Brazil

by Ross Kemp

  ‘Whoever it was, I owe them.’ Livio laughed.

  Dog’s eyes widened. ‘What happened next, Livio?’

  ‘Shut up, Dog,’ the boy with the scar said sharply. ‘This is soldiers’ business. You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Yeah, shut it, Dog,’ the boy with the Ray-Bans chimed in. ‘Or Stripe’ll shove that stick of yours up your ass.’

  Silenced, Dog looked glumly down at the floor. As Stripe got to his feet and dusted his hands together, Luiz saw that they were trembling slightly. The boy kept brushing his nostrils – a surefire sign that he was on cocaine. ‘So what did happen next, Livio?’

  ‘You should have seen it, Stripe. The cops were shitting themselves. We made a break for it when they weren’t looking – stole a scooter and drove out.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ the boy with the orange Ray-Bans said in a bored voice. ‘You’ve been smoking too much again, Livio.’

  ‘It’s true! On my mother’s life!’

  ‘Maybe he’s telling the truth, Joker,’ Stripe said slowly, a slight smile playing on his lips. He sniffed. ‘Maybe our man here broke out…’

  ‘I tell you, that’s what happened!’

  ‘… or maybe he did a little deal.’

  Stripe’s smile suddenly vanished, replaced by a cold, hard stare.

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked Livio.

  ‘I’m saying, maybe one of the cops had a word with you, promised to let you go if you did something for them.’

  Livio laughed nervously. ‘Me, do a deal with the police? Are you nuts?’

  ‘Everyone knows you run with us. Everyone wants to know about the Comando Negro. It makes sense to me.’

  ‘You gotta believe me, Stripe. I never told the cops anything.’

  Stripe jerked his head at Luiz, acknowledging him for the first time. ‘Who’s the stranger?’

  Livio put his arm around Luiz’s shoulders. ‘This is my man Luiz. He got us out. I’ve never seen anyone who can drive like this guy.’

  Stripe stared icily at Luiz.

  ‘And what is he doing here?’ the boy said, directing his question at the MC.

  Livio spread his arms out. ‘Hey, he wanted to see Santa Marta, meet the Comando Negro. You’re celebrities, Stripe. Especially since you blew away that basketball player.’

  ‘Angel’s not going to like this,’ Stripe said softly.

  ‘And you really don’t want to mess with my bro today,’ Joker added, a grin on his face. ‘Giselle’s been giving him shit again. He’s ready to blow.’

  A shadow passed across Livio’s face. ‘Oh. Maybe we should leave it.’

  ‘Why?’ Luiz said. ‘Who’s Angel?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ a voice said behind him.

  Luiz whirled round and saw someone standing in the doorway of the shack. Angel was noticeably older than the rest of the group, maybe twenty years of age. He was black, his hair braided into short dreadlocks. An imposing figure, he wore a sleeveless T-shirt that revealed a pair of bulging forearms. In his left hand he carried a sawn-off 12-gauge Remington shotgun, in his right a bottle of Skol beer. Sizing Luiz up, Angel took a swig from the bottle.

  ‘Hey, dono,’ Stripe began. ‘Livio’s brought this stranger into the favela and –’

  ‘I don’t give a shit,’ Angel said curtly. ‘I gotta meeting to go to.’

  ‘A meeting?’ Luiz asked, without thinking.

  Angel tossed the beer bottle to one side and strode towards him, moving so close that their faces were nearly touching. Luiz could smell the sweet and sour combination of booze and spliffs on his breath.

  ‘No one said you could talk to me. No one said you could ask me any questions!’

  ‘He didn’t mean anything by it,’ Livio cut in hastily. ‘My man Luiz doesn’t know the lie of the land round here. He’s a good man, though. You should have seen him today at the police station. Drove through gunfire to get us both out.’

  ‘That so?’ Angel said, raising an eyebrow. ‘And what is he doing here?’

  ‘I wanted to meet the famous Comando Negro,’ Luiz replied, glimpsing an opportunity. ‘Word is that your cocaine is the best in Rio, and all the other gangs are too chickenshit to take you on. I figure, the size of your operation, maybe you need another driver. For deliveries, stuff like that. Livio can vouch for me – he said it’d be all right for me to come up here.’

