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

Nothing hangs together.

to my empty coffee cup. “Mais

“Sim. Thank you.”

He stabs a finger at my page. “You not go

remembering that I ‘can’t speak the language’…

Many bad men there.

“Woman? Que tipo de bad men and

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

violence,” I say.

nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência. Muito

again he nods. Then I

womans para prostitutas.” He takes the book from me, closes it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad

woman too?

up again, nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But há

woman. What she

Paulo bad place. Then, since ten 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

is sounding

Juliana…

woman, her name? What does she

at me

again. “The bad woman… A mulher má… Her name?

“Ninguém sabe. Ela é

mystery? What does she

Again, that blank stare…

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

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

o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We

places where

an obvious trick: 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 so naturally as reading in English. I spend more of my time

the newspaper archives, I know what I’m

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

screen blinks: 139,000, 000 results,

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

another search. Names of criminal

but some more useful

Brazil’s largest gang is enticing

the Most Lethal Criminal Organization

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