Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Klempner

The hottest part of the day… hot enough to have driven me indoors… In a coolish corner at Antonio’s, my back to the wall, I can sit behind my newspaper but see everything around me.

Scouring the daily papers for starting points and clues, then following through with my phone and tablet, my researches are yielding a clear picture of rival gangs, the growing power of organised crime in Sao Paulo and, threaded through it all, hints of where I might find my target.

Photos, references, events, are all building a picture.

A woman, clawing her way to the top, leaving a trail of male corpses behind her. The details vary: sometimes a shootout between rival gangs. Sometimes an ‘accident’, brake-failure. An overdose of cocaine crops up twice. One has died of some kind of poisoning, although there’s no details on what kind. Outright assassination, a bullet in the forehead seems almost too obvious for her methods.

Inconveniently, the newspapers fail to publish her home address.

I’ll find you…

Why aren’t the police on to you?

Or does she have the police in her pocket too? Some authority figure at least?

What isn’t clear to me yet is whether my target is Juliana herself or the entire criminal gang she’s currently tied up with.

I sip coffee, hoping for caffeine-powered inspiration.

She can’t be at the head of the gang. Any gang. It wouldn’t work like that. Not here. This is Latin America. Men don't answer to women down here. Too much of the macho culture. Women don’t get to the top.

Even Eva Perón worked through her man…

… Men…

Eva Perón…

There’s a pattern that fits perfectly with everything I know of Juliana.

The power behind the throne…

Find the man who can give you what you want. Get his attention. Pull his strings. Milk him

Then when you see a better option, move on.

How would a woman do that?

?

Perón. How did she

Eva Duarte... The slum girl who

girl who climbed the ladder,

female face: dark-eyed, highly made-up, bleached-blonde hair, designer clothes and jewels. The smile is all blades

wasn’t even that

to look closely at

Mitch is genuinely beautiful. You could shear her hair, smear her face, dress her in a rag, and she would still be beautiful. Jenny’s the same, at least

the devil’s drive out of the gutters all the

Juliana…

she moves on, her men are

Food for thought.

retrieve my paper, scanning

cause

Assassination suspected…

Hmmm…

biro a circle around

Another coffee?

Why not?

Brain food…

I’m about to raise my hand for Antonio’s attention when the old man looks towards the door, his smile dissolving.

suit, his hair slicked back and with the kind of sunglasses where someone’s paid for the designer name without

the daylight, he

Thinks he’s something…

Fucking Wonder Boy…

little further, I’m about to rise, but Antonio, eyes wide with alarm, waggles

his shades, popping them in a lapel pocket. His gaze sweeps the room, passes to me, pauses, then moves on. A young couple sitting at a quiet corner table gather their things together and exit,

inject confidence into his voice,

well enough for tourist or business purposes, but the pair are talking at the breakneck speed of those speaking in their mother tongue. Still, while I can’t pick it all out, I get the gist, especially with Antonio madly gesturing toward

até a próxima semana…” You’re early. The

reply is delivered with off-hand sarcasm. “Sola quer isso agora.”

Sola?

Who’s Sola? A gang-leader?

read that one in any of my

jot the name on a corner

Sr. Sola na

Monteiro looms over Antonio. “Você tem o

the lid of the tin, holding it out for inspection. “Veja…É tudo o

thug’s flabby. Under the expensive suit, his muscles are soft. His jacket falls away a touch from his gut, fat has stolen the definition from jaw