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

Nothing hangs together.

my elbow, nodding down to my empty coffee

“Sim. Thank you.”

he glances at my guide. “Senhor Hughes…” He stabs a finger at my page. “You

‘can’t speak the language’…

bad men there. And

Que tipo de

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 say.

vigorously. “Sim,

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

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

bad woman too? A

“Prostitutes,

woman. What

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

is sounding deeply

Juliana…

woman, her name? What does she

at

“The bad woman… A mulher

upheld, he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é

What does she look

Again, that blank stare…

to my head… “Tall?” … Then

a forefinger at me, then at my city guide, repeating, “Bad place. Bad people. You not go there.

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

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

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

into the newspaper archives, I know what

Sao Paulo organised crime…

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

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

another search. Names of criminal gangs sao

this time, but some

is enticing recruits with

of the Most

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