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 district…

Nothing hangs together.

materialises at my elbow, nodding down to my

“Sim. Thank you.”

across the table, and he glances at my guide. “Senhor Hughes…” He stabs a

I ‘can’t speak

bad. Many bad men there. And badder

tipo de bad

city….” He sweeps his arms out in circles all around… “…all

I say. “Much

nods vigorously. “Sim, muita violência.

again he nods. Then

me, closes it, then slaps it down on the table. “Bad place, Senhor. And bad men.” He wags a finger

bad woman too?

then up again, nodding. “Prostitutes, sim.

woman.

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

is sounding deeply

Juliana…

name? What does she

at me

again. “The bad woman… A mulher má…

he shrugs. “Ninguém sabe. Ela é um

does she look

Again, that blank stare…

hand to my head… “Tall?” … Then lower… “Short?

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

like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes?

let him ramble on, nodding as he jabs fingers at places where

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

the newspaper archives, I know what

Sao Paulo organised crime… Then

screen blinks: 139,000, 000 results,

Hmmm…

Narrow it down…

another search. Names of criminal gangs

time, but some more

is enticing recruits with a

The Evolution of the Most

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