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.

my elbow, nodding down to my empty coffee cup. “Mais

“Sim. Thank you.”

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

‘can’t speak the

very bad. Many bad men there.

Que tipo

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.

I

He nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência. Muito

cigarette and again he nods. Then I

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. “You no

bad woman

up again, nodding. “Prostitutes, sim.

bad 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 as prostitute.

sounding deeply

Juliana…

name? What does she look

stares at me

woman…

upheld, he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é

What does she

Again, that blank stare…

head… “Tall?” … Then

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

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

nodding as he jabs fingers at places where ‘Nice

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

into the newspaper archives, I know

search term… Sao Paulo organised crime… Then as

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

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

Names

this time, but some

Brazil’s largest gang is enticing recruits

of the Most

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