Sounds like a movie. Right? Amazing article over at the Independent, written by a photojournalist who fell in love with a Colombian women who just happened to be an assassin for the far-right paramilitaries. A sample:
In the beginning, her visits to my hotel room – usually armed with a pistol – did not disturb me greatly. At first, I don't think the real implications of what Marylin was doing had filtered through the surreal haze. I was young and living out a great adventure. This was surely the closest I would ever get to someone who was truly and totally involved and immersed in this conflict. The woman I had only recently begun sleeping with was a hired killer and there was a gun on my bedside table.
Watching her take the pistol from her belt, unbutton her jeans and slip into bed I somehow couldn't quite equate the woman in my arms with the bodies I had seen in the local morgue, their heads shattered by gunshots at close range, murders she confessed to having committed. High on a combination of the heady tropical climate, local rum, grade A cocaine and in the arms of nubile 22-year-old, fantasy and reality became blurred. It felt like I was living in a Quentin Tarantino movie.