Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Chapter 21

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.

on myself to wait, watching the store entrance as he enters, strolling in as though he owns

people… Own

the plate glass windows, I see him

than the girl he’s intimidating. An arm to either side of her, smirking, he has her trapped, enclosed between his chest and arms, and the wall. Even from here,

her, moving in on her space as he cages her with his body. But it’s different between them;

…and accept…

… the rules.

the

If that were Jenny…

My gut tightens…

Then, inwardly, I chuckle.

ever took my daughter down, she was nine months pregnant. Even then, it took two strong men and a hypo of tranquilizer to pull it

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

to take

just try to intimidate someone who knows how to handle

that smirk from

…

It’s not the time…

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

later, he re-emerges, again stuffing

Always the pocket…

Never the

his next stop: a tobacconist a couple

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 twenty

a show of opening the packet, unravelling the plastic wrap, taking one out then, as I’m about to light

back into the pack, when I realise there’s a beggar, rheumy-eyed, standing beside

breeze. The beggar inhales deeply, smoke

my forehead… “My pleasure...” … then turn to

Shit!

Where is he?

in sight, lost in the

Have I lost him?

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