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… the red-light

Nothing hangs together.

down to my empty coffee

“Sim. Thank you.”

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 cavalheiro like

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

very bad. Many bad men there. And

ears prick. “Woman? Que tipo de bad

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

violence,” I say.

He nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência. Muito

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

it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad

bad woman too? A

again, nodding. “Prostitutes,

bad woman. What

his hand… “… Not so many. Bad men gone. Not like other cities. Since two years, bad men

sounding deeply

Juliana…

her name? What

stares at me

again. “The bad woman… A mulher má… Her name?

upheld, he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe.

What does

Again, that blank stare…

my head… “Tall?”

“Bad place. Bad people.

arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many

at places where ‘Nice turista man

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

delving into the newspaper archives, I know

experimental search term… Sao Paulo

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

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

search. Names of

time, but

largest gang is enticing

the

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