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

the people… Own

bit, looking through the plate glass windows, I see him inside, looming

trapped, enclosed between his chest and arms, and the wall. Even from here, I can see the way her face is

on her space as he cages her with his body. But it’s different between them; easily seen for the

…and accept…

… the rules.

is the real

If that were Jenny…

My gut tightens…

Then, inwardly, I chuckle.

The only time anyone ever took my daughter down, she was nine months pregnant.

Wonder Boy, making for the counter, Stabbing at the till, she snatches cash from the

love to take him

to intimidate someone

wipe that smirk from your

It’s not the time…

it away for future reference, adding it to my list of To-Dos:

later, he re-emerges, again

Always the pocket…

the attache

before sauntering to his next stop: a

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…” … push the coins at her, then, pocketing a packet 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

letting him get a little distance as I slip the cigarette back into the pack, when I realise there’s a beggar, rheumy-eyed, standing

the breeze. The beggar inhales deeply, smoke drifting

forehead… “My pleasure...” … then

Shit!

Where is he?

Boy’s nowhere in sight,

Have I lost him?

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