Brazil

by Ross Kemp

  As their destination came into view – a large shack to the east of Santa Marta – Livio whooped with delight. The corrugated-iron walls were shaking to the vibrations of the bass, as though at any moment the music might bring the roof crashing down around everyone’s ears. It was immediately apparent that the Comando Negro had provided security for the party – two boys dressed in black were standing by the front door, assault rifles cradled in their arms. As Angel got out from the front passenger seat, he nodded at the guards, then marched briskly past them into the club.

  Walking inside, Luiz was assailed by a maelstrom of noise. The room was pitch black, the darkness punctuated by a firestorm of red strobe lights that gave people’s faces an eerie glow whenever it fell upon them. On the stage two DJs were hunched over banks of mixing desks, while an MC rapped over the harsh loops.

  The reaction to the Comando Negro’s entrance was immediate. A cheer went up from the crowd and the MC pointed to them, shouting out a greeting. Two younger boys bounced towards Luiz, making the shape of the letters ‘C’ and ‘N’ with their fingers in celebration of the gang. Someone thrust another beer bottle into his hand, patting him on the back. Although most people went out of their way to greet the Comando Negro and be friendly with them, Luiz couldn’t help noticing the others – the young people who stepped out of their way, heads bowed, fearfully refusing to make eye contact. Although part of Luiz wanted to tell them that he was different, that he wasn’t a violent killer, another part of him felt a guilty thrill of power. He thought of Dog – suddenly it seemed entirely understandable that the little boy wanted to be a part of this, no matter what it would end up costing him.

  The dance floor was so jammed it looked as though the entire population of Santa Marta had tried to fit into the one room. Luiz couldn’t help but notice the girls, who had apparently prepared for the cramped, steamy conditions by wearing as little as possible. They were grinding their bodies in time with the beat, their bare midriffs glistening with sweat.

  A hand clamped down on Luiz’s shoulder. Angel watched the girls dancing, taking long drags on a thick cigar.

  ‘You’ll have fun tonight, Luiz,’ he said, grinning, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. ‘Make sure you find yourself a good woman. You’re Comando Negro, remember? We got a reputation to uphold.’

  With that, the dono patted his cheek and walked off. Luiz was suddenly aware that he was on his own. Livio had vanished, while Joker was happily surrounded by a ring of admiring girls, who listened spellbound as he retold the story of the showdown at the Hotel Real.

  ‘So there’s bullets flying everywhere and my man Luiz is driving like Felipe Massa…’ Here Joker slipped in an impersonation of the Formula One driver steering round a hairpin. ‘It was a miracle we got out, I’m telling you.’

  His story was interrupted by a massive roar of approval from the crowd. Luiz turned round to see Livio taking the stage. The MC was dressed in baggy desert-camouflage shorts and a Portuguese football shirt with ‘Ronaldo’ written on the back. Microphone in hand, he prowled across the stage, like a big cat marking out its territory. Then, as the beats behind him began to intensify, he broke into a low growling rap that got the crowd yelling and screaming in appreciation. The laid-back family man from earlier in the day had completely vanished. Luiz could only marvel at his friend’s transformation.

  As he stood at the side of the dance floor watching the MC, Luiz noticed a girl smiling at him. He recognized her instantly. It was Marie – the girl who had been at the five-a-side game. Dressed only in a red bikini top and a pair of tiny cut-off denim shorts, she looked a different girl from the one who had watched him so shyly from the sidelines.

  Marie broke away from her friends and glided towards him, her thumbs resting in the belt loops of her shorts. She gave Luiz a cat-like grin and wrapped her slender arms around his neck, enveloping him in a subtle wisp of perfume.

  ‘I was hoping you were going to come,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah?’ replied Luiz. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to Santa Marta’s new hero. First you saved Dog’s life and now Angel himself. You’re the talk of the favela.’

  Luiz shrugged. ‘I think Angel can take care of himself. I was just driving the car.’

  ‘Modest too.’ Marie smiled. She kissed him softly on the cheek and whispered in his ear, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  A voice at the back of Luiz’s mind was telling him that this wasn’t a good idea, but at that moment – with the music overwhelming him, the alcohol racing through his system and the beautiful girl smiling at him – it seemed impossible to say no. As he and Marie walked hand in hand out of the club, Livio was barking like a dog into the microphone. He had been joined on stage by a woman in a flimsy dress who was shaking her ass in time to the beat, each grinding movement sending the bottom of her dress flicking up to reveal a flash of white thong. The boys in the crowd were cheering and holding up their camera phones, squabbling among one another as they tried to take the best picture of her.

  After the mayhem of the club, the night felt very still and quiet outside. Wordlessly moving past the guards and into the shadows of a deserted alleyway, Luiz and Marie drew closer together and began to kiss. As he felt the soft touch of the girl’s lips upon his, Luiz was dimly aware of the club door crashing open and footsteps making unsteady progress towards them. They came to a halt near the end of the alleyway and then a voice spoke into a phone.

  ‘I can talk now,’ said Angel. ‘There’s no one around.’

  Even though the dono’s voice was slightly slurred, there was a deferential tone that Luiz hadn’t heard before. Marie didn’t seem to have registered Angel’s proximity – smoothly, Luiz pressed her closer against the wall and further into the shadows.

