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 town… the red-light district…

Nothing hangs together.

to my empty coffee cup. “Mais café, Senhor

“Sim. Thank you.”

my cup across the table, and he glances at my guide. “Senhor Hughes…” He stabs a finger at my page. “You not go

remembering that I ‘can’t speak the language’… “What’s

Many bad men

tipo de

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.

He nods vigorously. “Sim, muita

he nods. Then I mime injecting myself…

closer yet. “…And the womans para prostitutas.” He takes the book from me, closes it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad place, Senhor. And bad men.” He wags a finger at me.

woman

“Prostitutes, sim. But há sim one

woman.

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

sounding deeply

Juliana…

woman, her name? What does she look

at

“The bad woman… A mulher

upheld, he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é

What does she

Again, that blank stare…

head… “Tall?” … Then lower… “Short? Alta? Baixo?

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

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

as he jabs fingers at places where

I can read Portuguese, but it doesn’t come so naturally as reading in English. I spend more of my time interpreting the language than I

newspaper archives, I know what I’m

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

results, starting with a

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

in another search. Names of criminal gangs sao

this time, but some more useful

gang is enticing

Evolution of the

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