Brazil

by Ross Kemp

  Joker circled Livio’s car, kicking the tyres suspiciously. ‘This is a real shitheap, Livio. Why couldn’t you have got something classy like a Porsche or a Ferrari? I can’t have no women seeing me driving around in this!’

  ‘It was the best I could do!’ Livio protested, as he climbed out of the car. ‘Angel asked me to get a car – I got him a car. No one said anything about Porsches and Ferraris!’

  ‘With good reason,’ Angel said. ‘No one’s going to look twice at us in that. Cops see us driving round the Zona Sul in a Porsche, they’re going to pull us over.’ He cuffed his brother around the back of the head. ‘You need to stop thinking with your dick all the time, Rafael. This is serious.’

  It was the first time Luiz had heard anyone call Joker by his real name. Although the dono had said it softly, his brother’s face fell and he went silent. The mood in the square had changed as suddenly as the current at Ipanema Beach – when the Comando Negro prepared for action, the wise-cracks stopped. Watching the gang calmly loading their guns, Luiz was reminded who he was dealing with. They were drug dealers and killers – even Livio, who was hauling two suitcases filled with cocaine into the boot of the car.

  Mindful of his last run-in with Angel, Luiz stood in the background and kept his mouth shut. He was surprised, therefore, when the dono sought him out and came over to speak to him.

  ‘Heard you stepped in with Stripe the other day,’ he said. ‘Takes a lot of balls to do that.’

  ‘Someone had to do something,’ replied Luiz. ‘He was going to kill Dog.’

  Angel scrutinized him closely, his brown eyes betraying a fierce intelligence. Despite his fearsome reputation as a killer, the dono wasn’t all muscle. Eventually Angel nodded, as though he had made up his mind about something.

  ‘Get in,’ he said, jerking his head towards the car.

  ‘You want me to come with you?’ Luiz asked, surprised.

  ‘Think I’m going to let Livio drive? I haven’t got a death wish, asshole.’

  Angel barked with laughter – the first time Luiz had heard that sound from him – and punched him on the shoulder. The dono took up residence in the front passenger seat, while Joker, Livio and Stripe squeezed into the back.

  Luiz settled in behind the wheel and turned on the engine. The car started with an arthritic splutter. As he steered the car through the winding roads of the favela, Luiz saw that Joker was right about one thing – the car was a bomb. Gears scraped agonizingly as he changed them, while the engine’s every hacking cough sounded as though it could be the last. All this, and they were going downhill. The car might be able to make it to the hotel, but whether it could get them home again afterwards was another matter entirely. It took all of Luiz’s skill behind the wheel to get them out of Santa Marta and into the early-afternoon traffic of the Zona Sul.

  The Hotel Real took pride of place on Avenida Atlantica, the long road that arced around the back of Copacabana Beach. It was a grand, imposing building with a white stucco front, granting those rich enough to afford the best rooms a sweeping view of the Atlantic Ocean. The most famous hotel in Rio, for decades the Real had been the choice of actors, rock stars and the jet-set elite.

  Now, as Luiz nursed the ailing car towards the building, he saw two women in crisp tennis whites striding towards the entrance, their long legs luxuriously tanned.

  Livio giggled.

  ‘Angel, how the hell are we supposed to blend in here? We take one step in there and they’ll call the cops.’

  ‘That’s why we’re going round the back, dickhead. Keep driving, Luiz, and take a first right after the hotel.’

  Angel directed them out of the sunny glare of the Avenida Atlantica and into the shade of the backstreets behind the hotel, ordering Luiz to stop near a service entrance. After a quick scan to check that the street was deserted, the boys in the back seat got out. Joker and Livio unloaded the suitcases from the boot, while Stripe stood guard, his AK-47 at his side. Angel got out of the car, his 12-gauge shotgun hidden within the folds of a long black trench coat, and walked around to Luiz’s window.

  ‘If the Doctor’s given this the OK, the deal should be sweet, but I don’t know this guy we’re selling to and I certainly don’t trust him. Wait here and keep your eyes open for any police. We’re in Room 1412, which is at the back of the hotel. If you start hitting the horn, we’ll hear it. Understand?’

  Luiz nodded.

