After LA I had skipped town, getting a job here in Lima as head of security at the Miraflores Hilton.

I had thought that I’d be safe for a while. I liked the place, I liked the people, I could have maybe established a wee home here permanently, settled down, a family. A nice local girl. A couple of cute kids. You could get a house overlooking the ocean for a pittance.

Now those plans were dead. Bridget was going to taunt me and her boys were going to pop me. And if Hector came running through the door, they’d have him too, poor bastard.

“I want you to listen to me, Michael,” Bridget said.

“I’m listening.”

“You better not try anything, these men are trained professionals.”

“Oh, professionals, eh? Oh, my goodness. I am keeking my whips,” I groaned, attempting bravado.

“Michael, you worthless shit, shut up and listen to me,” Bridget said.

“If the nuns could hear you talk like that,” I mocked.

“I am dead serious.”

“I know, Bridget, but you should have come here yourself, I would have liked to have seen you one last time,” I said.

“For a decade I’ve been trying to kill you, and, believe me, if something hadn’t come up, I would have come there and I would have watched them torture you with arc-welding gear until you were begging me for death. But, like I say, something terrible has happened.”

“Go on,” I said.

“My daughter, Siobhan, she’s gone missing,” Bridget said.

I had no idea that Bridget had a daughter. It was a new one on me; she must have a boyfriend or maybe even a husband in her life now. Well, bully for her. I guess she wasn’t holding a candle out for yours truly.