  ‘Did he?’ whispered the dono, in a soft vicious undertone. He jabbed Luiz in the chest. ‘I don’t care if Livio said you could come here and move in with his mother. He doesn’t run Santa Marta – I do. And I don’t like strangers with big mouths. If you’re not out of the favela in the next five minutes, you’re a dead man. You hear me?’

  Luiz nodded slowly.

  ‘Good. Now piss off.’

  Livio placed a chubby hand on Luiz’s shoulder. ‘Time to go, my friend.’ He firmly steered Luiz away from the gang, whispering in his ear, ‘Angel always gets like this when Giselle has a go at him. I’ll have another word with him later, when he’s calmed down.’

  ‘Thanks, man.’

  ‘Shit – it’s the least I can do. Thanks to you, I’m going to spend tonight partying instead of sitting in some stinking jail cell. What about you? Where are you going to go?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I can always find a place to hide out.’ Luiz passed Livio a slip of paper with a number on it. ‘You can get hold of me here if Angel changes his mind.’

  Bidding farewell to the MC, Luiz reluctantly climbed back on his scooter. After the adrenalin rush of the breakout from the police station, the meeting with the Comando Negro had been a massive anticlimax. Now he had to rely on Livio to change Angel’s mind – and although he quite liked the MC, Livio wasn’t exactly reliable.

  Luiz drove slowly back to Trojan’s warehouse, wondering how they would react to his return. The guard at the gate recognized him and quickly ushered him inside the compound, calling in on his radio. Before Luiz could park his scooter, Valerie Singer had come out of the warehouse and was crossing the concrete towards him, her hair blowing in the breeze.

  ‘How did it go?’

  Luiz grimaced. ‘Not great. They told me to piss off. Livio’s going to put in a word for me, though. What do we do now?’

  Valerie raised an eyebrow. ‘Now? We wait, I guess.’

  The phone call came late at night.

  Submerged in a deep sleep, it took Luiz a while to register the fact that his mobile was ringing. He stretched out a dozy hand and picked up the phone from his bedside table.

  ‘Yeah?’ he mumbled.

  ‘Luiz? It’s me, Livio.’

  Immediately Luiz was awake. The MC’s voice was slurred – he sounded like he had been smoking dope all night. There was a thumping bass in the background and the confused sounds of a party.

  ‘Hey, Livio,’ Luiz said cautiously. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘All kinds of shit, man,’ the MC drawled. ‘It’s madness up here.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘There was a gun battle a few hours ago. Some bastards from the Compadres tried to gatecrash a party here.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Angel happened,’ Livio replied meaningfully. ‘As soon as he clocked them there was a gun battle. Bullets flying everywhere.’

  ‘Jesus. Did anyone get shot?’

  ‘Don’t think so. The Compadres ran for it as soon as they realized they were outnumbered. But the Comando Negro are talking about going to war anyway. It’s an honour thing – you can’t let shit like that go off on your own turf! And if there’s a war, we’re going to need more numbers. I’ve had a word with Angel and he says he’ll see you at seven tomorrow evening at the favela.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Luiz said.

  ‘I guess,’ Livio slurred back. ‘Don’t know why you’re so eager to get shot at, man. I’m going to go get some pussy before this party ends. See you tomorrow.’

  Luiz rang off and put the phone down, his heart thumping. He ha
d done it. He was in.

  9. Road Test

  As the sun set over Rio, a lone scooter wound its way up the hill towards Santa Marta.

  Luiz had spent a long day in Trojan’s warehouse, giving exhaustive descriptions of the gang members he had met. No detail was considered too small. After several hours, one of Trojan’s technicians had built up startlingly accurate e-fits of the Comando Negro on the computer. Richard Madison was pleased with the results.

  ‘We’ll send these over to Oliveira and see if he recognizes any of them,’ he said, during a meal of skewered chicken. Sucking his fingers clean of grease, Madison passed Luiz a piece of paper with a number on it.

  ‘What’s this?’ Luiz asked.

  ‘You can’t come back to the warehouse again. It’s too dangerous now. You hear anything you think we should know about, call this number and arrange a meeting instead. We don’t know who might be listening in, so it’s best to talk face to face.’