  ‘Good.’

  The dono of the Comando Negro swept towards the service entrance, his trench coat flapping in the breeze. The rest of his gang trailed after him, looking right and left along the street for any sign of trouble. They slipped through the service entrance and into the hotel, Stripe bringing up the rear.

  Luiz stared out at the street, absent-mindedly toying with the GPS cross that Madison had given him. Now that he was outside the favela, he wondered whether Trojan Industries were following him – whether Madison or Jordan, or even Valerie, was watching him now. As ever, Luiz’s thoughts turned to Ana. Jordan had promised he would try to arrange a meeting. Maybe once this deal was done, Luiz would phone Madison and push for a date.

  A large black van pulled up by the hotel’s service entrance, blocking his line of sight. Slinking down low in his seat, Luiz watched as the young driver got out. He was wearing blue workmen’s overalls and had a bright green bandanna wrapped around his head. Walking to the back of the van, he opened the doors and a large group of boys began jumping down to the pavement. Although they were also dressed in overalls, they didn’t look like any workmen Luiz had seen before and they were all sporting green accessories – bandannas, wristbands and baseball caps.

  Green. The colour of the Quarto Comando – a violent favela gang, sworn enemies of the Comando Negro.

  As each of the boys took a bulky Adidas holdall from the van and slung it over his shoulder, Luiz’s heart was in his mouth. It was a classic gang tactic: there would be guns inside the sports bags, hidden from view but with their triggers in easy reach. Angel had walked straight into a trap.

  Luiz jammed his finger down on the car horn.

  Nothing happened.

  He pressed it again, harder this time, but still to no avail. The car was so beat-up the horn didn’t even work.

  Swearing loudly, Luiz started the car and manoeuvred it away from the side of the road. With the Quarto Comando assembled at the rear of the building, he headed back on to Avenida Atlantica, coming to a screeching halt outside the main entrance of the Hotel Real. He left the car parked at an awkward angle, half on and half off the pavement, and sprinted past a line of ornamental trees into the lobby.

  It was dark and cool inside, and it took a couple of seconds for Luiz’s eyes to adjust to the light. He found himself in an open area tastefully decorated with plants in earthenware pots. Well-dressed businessmen lounged in plush armchairs, drinking cocktails with glamorous women in flowing dresses and large sunglasses. The hall was filled with the low buzz of polite conversation.

  Luiz raced through the foyer, his flip-flops clattering across the marble floor, making for the main staircase beyond the reception desk. At the sight of the scruffily dressed boy, a porter in a brocaded uniform dropped the suitcase he was carrying and reached out to stop him. Pushing him away with the flat of his hand, Luiz hared up the staircase, ignoring the shouts that followed behind him.

  As he ran through the carpeted hallways in search of Room 1412, Luiz quickly realized that the Hotel Real was a warren of identical corridors and rooms that appeared to have been numbered completely at random. He rounded a corner and nearly crashed into a maid, who screamed with surprise. Luiz shouted an apology over his shoulder, praying that the Quarto Comando were as lost as he was.

  Sprinting up another flight of stairs, Luiz almost cried out in relief when he saw that Room 1412 was at the end of the corridor. He leaned against the door, panting, and hammered against it.

  ‘It’s me, Luiz!’ he shouted. ‘Open up!’

  There was
the sound of swearing inside and then the door opened, revealing MC Livio, a semi-automatic pistol in his hand. He carefully checked the corridor before beckoning Luiz inside.

  Tucked away at the back of the hotel, Room 1412 clearly wasn’t one of the plusher suites on offer. The blinds had been drawn and there was a thick smell of body odour in the air. Angel was sat at a low table with a fat man in a white linen suit, the dono’s shotgun resting near his left hand. There were three open suitcases on the table – two displaying bulky clear packets of cocaine, the other a vast wad of banknotes. Stripe was watching the window, while Joker stood in the doorway leading off to the bathroom.

  There was a furious expression on Angel’s face. ‘What the hell are you doing here? I told you to wait in the car!’

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’ Luiz said breathlessly. ‘It’s a trap!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The Quarto Comando are on their way up here, maybe ten of them, and they’re armed. We’ve got to go!’

