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

girl who climbed the ladder, using men in power as rungs, until she reached

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

wasn’t even that

closely at

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

finery, the cosmetics and the careful grooming, and I’m looking at the face of a rather ordinary girl who took the devil’s drive out of the gutters all the way to

Juliana…

on,

Food for thought.

my paper, scanning

rivalries cause mayhem.

Assassination suspected…

Hmmm…

circle around

Another coffee?

Why not?

Brain food…

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

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

silhouetted against the daylight, he

Thinks he’s something…

Fucking Wonder Boy…

about to rise, but Antonio, eyes wide with alarm, waggles fingers at

moves on. A young couple sitting at a

man is trying to inject confidence into his voice, but it’s not nearly

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

devido até a próxima semana…” You’re early. The money isn’t

sarcasm. “Sola quer isso agora.” Sola wants

Sola?

Who’s Sola? A gang-leader?

that one in

the name on

para o Sr. Sola na próxima semana, como

looms over Antonio.

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

muscles are soft. His jacket falls away a touch from his gut, fat