  The Brit noticed the uncertain look on Luiz’s face. ‘Don’t worry. If anyone else uses this number, it’ll sound like an ordinary pizza place. But if you ask for a large pizza with black olives, you’ll be put straight through to me.’

  ‘Large pizza, black olives,’ Luiz repeated. He fingered the gold cross around his neck. ‘Is the GPS working OK?’

  ‘You needn’t worry about that,’ Madison said, laughing. ‘You could go deep-sea diving and we’d find you.’

  At this rate they might have to, Luiz thought to himself, as he navigated his scooter up the hill. If the Comando Negro discovered his true identity, he’d probably end up at the bottom of the ocean. If he wasn’t shot dead or microwaved first.

  As the boca came into view, Luiz was surprised to see the Comando Negro lined up on the brow of the hill, the sun dying a golden death behind them. Angel stood at the head of the gang, his Remington shotgun resting upright against his shoulder, taking a drag from a fat spliff his brother Joker had handed to him. Stripe and Livio were holding a hushed conference with one another, while Dog skulked unnoticed in the background, his white vest stained with mud.

  Angel flicked the remains of the spliff on to the road as Luiz steered his scooter to a stop alongside them, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air.

  ‘So Livio’s been bitching in my ear about how you should be allowed to join the Comando Negro,’ said the dono finally. ‘Even though you’re not local, not a Santa Marta boy.’

  Luiz spread out his hands. ‘I’m still a carioca – Rio born and bred. I just don’t stay in the same favela for too long. Never know when the heat’s going to fall on you, you know?’

  ‘Hear that, boys?’ Angel barked. ‘We got ourselves a nomad!’

  Livio frowned. ‘What’s a nomad?’

  The dono shook his head. ‘You are one pig-shit ignorant soldier, you know that? It means he doesn’t call one place home.’ Angel turned back to Luiz. ‘And now you want to try your luck in Santa Marta.’

  ‘Just give me a chance,’ Luiz replied. ‘I’ll prove to you I can drive.’

  ‘We’ll see about that. Be grateful that the Compadres have decided to try and start a turf war with us. I can’t afford to be that choosy about men right now. Here’s the deal.’

  At a glance from his older brother, Joker tossed Luiz a large package. Through the clear plastic wrapping, he saw that it was filled with white powder.

  ‘Our sister needs this,’ Joker said. ‘She’s got a house over in Flamengo. The cops are always on the lookout for us, so we can’t go there.’

  ‘The quickest route is via the highway,’ rapped Angel. ‘Take it and don’t piss about. This is urgent.’

  Flamengo was a large residential district of Rio northeast of Botafogo. Following Angel’s route, it would only take Luiz half an hour to get there on his bike. He tucked the heavy package under his arm.

  ‘No problem.’

  He was about to get on his scooter when Stripe called him back. The blond-haired boy jerked his head at a black 50cc motorbike leaning against the wall of the boca.

  ‘Take my bike.’

  ‘What’s wrong with mine?’

  ‘This is the Comando Negro, stupid,’ sneered Stripe. ‘We don’t go riding around on white scooters. Take a proper machine.’

  Luiz reluctantly walked over to the black motorbike and fired it into life. As he revved the engine, Livio came over with a satchel. ‘Best to put the stuff in this, yeah?’ he said loudly.

  ‘Cheers, man.’

  ‘Listen up,’ Livio whispered suddenly, his voice barely audible above the throaty roar of the bike. ‘The highway takes you right through Compadres territory.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘As soon as they see you coming all in black, they’re going to start firing. It’s a test, Luiz. Angel won’t trust you until you prove yourself.’

  ‘Can’t I go a different way?’

  Livio shook his head. ‘There’ll be people watching you.’

  ‘But how the hell am I supposed to get past the Compadres?’

  ‘Drive fast?’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Luiz muttered.

  Livio smiled. ‘I’ve seen you drive, remember? You’ll be fine, man.’ The portly MC patted him on the back and stepped away from the bike.

  *

  As Luiz roared away from the boca, Angel watched him, a thoughtful expression on his face. He turned to Joker. ‘What do you reckon?’

  His brother shrugged. ‘If he’s as fast as Livio says, maybe he’ll make it through alive.’

  ‘Stripe?’

  The other boy smiled. ‘Dead man walking. Believe me.’ He turned and strolled back into the favela, whistling a tune to himself.

