Brodie enjoyed his morning runs. Out of bed by six thirty, pull on his running gear, gather up his phone and earbuds then head out onto the deserted beach. He loved the solitude and the relatively lower temperature of the early morning air. The rolling of the waves as they broke on the white sand was the only sound as he headed along the beach, up on to the paseo, past El Puerto and the small harbour, then back down on to the sand heading towards Villaricos. His pace was steady, his breathing not in the least bit laboured, his thoughts centred on the coming weekend in Puerto Banús.
He wanted to bring this scenario to a head, put Romanov and his fellow drug dealers where they belonged, behind bars or into the soil. The longer these low lifes were allowed to continue to make large sums of m
