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?

how

strolling out, running on autopilot, letting the mind roam at

letting my thoughts drift, I wait for inspiration to well up from the

find one woman in

But nothing suggests itself.

around, coming to, I find I’m standing outside Antonio’s. The old man cracks a smile and hastily wipes down a tabletop before pulling out a chair and, brows raised, offering out a palm

not fooling myself that the beer clears my thinking, but nothing else is working for me. I might as well enjoy a drink. “Obrigado.

the table, then scuttles off, returning in under a minute with a glass jug, dripping condensation, and

cold beer is perfect. The first couple of gulps slide down my throat. Slipping the skin from a bean, I chew the salty nibble, tossing the skin to a nearby pigeon Another swallow and I’m reflecting that the moist heat I enjoyed when I first arrived in Brazil is beginning

I’d miss

That mountain…

The clean

Be honest…

I’m missing Mitch.

daughter…

Three husbands?

does Haswell fit

?

the hell do I judge that

Mitch…

you

life with Jenny

open the mobile, into my images,

I 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

one

she knew I was taking the photo. Indeed, I made a show of simply fiddling with my phone, looking up some file or other. So, she looks at me, head a little inclined, lips a

Greener than any gem I could give her. Greener than Spring leaves.

lose myself

of bread on the table. His eyes crease, if it were

closed, but his

“Lady here? Sao Paulo?”

here.

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