A cheap hotel room, a miserable night, and the first poor cup of coffee I’ve had in this São Paulo:

A face stares out at me from the morning newspaper: a smiling boy, perhaps a school photograph, posted under a grim headline

Casualties are mounting in the aftermath of the explosion…

My eyes follow the text, but as I reach the end of the column, I realise I don’t know what it said…

Rodrigo… The hotel boy who served my breakfast each morning. So helpful to the nice cavalheiro inglês who sometimes tipped him, as much for the smile as for good service. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen.

And now dead because some vengeful little bitch missed her target.

I had to grow up quick at that age…

He never will…

Did she miss her target?

Or was it all part of some plan to implicate me?

Lawrence Klempner… Trafficker, murderer, and guilty of a thousand sins, now wanted for terrorism…

?

Who knows? I’m getting beyond guessing how much mayhem Juliana is willing to unleash in her crusade against me.

How did she find me?

She knows I’m here…

She knew where I was…

So… why take so long about showing her hand?

How did she find me?

And when?

As I entered the country?

Three weeks ago…

Juliana likes

sense

playing cat

Who recognised me at

It’s possible.

any warning signals, ‘the system’ would have

the bar after

Maybe they all do.

put the word out on

That seems more likely.

of going to the restaurant… hoping to spot my quarry… Instead, they spotted me. She knew I’d turn up at some point, so of course, her thugs would know what

all makes

I think…

under the surface, I’m picking

Does it add up?

Really?

What’s missing?

she fit into a gang

Brazil…

‘Traditional’ values…

place you’d expect to find a woman heading

you ever find women

Throne’? Find the man at the top and get control of

Femme fatale…

Wonder who he is?

Poor bastard…

his life-expectancy

I am… If Juliana has them all reeled in on her quest

my cup, I run a mental replay of my visit to Juliana’s apartment. The coffee’s dreadful stuff, but at least the caffeine hit does its

How many were there?

And an uncertain number not

the newspaper to one side. But smiling, accusing eyes still stare

What now?

Fade into the background?

Disappear?

How?

him to fit me out with the

fucking phone

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