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

Duarte... The slum girl who

looking at photos of the one-time First Lady of Argentina: a girl who climbed the

made-up, bleached-blonde hair, designer clothes and jewels. The smile is all

even that

you have to look closely at the photos

her in a rag, and she would still be beautiful. Jenny’s the same, at

looking at the face of a rather ordinary girl who took the devil’s drive out of the gutters all the way to the top. And yet, she dazzled man after man,

Juliana…

she moves on,

Food for thought.

retrieve my paper,

cause

Assassination suspected…

Hmmm…

a circle around

Another coffee?

Why not?

Brain food…

to raise my hand for Antonio’s attention when the old man looks towards the door, his smile dissolving. Jaw set, scowling, he jerks his chin at the waitress, sending her scuttling back towards

kind of causal menace that, in my experience, goes with too large an ego and too small a brain. He's a smooth-looking bastard, in an expensive suit, his hair slicked back and with the kind of sunglasses where someone’s paid for the designer name without noticing any improvement to the eyesight. The shoes, highly polished and glossy,

the daylight, he strikes

Thinks he’s something…

Fucking Wonder Boy…

waggles fingers at me, nodding me to stay in my seat, then raises a

in a lapel pocket. His gaze sweeps the room, passes to me, pauses, then moves on. A young couple

his voice quavering. The old man is trying to inject confidence into his voice,

Portuguese 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

a próxima semana…” You’re early. The money isn’t due until next

sarcasm. “Sola quer isso agora.” Sola wants

Sola?

Who’s Sola? A gang-leader?

in any

the name on a

tê-lo para o Sr. Sola na próxima semana, como

Antonio. “Você tem o

isso…” He prises open the lid of the tin, holding it out for inspection. “Veja…É tudo o que

away a touch from his gut, fat has stolen the definition from jaw and cheekbone. And his bulk speaks more of fine eating