Outside of Peter’s apartment building, I took a breath and rang his buzzer. His email had said he was away, but I needed to be certain. When nobody answered, I stood a little way off, pacing back and forth and watching the front door, waiting for someone to leave or come home. I checked the plastic bag I was carrying, making sure that Xavi’s keys were hidden under the vegetables I’d bought. My money was in my b*a now, and my courier bag was stashed in a garbage bin around the corner. Hopefully, it would still be there when I returned.
After a half hour or so, one of the building’s tenants approached: a matronly woman walking a chihuahua in a pink collar. This was good luck. I remembered Senyora Bellet – she lived across the hall from Peter, and he’d introduced us on the day I arrived.
