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…

Nothing hangs together.

elbow, nodding down to my empty coffee

“Sim. Thank you.”

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

that I ‘can’t speak

bad. Many bad men there. And

“Woman? Que tipo de

city….” He sweeps his arms out in circles all around… “…all bad place. Much…” He falters

I say.

“Sim, muita violência. Muito

again he nods. Then I mime injecting myself…

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

bad woman

looks down, then up again, nodding. “Prostitutes,

woman. What she

his hand… “… 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 has man. Then

is sounding

Juliana…

name? What does she

stares at me

“The bad woman… A mulher

shrugs. “Ninguém

does she look

Again, that blank stare…

my head… “Tall?” …

my city guide, repeating, “Bad place. Bad people. You not go there.

through. “You like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there.

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

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 interpreting the language than I do understanding

archives, I know what I’m

search term… Sao Paulo organised crime… Then

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

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

Names of

this time, but some more

Brazil’s largest gang is enticing recruits with

the Most Lethal Criminal Organization

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