The meal goes smoothly enough, albeit with a lot of negotiating the rapids and under-currents of good manners and courtesy.

Beth’s pregnancy proves a safe topic of discussion, with none of the pitfalls and booby traps lying in wait if we talk about anything closer to home. Mitch is a star, repeatedly shifting the conversation back onto the imminent birth of Beth’s and Richard’s new son.

Later, in a quiet moment with Michael, “My apologies,” I say. “Tact isn’t one of Georgie’s virtues. It never was.”

His answering smile is wry. “Like father, like daughter.”

*****

Klempner

Two weeks and… nothing…

Not a whisper. Nothing I can find.

Sitting in the corner of Antonio’s, I’ve spent a pleasant afternoon, but frustration gnaws at me. Hickman reports that all is well, but…

Has Juliana given up?

?

Not fucking likely…

Antonio’s cafe has become somewhat of a routine. Misgivings nudge me, reminding me that I shouldn’t develop such habits…

… Making myself vulnerable…

But, with nothing to go on, what the hell else can I do?

On the other hand, there has to be some reason for the address to have been used in Finchby’s invoices.

Perhaps I just need to wait.

But what am I waiting for?

How long can I keep doing this?

Still, in the meantime, while I wait for my mystery to unravel, the old man is genuinely good company. And also, a mine of local information.

Finishing a cup of the excellent coffee, I consult a local guide, comparing my list of addresses to a local map, looking for some pattern, seeking inspiration…

Access to road…

Access to the ports…

Whereabouts of police stations…

of town… the

Nothing hangs together.

my elbow, nodding down to my

“Sim. Thank you.”

He stabs a finger at my page. “You

‘can’t

place very bad. Many bad men there.

Que tipo de bad men

leans in close. “One time, since many years, this city….” He sweeps his arms out in circles all around… “…all

violence,” I

vigorously. “Sim, muita

smoke an imaginary cigarette and again he nods. Then I mime injecting myself… “Cocaína…? E

the womans para prostitutas.” He takes the book from me, closes it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad place, Senhor. And bad men.” He wags a finger at me.

said bad woman too?

nodding. “Prostitutes, sim.

woman.

year, Sao Paulo good city. People not die…” Fingers spread, he rocks his hand… “… Not so many. Bad men gone. Not like other cities. Since two years, bad men here again. And this woman is baddest. She is…” He splutters for a moment… “She same as prostitute. She has man. Then other

is sounding

Juliana…

her name? What does

stares at

“The bad woman… A

he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe.

What does

Again, that blank stare…

to my head… “Tall?” … Then

city guide, repeating, “Bad place. Bad people. You not go there. I show you nice place for nice English turista man. You

museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We

jabs fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man is safe.’ But my

their English editions. I can read Portuguese, but

the newspaper archives, I know what I’m looking

Paulo

results,

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

search. Names of criminal gangs

time, but some more

is enticing

The Evolution of the Most Lethal Criminal

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255