|Lorenzo is dead. I say this with little emotion. Lorenzo is quite dead in fact. I made absolutely certain of it this time; killed him off under ten thousand tonnes of rubble during an earthquake in Panama.
I think it is one of the most satisfying chapters I've ever written. I did think of having him riddled with bullets; or his throat cut in Hong Kong by a lone Triad assassin. But for years this character has led me and I have believed I would always be tortured by Lorenzo's presence. He was a hero, you see. Hero's have a way of earning you easy money.
Make no mistake, I was very fond of Lorenzo, he had talents I knew I'd never have and he could make love after a fashion I might only ever dream about, yet I was with him as he lay with each of his beautiful heroines and kissed tenderly their loins, and I touched their intimacies at the same time as he did.
But finally I've done it, oh I gave him a dying breath, of course I did, something for the readers to remember him by, then rumble – rumble - and he's finished. I have to be very disciplined now and not resort to one of his many women being pregnant. 'Son of Lorenzo', oh God, please, no. My last view of him was to see his dust matted hair; his shocked eyes open and staring and a stream of blood from his mouth. What pleasure, what joy, what a death!
Oh No, why did I do this? What now?
With no hero to write about I can feel my genius being stifled, I need a short cuff to the ear and taking to the nearest sanatorium. Who will I make love to now? What beautiful ragged woman will want me enough to kill any rival? This is merely one of my human dilemmas being faced at this time.
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