Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Three hours later, it's been an instructive and productive afternoon.

I've followed Wonder Boy through half the neighbourhood including, to my satisfaction, four more of the addresses on my list. And all of those on my address list not visited are a good distance away, certainly more than walking distance.

So, I have my connection...

Legitimate businesses held under the sway of racketeers and crime barons, too scared to resist having their addresses used for whatever purposes their overlords choose… and that’s assuming they even know about it.

The pieces of the jigsaw are dropping nicely into place.

As evening falls, I’m still trailing Wonder Boy. He’s not called anywhere new for a while and seems to be headed for some specific destination. His swagger’s worn off and he’s walking more slowly.

How far’s he going?

I long since lost track of where I am, but I’ve set my mapping app to follow my progress. I’ll be able to both find my way back to my hotel and return here when I want to.

Abruptly, Wonder Boy vanishes into a doorway. It’s late for a store to be open so, as I approach, I assume it’s a bar or a restaurant. Instead, I find a public lavatory. Hanging back, I wait and watch.

A couple of minutes later, he re-emerges, the spring back in his step following his former path. Only a few doors down, he takes a left.

At first, in the failing light, I think he’s turned a corner. But instead, he’s turned in to what looks like the entrance lobby to private apartments. And unlike his previous calls, he doesn’t just barge in. Ringing the bell, he waits, and after half a minute, the door opens to admit him.

It’s almost dark now, so I find a shadow to lurk in and wait. Ten minutes later, Wonder Boy’s not reappeared.

There’s no concierge that I can see, simply a dark space beyond the entrance door. The ground floor is in darkness. On the next floor, a couple of apartments are occupied, silhouettes moving behind the windows, the blue shimmer of a TV.

On the fourth storey, balconied windows are brightly lit, at the front, and when I check around the corner, at the side too. Figures move in the light. I can’t make out the details, but several people are moving around inside, mostly male… But there’s another…

Is that a woman?

Then I see Wonder Boy, standing at the window, lighting up a cigarette.

Keeping to the shadows as much as I can, I make my way to the door. Someone’s taking their security seriously. The door is solid, well-constructed and the lock is a high-quality multi-action model. I could break in…

… but where does that get me?

… Inside a building that likely has similar locks on the inner doors and corridors. And I’d still not be able to see what was going on in the apartment.

Hmmm…

The apartment is four floors up, but each floor is balconied, front and sides. So long as I can avoid being seen…

Piece of cake…

A quick foray around the side of the building…

Enough street lighting for me to see what I’m doing, but out of view of the main road…

A trash bin and a drainpipe get me onto the first balcony level. From there it’s easy. The balconies are sturdy, steel bar and mesh fronts and it’s simple to clamber onto the side-rail… a brief balancing act as I reach… and I grab for the next level then haul myself up.

Still, it’s more of an effort than I expected. Several of the rails are hung with washing, draped with pots and windows boxes. Carefully, I negotiate my way around them, trying to disturb as little as possible.

This was easier when I was thirty…

… or forty…

Gotta give this stuff up…

But after a couple of minutes, I’m at the right level and I have merely to scramble around one apartment balcony to the next, and then again…

Why are they all in the dark?

Not just dark, but shuttered up, closed completely…

But I don’t have time to dwell on that. I’m at my destination. A balcony with glass-fronted terrace doors, standing open to the night air, with only a mosquito screen blocking my way.

Hugging the wall, a quick peek through the first window…

A bedroom… An unoccupied bedroom. A door on the far side is closed, light visible through the gap at floor level, and from beyond, the sound of voices…

The screen is the roller-shutter kind, clipped at the base from the inside, but inserting the point of my knife unclips it. Gripping the tag, I let it roll up slowly, trying to keep the squeak of the spring to a minimum, then suppress a curse as one of the night-biters Squees by my ear…

Moving silently, half an eye on the door, I step inside.

It’s a woman’s room: a large double bed, mirrored wardrobes, dresser: all expensive, high-quality. Now I’m inside, another exit is visible. Moving carefully to keep my footsteps silent on the tiled floor, I press an ear to door…

Nothing…

light

in hand, aiming through, easing the handle, slowly,

darkness and silence. A quick glance back at the other

is lined with shelves, another

shelves are stacked with shoes: boots, sandals, flip-flops, court shoes, sneakers and high heels. Beyond them, boxes, spilling over with bags

the fuck needs

didn't have this

tumble of coloured bling. Earrings are scattered through the mess, all singles. I don’t see a matched pair. As I try to shut the drawer again, the brimming contents

the next drawer. More of the

mascaras, blushers and shadows,

needs

carefully, I back out. A quick search of the rest of the room reveals more of the same. Chock-full wardrobes.

varnish bottles stand in ranks on the dresser. The drawers are jammed with

What else?

A plastic tumbler and

open a drawer: hairbrush. A bottle of

‘Poisonous and Psychoactive Plants:

choice of bedtime

the drawer closed

Something missing. I can’t put my finger on

What?

a mental comparison with Jenny’s home and with

Ah, yes…

photograph. Not one. Not a picture on the wall. No personalisation

is certainly female. And it’s a voice I recognise, gabbling away in Portuguese, but too

Juliana…

to Eastern Europe. Ten years of crawling

What does she want?

from the pleasure of slitting my

want to claim the moral high ground.

around the crap and

what she wants? Or just what she uses to fill

photos. Nothing personal. Even a hotel room has a cheap print hanging on

What’s going on here?

What’s in her head?

Jenny. Had a similar

All my fault…

taken a very different path to

change her stars… Education… A family… A child… To find

Mitch…

eyes… Sinking myself inside you… Losing myself in

…

Focus, Man…

full of love. Until recently, I’d

give a shit about any of

What’s going on?

good with

Wish Michael was here…

my luck. I’ve been here long enough. Slipping out, I lower the mosquito mesh again, clip it

there, strutting and, although I can’t hear anything through the glass, apparently bragging about something.

Cocaine?

drug of choice around here,

popped on, it’s not as though he’s alone. A couple of the others look pretty spaced too. And as I look carefully,

just handguns I’d be dealing with. Stacked in one corner, a vintage collection of rifles, mainly AK-47s and AK-74s so far as I can see

I

good, but I couldn’t take out

little Glock isn’t enough to

to kit

What else?

to get a different angle on the

Bingo!

Juliana…

man counting out cash, comparing it to

Wonder Boy’s takings?

Across the room, another man looks

to

rise to meet his and she bites her lip, then looks away again as Cash-Counting-Man nudges her, offering a bunch of notes. Her grin widens and

flicking across the room to

Still playing her games…