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…

poorer end of town… the red-light district…

Nothing hangs together.

at my elbow, nodding down to my empty coffee

“Sim. Thank you.”

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

that I ‘can’t

place very bad. Many bad men there. And

prick. “Woman? Que tipo de bad

grimaces then pulls a 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

I say. “Much

nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência.

an imaginary cigarette and again he nods. Then I

para prostitutas.” He takes the book from me, closes it, then slaps it

woman

up again, nodding. “Prostitutes,

bad woman.

hand… “… Not so many. Bad men gone. Not like other cities. Since two years, bad men

sounding

Juliana…

What does she

stares at me

try again. “The bad woman… A mulher

he shrugs. “Ninguém

does she look

Again, that blank stare…

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

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

“You like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso

nodding as he jabs fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man is safe.’ But my mind’s on

their English editions. I can

archives, I

term… Sao Paulo organised crime… Then as

screen blinks: 139,000, 000 results, starting with a Wikipedia

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

search. Names of criminal gangs sao

this time, but

is

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