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…

the poorer end of

Nothing hangs together.

nodding down to my empty

“Sim. Thank you.”

a

remembering that I ‘can’t speak the

bad men there. And

“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

I say.

“Sim,

I smoke an imaginary cigarette and again he nods.

para prostitutas.” He takes the book from me, closes it, then slaps it down on

bad woman too? A

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

woman.

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

sounding deeply

Juliana…

her name? What does she

stares at me

bad woman…

“Ninguém sabe. Ela é um

mystery? What does she look

Again, that blank stare…

“Tall?” …

Bad people. You not go

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

him ramble on, nodding as he jabs fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man is safe.’ But my mind’s on

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

newspaper archives, I

experimental search term… Sao Paulo organised

139,000, 000 results, starting with a

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

tap in another search. Names of

time, but some more

largest gang is enticing

Evolution of the Most Lethal Criminal Organization

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