Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Antonio's concern for me is touching but it’s cost me long seconds. As I emerge, blinking against the sunlight, Wonder Boy has vanished.

Fuck!

Have I lost him?

I spin, scanning all around, seeking my quarry, ignoring the curious stares of passers-by…

… The line of parked cars…

Doorways…

… along the block…

… the other side of the street…

Zip. Nada…

Then, sprinting across the street, dodging the traffic, I make it to the corner: the clothes store I used as my lurking spot when I first came here.

How long did he hold me up?

Twenty seconds?

Thirty?

How far can the bastard have gone?

Then, I see him again, tall against the crowd.

He emerges from the next door along from Antonio’s, a small hair-salon-cum-barber-shop. Shoving something into his pocket, he turns my way…

The clothing store?

It appears Santa Claus is doing his rounds, collecting his gifts from all the little boys and girls on his list, regardless of whether they’re naughty or nice.

then double-back on myself to wait, watching the store entrance as he

the people… Own

through the plate glass windows, I see him inside, looming over

between his chest and arms,

in on her space as he cages her

…and accept…

… the rules.

the real

If that were Jenny…

My gut tightens…

Then, inwardly, I chuckle.

knee in his groin and a knife/broken-bottle/metal-comb at his throat. The only time anyone ever took my daughter down, she was nine months pregnant. Even then, it took two strong men and a hypo of

watch, the girl ducks, then slides away from Wonder Boy, making for the counter, Stabbing at the till, she snatches cash from the drawer and, face contorted, thrusts it at him, yelling something I

love to

just try to intimidate someone

that smirk from

…

It’s not the time…

for future reference, adding it to my list of To-Dos: Teach Asshole a lesson he

later, he re-emerges, again

Always the pocket…

Never the

his next stop: a tobacconist a couple of doors

him inside. He’s already at the counter, exerting his charm, but both he and the girl serving fall silent as I point to the first brand I recognise… “Vinte, por favor. E um isqueiro…” …

the street, I stand in clear view, making a show of opening the packet, unravelling the plastic wrap, taking one out then, as I’m about to light up, Wonder Boy reappears. He doesn’t even look my way as, taking a sharp left, he strolls

slip the cigarette back into the pack, when I

in the breeze. The beggar inhales deeply, smoke drifting from his nostrils, then gives me

forehead… “My pleasure...”

Shit!

Where is he?

in sight, lost in the milling

Have I lost him?