?! You fuckin mutes… DEAD! GO!
***
Lola Dare and the Asian woman with no name perched on a rooftop, dressed completely in black and each in possession of an assault rifle with night-vision scope. They were undetectable as they stared through the lenses attached to their weapons, waiting for their mark to drive by as scheduled. It was 11:47 PM… They didn’t wait long.
“Look.” The Asian woman with no name nodded towards the street. At a red light, 600 metres away, a black 2005 BMW 750i was stopped, facing their direction.
“He always had poor taste in cars. Idiot.” The Asian woman with no name wrapped her hand around the rifle and placed her finger on the trigger. Lola Dare had been ready for the past five minutes.
“… As soon as he goes by the Italian place…” She did not need to say any more. They were both ready. The car sped towards them, passing Sal’s Ristorante… Like a flash of lightning and clapping like thunder, a hailstorm of bullets riddled the car. The BMW swerved erratically all over the street, holes sprayed the length of the car driven by a dead man. It took seconds. That was also all the time it took for Lola Dare and the Asian woman with no name to disappear into the night.
The vehicle sped uncontrollably another 200 metres, before crashing into a popular lounge full of people. The front room, rented out for a birthday party, was devastated.
Blood on the dance floor and thick smoke in the the air, bodies were strewn about as the car rested in the club. Moans of unbearable pain came from party-goers trapped underneath the car. Local police appearing on that night’s news confirmed that 12 people died, plus the driver, in an bizarre alleged assassination gone horribly wrong.
“Those poor kids,” said Gary Watterson, chief of police. “This could have all been avoided if they had just gone to Daniel’s birthday. Tsk…”
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