  Stripe trained his AK-47 on the fat businessman. ‘You know anything about this?’

  ‘Nothing!’ the businessman shouted back, blanching. ‘I never heard of the Quarto Comando!’ He turned to Angel. ‘What is this shit?’

  Angel stood up grimly. ‘It’s nothing. We’ll take care of it. We’re done here anyway.’

  The dono snapped shut the suitcase filled with money and passed it to MC Livio. With a final nod to the fat businessman, Angel picked up his shotgun and led his gang out of the hotel room.

  As the Comando Negro filed into the corridor, tense fingers on triggers, there was a pinging sound behind them. Luiz turned to see the elevator doors at the end of the corridor opening and a flash of bright green…

  14. Unwanted Guests

  Angel didn’t blink. Levelling his shotgun, he fired twice, punching two booming craters into the wall either side of the elevator. Surprised by the sudden ferocity of the attack, the Quarto Comando threw themselves against the sides of the lift. Stripe dropped to one knee and sprayed a round from his AK-47 at them, smashing the mirror on the back wall of the elevator to smithereens and keeping the gang members penned in until the doors trundled closed again.

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’ Joker shouted, racing away down the hallway. As the Comando Negro followed after him, Luiz was suddenly painfully aware that he was the only gang member who wasn’t carrying a weapon. If they got caught up in a firefight, how was he supposed to defend himself?

  Joker skidded to a halt at the end of the corridor and peered round the corner. He pulled back sharply as bullets bit into the brickwork by his head.

  ‘Shit!’ he cried out, poking his gun around the corner and blindly firing off rounds. ‘There’s more here!’

  ‘We’re trapped!’ Livio said despairingly.

  ‘Good!’ spat Stripe. ‘I’m not running from these bastards anyway.’

  Angel shook his head. ‘They’ve got the jump on us and this place is going to be swarming with cops any minute. We gotta get out of here.’

  Looking for an escape route, Luiz’s eyes fell upon a pair of oak-panelled double doors on the other side of the hallway.

  ‘Follow me!’ he cried.

  As he ran towards the doors, the elevator doors pinged open again, this time revealing the yawning barrel of a Heckler & Koch G3 assault rifle. Without breaking stride, Luiz threw himself against the double doors and raced down the long, straight corridor beyond, the footsteps of the Comando Negro following hot on his heels. Coming to a second set of double doors, he crashed through them – and into another world.

  He was standing in a brightly lit dining room filled with hotel guests sitting down to lunch. The clink of crystal wine glasses and fine china could be heard above the soft jazz drifting out from the speakers. For a split second Luiz stood and stared at the diners, who stared back at him in astonishment, forks and spoons hovering by their mouths. Then came the sound of the G3 erupting in the corridor outside and the Comando Negro dived into the room.

  That was when the screaming started.

  Pandemonium broke out as the guests scattered – some diving under the tables, dragging their loved ones with them, while others stampeded for the exit. Some stayed in their chairs, rigid with shock. They watched as the Comando Negro battled through the crowds, leaving an obstacle course of tipped-over tables and chairs in their wake.

  Someone shouted a warning – maybe Livio – and then the dining room exploded into gunfire as the Quarto Comando entered. They fired indiscriminately into the throng. Beside Luiz, a man fell to the floor, clutching his side and screaming in agony as blood welled from a gunshot wound. Luiz stopped, wanting to help, but Angel appeared out of the crowd and grabbed him by the arm, pushing him towards the flight of steps at the end of the dining room.

  Glancing back over his shoulder, Luiz saw that Stripe was holding up the rear, reluctant to take a single backward step. Laughing maniacally as he unloaded his magazine at the rival gang, the soldado’s relentless stream of bullets scattered the Quarto Comando, forcing them to dive behind tables for cover.

  ‘Stripe!’ Angel bellowed above the uproar. ‘Leave it!’

  The guests had drained out of the dining room and were now flooding down the steps towards the lobby on a swell of screams and sobs. Angel followed them to the first floor, then gestured at the rest of his gang to come with him down a corridor.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Joker panted.

  ‘There could be anyone waiting for us in the lobby,’ Angel snarled. ‘We’ll go this way.’

