Rimanoa

A mismatch in thought

I opened my laptop and (in case anyone is interested, it's in a small case, always carried with me, besides it there are: two standard hand (F-1), tear and smoke grenades, five 9- caliber magazines (two more in my jacket), a vial of liquid that burns even in water, some floppy disks and three of the forty passports that belonged to me, as well as some clean underpants, pairs of socks, two bottles of Vorago toilet water and Nivea for men deodorant, an Oral-b toothbrush with a tube of Blend-a-med toothpaste, Head and Shoulders shampoo and some medicines), typed in the customer's address and typed: "Order completed."

1:03 a.m. Aug. 17.

"Information…"

"First, a quarter of the amount. — "$750000 transferred to the Banco Nacional de México account." — Boston."

"That's it?"

"Another quarter another hundred thousand added. — Westside Street."

"More money?"

"That's right — only 1.5 million so far — D. 15."

The tie-up ended without transferring the rest of the 3 million fee.

The customer refused to pay, which could only mean one thing… That he didn't pay…

And he didn't pay not just anyone, but a killer. And not just any killer, but a killer working for Koza-Nostra. So who would want to fight with Koza-Nostra?

I closed the computer and, opening my cell phone, dialed a number: "Richard, this is Faust, find me the courier who handed over the briefcase on July 21 at the Good Day Bar in Prague."

"Ahhhh, that's the one on 5 knetna st…" "Yes."

"Wait two minutes." "Waiting."

It's been two minutes.

"Barcelona, Hotel Indala Park, room 155." "Okay, thank you."

Finding the six was no problem, unlike finding the boss himself.