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.

to

“Sim. Thank you.”

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

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

bad. Many bad men there. And badder

Que tipo de

man grimaces then 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

nods vigorously. “Sim, muita

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

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. “You no

said bad woman too?

“Prostitutes, sim. But há sim

bad woman. What she

bad place. Then, since ten year, Sao Paulo good city. People not die…” Fingers spread, he rocks his hand… “… Not so many. Bad men gone. Not like other cities. Since

is sounding deeply

Juliana…

name? What does she

at

try again. “The bad woman… A

“Ninguém sabe.

does

Again, that blank stare…

my hand to my head… “Tall?” …

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

museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there.

places

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

now, delving into the newspaper archives, I know what I’m looking

tap in an experimental search term… Sao Paulo organised crime… Then as an

blinks: 139,000, 000 results, starting

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

Names

but some more useful

gang is enticing recruits

of the Most Lethal Criminal Organization

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