Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Klempner

Over the next day or so, I visit a dozen establishments, all chosen for having been header addresses on invoices received, and apparently paid, by Finchby.

I find myself calling by two more bar-restaurants, a ladies’ shoe shop, a bookseller, a cut-price budget outlet, two fruit and veg stalls and a liquor store.

None of them seems even remotely likely as an export outlet for organised criminals. The only even slightly illegal behaviour I encounter comes from my last call: a jeweller.

By now, my doubts are sprouting. I’m almost out of options and I’ve found nothing that takes me any closer to tracking psycho-Juliana.

WTF’s going on here?

In the jewellery store, the proprietor skulks at the back. Then, seeing me browsing his stock, thinking I might find something for Mitch, he tries to pass off a locket, gold-plated but base metal, as the genuine article.

He cringes satisfactorily as my fingers grip his neck, squeezing just enough to cut off his air for a few seconds. I’m not serious about doing him any real harm, but I leave his store of over-priced crap whistling.

But still, my disquiet crawls…

What am I missing?

I arrived in Sao Paulo believing I had plenty of leads to track, as I first thought, Baxter, then his blood-besotted paramour, Juliana. But I’ve used up my leads and I’m rapidly running out of ideas.

Juliana’s still out there, shrieking for my blood. And she’s as likely as not to go looking for her own peculiar brand of vindictive entertainment with someone else connected if it’s not actually with me.

Mitch…

Jenny…

Think…

A quick check of my messages: a confirmation from Hickman that all’s well over there...

Wearing the ring?

A warm glow, having nothing to do with the weather, floods my chest and face.

What to do?

That’s how I

running on autopilot, letting the mind roam

on the problem in hand. Instead, letting my thoughts drift, I wait

to find one woman in

But nothing suggests itself.

a smile and hastily

myself that the beer clears my thinking, but nothing else is working for me. I might as well

to the table, then scuttles off, returning in under a minute

the salty nibble, tossing the skin

thought I’d miss the

That mountain…

The

Be honest…

I’m missing Mitch.

that. I’m missing all of it. My daughter… My granddaughter… The casual

Three husbands?

Haswell fit

?

hell do I judge

Mitch…

you

with Jenny I

my images, download one of my

prefer taking the time to see the places I visit: capture them in my head. The few times I’ve bothered taking snaps, the result never

this one

with my phone, looking up

I could give her. Greener

lose myself

leans across, setting a basket of bread on the table. His

closed, but his words warm me inside. “… My

“Lady here? Sao Paulo?”

not here.

home to lady