  Sprinting along the corridor, the dono came to a glass side door leading on to a terrace. He kicked it open and ran outside. The Comando Negro found themselves standing by a large swimming pool, its crystal blue waters lapping gently in the sunlight. The broad sweep of the Avenida Atlantica was just visible over a wall beyond the pool. There wasn’t a soul in sight. The white sunloungers had been abandoned, leaving scattered towels as the only clue that anyone had been here. The sound of screaming still carried from inside the hotel to Luiz’s ears, but it barely registered any more.

  There was a flash of green from the side door of the hotel and then a blast of gunfire. Stripe spun round and shot back. There was a cry of pain and Luiz saw a smear of blood on the frame.

  Angel pointed in the direction of the Avenida Atlantica. ‘This way!’

  Racing around the poolside, Luiz realized that the tiles were slick with water. He turned to warn Livio, but it was too late. The MC slipped over, sending the suitcase filled with money spiralling from his grasp. The Comando Negro watched as, in slow motion, the suitcase skidded towards the pool’s edge. For a teasing second it teetered on the brink, before falling into the water with a splash.

  ‘No!’ cried Livio, scrambling on his hands and knees towards the pool.

  Luiz dived behind a sunlounger as another round of bullets flew through the air. The Quarto Comando had hunkered down by the terrace door and were taking potshots at their exposed rivals. Luiz waited for a pause in the barrage, then darted out from the lounger and grabbed the MC.

  ‘The money…!’ Livio moaned.

  ‘Screw the money!’ Luiz screamed. ‘Come on!’

  He dragged Livio away from the poolside, trying to stay as low as possible. The rest of the Comando Negro were sheltering by the wall overlooking the Avenida Atlantica, from where they gave covering fire. As Luiz and Livio scurried towards them, Joker and Angel flipped themselves over the wall, negotiating the much steeper drop to the road on the other side. With one final blast of his AK-47, Stripe followed suit. The Quarto Comando opened fire again as Livio and Luiz reached the wall, diving headlong to safety as a hail of bullets flew above their heads.

  Luiz hit the pavement hard, the air whooshing from his lungs on impact. Gingerly picking himself up, he saw a couple of tourists staring at him, fingers frozen on the buttons of their cameras. They watched dumbfounded as Luiz broke into a staggering run after the Comando Negro, who
had spotted the battered Chevrolet mounted on the pavement outside the Hotel Real, and were racing back towards it.

  Although there were no signs of any police on the Avenida Atlantica, the air was alive with the sound of sirens. As the gang piled into the car, Luiz started the engine. To his relief, it caught first time. Stamping down on the accelerator, he reversed straight into the traffic lane, amid clouds of smoke rising up from the tyres and the blaring horns of other motorists.

  As Luiz urged the car off the main road and into the backstreets that led to Santa Marta, Stripe punched the window. ‘You fat IDIOT!’ he screamed at Livio, who turned pale. ‘You lost all the money!’

  ‘Not now,’ Angel rapped from the front seat, a deathly threat in his voice.

  ‘Why not now, dono?’ Stripe spat back. ‘All he had to do was hold on to one lousy suitcase! We went through all that for nothing!’

  ‘I said leave it.’

  ‘You know who’s got our money now? The Quarto Comando. Those bastards’ll be pissing themselves laughing –’

  Distracted, Luiz didn’t see the black van come veering out from an alleyway until the last second. As the van headed straight for the side of their car, Luiz yanked on the steering wheel. The car mounted the pavement, clattering through a couple of empty tables outside a restaurant and missing the van’s bumper by a matter of inches.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ someone shouted, as Luiz jammed down on the accelerator.

  ‘It’s the Quarto Comando!’ Luiz shouted back.

  ‘Keep going for the boca,’ urged Angel. ‘They won’t dare take us on there.’

  ‘The car won’t make it that far,’ Luiz said, through gritted teeth. The ominous silhouette of the black van was blocking out the sun in his rear-view mirror and he wasn’t sure how much more speed he could squeeze out of the engine.

  ‘Shut up and drive!’ Stripe snarled. ‘I’ll take care of the van.’

  The blond-haired boy leaned out of the back passenger window and aimed his AK-47 at the van, peppering the grille with bullets.