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…

Nothing hangs together.

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

“Sim. Thank you.”

stabs a finger at my page. “You not go this place. Is bad place for

remembering that I ‘can’t speak

bad. Many bad

prick. “Woman? Que tipo

“One time, since many years, this city….” He sweeps his arms out in circles all around… “…all bad place. Much…”

I

He nods vigorously. “Sim,

again he nods. Then

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

bad woman too? A

again, nodding. “Prostitutes, sim. But

woman. What

Hughes, since twenty year, Sao Paulo 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 two years, bad men here again. And this woman is baddest. She is…” He splutters for

sounding

Juliana…

her name? What

at me

try again. “The bad woman… A mulher má…

“Ninguém sabe. Ela

What does she look

Again, that blank stare…

hand to my head… “Tall?” … Then

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

Hughes? We have many artista famoso there. And we have parques…”

as he jabs fingers at places

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

into the newspaper archives, I know what

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

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

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

search. Names of criminal gangs sao

this time, but some more useful

largest gang is enticing recruits with a

The Evolution of the Most Lethal Criminal