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 red-light district…

Nothing hangs together.

down to my empty coffee cup. “Mais café, Senhor

“Sim. Thank you.”

“Senhor Hughes…” He stabs a finger at my page. “You not go

remembering that I ‘can’t

place very bad. Many bad men there.

Que tipo de bad men and

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 Bang gesture… “And much…” Invisible knife gripped in

I

“Sim, muita violência. Muito

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

it, then slaps it down on

bad woman too? A

again, nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But há

woman. What

gone. Not like other cities. Since two years, bad men here again. And this woman is

sounding deeply

Juliana…

her name? What does she look

at me

“The bad woman… A mulher má… Her

he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é

does

Again, that blank stare…

stand, raising my hand to my head… “Tall?” … Then

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

up the guide, riffling through. “You like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there. And we

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

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

newspaper archives, I know what I’m

Sao Paulo organised crime… Then as an afterthought, add,

screen blinks: 139,000, 000 results,

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

in another search. Names of criminal gangs sao

results, this time, but some

largest gang is enticing recruits with

the Most Lethal

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