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…

to the poorer end of

Nothing hangs together.

nodding down to my empty

“Sim. Thank you.”

He stabs a finger at my page.

‘can’t speak the language’…

bad men there.

Que tipo de bad men and

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

I say.

vigorously. “Sim, muita violência.

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

closes it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad place, Senhor. And bad men.” He wags

woman too?

looks down, then up again, nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But há sim one bad woman

bad woman. What she

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

sounding

Juliana…

her name? What does

at me

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

shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é

mystery? What does she

Again, that blank stare…

head… “Tall?”

“Bad place. Bad

arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there. And we have

he jabs fingers at places where ‘Nice turista

signed up for subscriptions on a variety of Brazilian newspapers, or at least, their English editions. I

newspaper archives, I know what

an experimental search term… Sao Paulo

results, starting with a

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

another search. Names of

this time, but some more useful

Brazil’s largest gang is enticing recruits with a

Evolution of the Most Lethal Criminal

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