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…

end of town… the red-light

Nothing hangs together.

at my elbow, nodding down to

“Sim. Thank you.”

at my guide. “Senhor Hughes…” He stabs a finger at my page. “You not go this place. Is bad

‘can’t speak the language’… “What’s

place very bad. Many bad men there. And

“Woman? Que tipo de bad men and

chair across to sit close by me. His voice lowers and he leans in close. “One time, since many years, this city….” He sweeps his arms out in circles all around… “…all bad place. Much…” He falters then holds out two fingers making a Bang Bang

violence,” I say.

“Sim, muita

and again he nods. Then I mime injecting myself… “Cocaína…? E

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

woman too?

looks down, then up again, nodding. “Prostitutes,

woman. What

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

sounding deeply

Juliana…

What

stares at

woman… A mulher

shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é

mystery? What does she

Again, that blank stare…

to my head… “Tall?” … Then lower… “Short? Alta? Baixo? Loiras?

forefinger at me, then at my city guide, repeating, “Bad place. Bad people. You not go there. I show you nice place

arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso

fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man

ten minutes later I’ve signed up for subscriptions on a variety of Brazilian newspapers, or at least, their English editions. I can read Portuguese, but it doesn’t come

into the newspaper archives, I know

an experimental search term… Sao Paulo organised crime… Then as an afterthought, add,

blinks: 139,000, 000 results, starting with

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

Names of criminal gangs

this time, but

largest gang is enticing

the Most Lethal

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