Hot Revenge Box Set 4

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…

end of town… the red-light

Nothing hangs together.

down to my empty coffee cup.

“Sim. Thank you.”

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

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

very bad. Many bad men there. And badder

ears prick. “Woman? Que tipo

he leans in close. “One time, since many years, this city….” He sweeps his arms

I say. “Much

He nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência. Muito

an imaginary cigarette and again he nods. Then I mime injecting

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 too? A

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

woman. What

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 two years, bad men here again. And this woman is baddest. She is…”

sounding deeply

Juliana…

woman, her name? What does she

stares at

again. “The bad woman… A

“Ninguém sabe.

does she look

Again, that blank stare…

“Tall?” … Then

“Bad place. Bad people. You not go there. I show you nice place for nice English

museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there. And we have parques…” He nods

at places where ‘Nice turista man is safe.’

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 the

now, delving into the newspaper archives,

tap in an experimental search term… Sao Paulo

139,000, 000 results, starting with

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

another search. Names

but some

gang is enticing recruits with

of the Most