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?

?

How did she do

The slum girl who made

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

consider a hard-edged female face: dark-eyed, highly made-up, bleached-blonde hair, designer clothes and jewels. The smile

wasn’t even that

closely at

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

girl who took the devil’s drive out of the gutters all the way to

Juliana…

on, her

Food for thought.

retrieve my paper, scanning

rivalries cause mayhem.

Assassination suspected…

Hmmm…

biro a circle around the

Another coffee?

Why not?

Brain food…

hand for Antonio’s attention when the old man looks towards the door, his

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

the daylight, he strikes a

Thinks he’s something…

Fucking Wonder Boy…

further, I’m about to rise, but Antonio, eyes wide with alarm, waggles fingers at me, nodding me to stay

on. A young couple sitting at a quiet corner table gather their things

speaks rapidly and quietly, his voice quavering. The old man is trying to inject confidence into his

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 with Antonio madly gesturing toward the tin box under his counter that passes for a

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

sarcasm. “Sola quer

Sola?

Who’s Sola? A gang-leader?

one in any of

on

tê-lo para o Sr. Sola na

over Antonio.

He prises open the lid of the tin, holding it out for inspection. “Veja…É

from his gut, fat has stolen the definition from