He
evolved almost whole after the first tale in 2005. Half-English, half-Spanish,
he served in the forces and the secret service, roaming the world. This meant
that he built-up an enviable selection of contacts he could call upon for help
from time to time. As with our real-world private enquiry agents, who are not
permitted to get involved in a murder investigation, he couldn’t go there; well,
providing he wasn’t caught doing so, perhaps.
The
tone is sometimes light, sometimes dark – because life is like that.
Victims
really do need more champions; the criminals have had it their own way for too
long. I wouldn’t suggest that Leon Cazador is a vigilante – that role is
reserved for my protagonist in Sudden
Vengeance. But he certainly strives to bring his kind of justice to the unrepentant
ungodly.
For a taster, here’s
the beginning of the story ‘Off Plan’:
I was wearing a
false moustache, grey coloured contact lenses, and my hair was dyed black. My
brother, Juan, wouldn’t recognise me. In fact, I had difficulty recognising me.
I was no longer Leon Cazador but Carlos Ortiz Santos. Sometimes it was
necessary to wear a disguise and take on a fake name to hoodwink the ungodly.
This was one of those times.
“If you can’t
come up with the €75,000, Alonso,” I said, “then I will make the offer to the
other two developers.” I tapped the regional map impatiently with a forefinger.
“The mayor wants the money soon, so it can all be settled.”
Alonso Vargas
was slim and appeared urbane in his smart suit. He was convincing in his tone
and words. The perfect conman, it seemed. “It is difficult, Carlos. That is a
great deal of money.” He was toying with me, playing for time, and debating
whether I would bargain. His dark eyes glinted. I knew it wasn’t with humour
but greed. He rubbed his pointed chin, pretending to think. He needed a kick.
I sighed
resignedly and started folding up the map.
“No, no,
Carlos,” he said and urgently gripped my forearm and halted my retiring action.
“I have the money, as promised.” He eyed the Mercadona supermarket bag at his
feet.
“That’s good,
Alonso.” I smiled and left the map half-folded.
He cocked his
head to one side. “I suppose it would be foolish of me to ask for a receipt?”
I grinned and
nodded. “That would be foolish, yes. The mayor has to pay several anxious
people to adjust various documents. Others, they need financial incentives to
keep their mouths shut.” I shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“Ah, yes.” His
eyes glimmered with the prospect of four hundred acres of re-designated land,
all his to build upon. “I know how it is.” His foot gently moved the plastic
bag over the tiled floor towards me.
Leaning down and
picking it up, I asked, “So, you can bring me the final instalment next week,
as agreed?”
“Cash flow is
difficult, times are not so good since the building boom has slowed down, you
know.” He shrugged pronounced shoulders. “The crisis, it bites deeply.”
Shaking my head,
I quickly finished folding the map. “If you cannot honour our agreement, then I
must go elsewhere. We agreed you would pay me two instalments.” I slid the bag
across the table, in plain view.
Anxiety was
written all over his face. He glanced left and right, but nobody seemed to be
paying us any attention.
“I’m not one of
your clients, Alonso. Delay is not an option.”
“No, no,” he
said hastily, pushing the bag towards me. “Please, take this now. It is
difficult, but not impossible. I will have the rest of the money.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded and
offered the same smooth trusting smile he turned on for his clients. “You have
my word,” he said.
I stood up.
“Your word is good enough for me, Alonso,” I lied and shook his offered hand. I
turned and left the bar with the bag of money under my arm.
***
To
find out how Alonso – and quite a lot of other crooks – gets his comeuppance,
please purchase or otherwise obtain a copy of Spanish Eye, published by Crooked Cat. The e-book is really good
value – and reviewers on Amazon UK and Amazon COM seem to think so too.
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