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

María Eva Duarte... The slum girl

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

consider a hard-edged female face: dark-eyed, highly made-up, bleached-blonde hair, designer

even

have to look closely at the photos

and she would

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 the top. And

Juliana…

moves on, her men

Food for thought.

my

rivalries cause mayhem.

Assassination suspected…

Hmmm…

circle

Another coffee?

Why not?

Brain food…

a couple of inches, I’m about to raise my hand for Antonio’s attention when the old man looks towards the door, his smile dissolving. Jaw set, scowling, he jerks

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

the daylight, he

Thinks he’s something…

Fucking Wonder Boy…

eyes wide with alarm, waggles fingers at me, nodding me to stay in my seat, then

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,

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

mother tongue. Still, while I can’t pick it all out, I

cedo. O dinheiro não é devido até a

delivered with off-hand sarcasm. “Sola

Sola?

Who’s Sola? A gang-leader?

one in any

on a corner

para o Sr. Sola na próxima

over Antonio. “Você tem

old man’s face. “Eu não tenho isso…” He prises open the lid of the tin,

expensive suit, his muscles are soft. His jacket falls away a touch from his gut, fat has stolen the definition from jaw and cheekbone. And his