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…

to the poorer end of town… the red-light

Nothing hangs together.

at my elbow, nodding down to my empty

“Sim. Thank you.”

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

that I ‘can’t

Many bad

tipo de bad men and

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 Bang Bang gesture… “And much…” Invisible knife gripped in his

violence,” I say.

vigorously. “Sim, muita

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

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

said bad woman too? A

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

woman. What she

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

is sounding

Juliana…

her name? What does

stares at

try again. “The bad woman… A

he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe.

What does

Again, that blank stare…

my head… “Tall?” … Then lower… “Short? Alta? Baixo? Loiras?

Bad people. You

riffling through. “You like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there. And

fingers at places where ‘Nice turista man is safe.’ But my mind’s on

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

delving into the newspaper archives, I know what

term… Sao Paulo organised crime… Then as an afterthought, add,

139,000, 000 results, starting with a

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

another search. Names of

this time, but

Brazil’s largest gang is enticing recruits with a

the Most Lethal Criminal Organization

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