  Luiz began driving in the direction of Flamengo, dark clouds of anger and confusion scudding across his mind. It felt like everyone was out to get him. Trojan Industries had all but blackmailed him to work for them, claiming that they wanted to bring down the gangs – but now, thanks to them, Luiz was couriering cocaine across Rio. The Comando Negro said they’d give him a chance to join their gang, only to send him straight into a trap. Luiz was sorely tempted to throw the packet into a bin, drive back to his parents’ house and forget all about this mess. But the image of Ana in the police station wouldn’t leave him. His sister was counting on him – he had to do this.

  As Luiz rode along the broad, deserted highway, street lights flickered into life above his head. Through the encroaching gloom, he saw a picture of a playing card graffitied on a wall in red spray-paint. It was the King of Diamonds – the tag of the Compadres. He was in enemy territory now. Spying a gang of boys loitering at the side of the highway, Luiz shivered with fearful anticipation. As his black bike zoomed past them, a shout of alarm went up and the evening air was punctured by the crack of a pistol shot.

  Luiz sharply twisted the accelerator on the handle, angling the motorbike in a diagonal line away from the Compadres. Risking a quick look back, he saw that two scooters had set off in pursuit. He gunned the 50cc engine again, trying to squeeze every last bit of speed from it. Luiz knew that the Compadres would be contacting one another on their radio phones, word spreading across the favela like bushfire. Out here on the highway, he was a sitting duck.

  He veered left, heading off down a hill along a narrow road that wound between two rows of shacks. There was another gunshot, then a bullet bit into the road in front of him: a Compadres sniper on the roofs. With no room for manoeuvre, all Luiz could do was bend low over the handlebars and pray that the sniper was unable to get a clear shot at him.

  At the bottom of the hill, the way forked. The main part of the road continued to the right, while a dirt track ran off at a sharp angle to the left. Luiz waited until the last second and then threw the motorbike left. The bike skidded on the surface, tipping violently to one side. Clinging on with all his strength, Luiz managed to stay in his seat and sent the bike hurtling down the dirt track.

  There was a loud crash behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, Luiz saw the mangled remains
of a scooter in the wall at the fork in the road and a boy lying sprawled across the concrete. The other scooter had slowed to negotiate the turn, losing time as it made to follow Luiz.

  The dirt track was rough and bumpy; Luiz had to swerve to avoid a pair of chickens scratching around in the dirt. The favela was busier here, throbbing to the sound of music and the chatter of the locals as they sat outside their houses in the warm evening. Luiz ploughed on, disregarding the shouts of protest from the onlookers.

  Figures were scrambling in the gloom further along the track, dragging large crates into his path. The Compadres were setting up a roadblock. Luiz dived into a side alley, sending the motorbike juddering down a flight of steps. He drove blindly through the darkness, relying on instinct to negotiate a way. With a bump the bike righted itself, as the steps came out on to a mercifully flat passage. At the end of the alley, Luiz recognized the welcoming lights of Rua Pinheiro Machado, the main road that marked the beginning of the Flamengo district. If he could just make it there, he would be safe.

  The engine coughed violently beneath him and the motorbike slowed to a crawl. He had run out of petrol.

  ‘Shit!’

  Luiz scrambled off the bike and furiously hurled it to one side. That was why Stripe had made him take it. He wasn’t supposed to get out of the Compadres territory alive.

  The dire whine of scooter engines was getting louder in his ears. His pursuers were closing in. He had to move. Holding on to the satchel tightly, Luiz tumbled over a wall and began running round the back of a row of shacks. Meanwhile, in the alleyway, he could hear the Compadres shouting and swearing at one another as they discovered his bike.

  ‘Spread out!’ one of them called. ‘That Negro bastard can’t have got far.’

  Luiz rounded the corner of a shack at pace, only to crash headlong into someone. Startled, he saw a boy his age dressed all in red, a pistol in his hand. Luiz had run straight into a Compadre.

  The boy looked at him in amazement, too surprised to raise his gun. Luiz didn’t hesitate, dropping down and sweeping the Compadre’s legs out from under him. As the boy made to shout, Luiz drove a knee into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. The Compadre curled up in pain, allowing Luiz to wrestle the boy’s weapon away from him. He flicked off the safety catch and took aim.