  ‘I don’t know what happened,’ Angel continued. ‘Somebody squealed to the Quarto Comando about the deal. I don’t know who yet, but I’ll find out. I guarantee you that, Doctor.’

  The hairs on the back of Luiz’s neck stood up at the word ‘Doctor’. Still kissing Marie, he strained to catch the rest of the conversation.

  ‘Yeah – I’ll meet you tomorrow. Where? The Casa Bahia? OK, I’ll see you at four.’

  With that, Angel turned off his phone and lurched back towards the club. Luiz couldn’t believe it. The Doctor was going to be at a meeting tomorrow, and Luiz knew when and where.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Finally noticing his distraction, Marie had stopped kissing him and was now looking at him curiously. Luiz smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied, drawing her close to him again. ‘Nothing at all.’

  17. Casa Bahia

  The sunshine beamed down on the glamorous district of Ipanema, dappling the leaves of the trees that lined its broad thoroughfares. Here in the heart of the Zona Sul, there were juice bars and cafes on every corner, providing rest and refreshment for the tourists and rich cariocas who browsed through the local boutiques, their arms laden with shopping bags.

  Walking through the well-dressed crowds in his gang clothes – shorts and sandals, long basketball shirt and a cap – Luiz stuck out like a sore thumb. At that moment, he couldn’t care less. The bright sunshine was hurting his eyes and he was suffering from a throbbing headache and parched mouth. That was the last time he was going to drink so much beer, he decided.

  To try and avoid suspicion, Luiz had stayed with Marie for a while in the alleyway, before making his excuses and walking her home. She had seemed disappointed that the night had ended so early, but the dono’s conversation had provided Luiz with a sharp reminder of his mission priorities. Now was not the time to be getting involved with a girl, no matter how pretty she was. Luiz found himself wondering what Marie would have done if she had known the truth about him – would she still have kissed him, or spat in his face and told the Comando Negro?

  Luiz’s feelings about his deception were becoming more complex by the day. At fi
rst he had just been terrified of the gang finding out and killing him, putting him in the microwave, but now there were other, more complicated problems. What would Livio do if he found out? What would the rest of the gang do to Livio? After all, it was the MC who had introduced Luiz to Santa Marta, taken care of him, vouched for him in front of the Comando Negro. If Luiz was unmasked as a spy, would Livio also end up paying the ultimate price?

  Shaking his head to clear away the dark thoughts, Luiz turned the corner and found himself on Rua Redentor, an upmarket road several streets back from Ipanema Beach. Up ahead, the bright blue awning of the Casa Bahia was rippling in the breeze. Boasting a reputation as one of the best restaurants in Rio, the Casa Bahia was not the kind of place you expected a member of the Comando Negro to visit. Luiz and Ana had been taken there once by their foster parents, to celebrate the first anniversary of their adoption. Luiz could still remember the rich smell of pork sizzling up from the kitchens and the sound of the samba band playing in the background.

  Crossing the road, he ordered a drink at the juice bar opposite the restaurant and sat down at a table partly obscured by a large fern. He checked his watch – it was quarter to four. Having called Ricardo’s Pizzeria earlier in the day and ordered another large pizza with black olives, Luiz had been able to arrange a meeting with someone from Trojan now. When Luiz first caught sight of Juan Oliveira’s leather jacket, he was simply relieved that he wasn’t Valerie Singer. But as the large policeman neared, Luiz realized how dangerous this meeting could be. He slunk down low in his chair and pulled his baseball cap over his face.

  Oliveira took a seat across the table from Luiz and made himself comfortable.

  ‘You look like shit,’ he said, a flicker of amusement on his face. ‘Rough night?’

  Luiz pulled a face, but didn’t reply. The policeman looked up and down the street, nodding approvingly.

  ‘You’ve chosen a good spot here. We’ve got a great view of the restaurant entrance, but that fern should give us cover if anyone is looking out for us.’

  ‘It better had do,’ Luiz replied. ‘If they see me sitting out here with a policeman, I’m dead. Couldn’t you have just bugged the restaurant or something?’

  Oliveira laughed. ‘It’s not quite that simple, Luiz. I’ve had enough trouble trying to explain how a police station door got shot through during your little breakout. I start requesting bugs on top of that and people are going to be asking questions. Especially since your little firework display down at the hotel. You don’t make life easy for yourself, do you?’

  ‘It wasn’t like I was the one who opened fire!’ Luiz protested. ‘It was a trap!’

  ‘Well, anyway, low-key is better. If I know our man Angel, he’s going to have his eyes peeled for anything suspicious and this could be our only chance to get a lead on the Doctor. I don’t want anything messing it up.’

  The policeman got up to order a starfruit carimbola drink, while Luiz slowly sipped his orange juice, the cool liquid soothing his dry mouth.

  Suddenly he shrank back behind the fern.

  ‘What is it?’ Oliveira asked crisply, as he returned to the table.

  ‘Angel!’ hissed Luiz.

  Although the dono of the Comando Negro had changed out of his usual clothes into a smart black shirt and chinos, there was no mistaking his giant, dreadlocked frame as he strode down Rua Redentor. Angel moved with a powerful grace, his eyes glancing warily around him.

  As the dono approached the restaurant, Juan Oliveira pulled out a camera and began snapping calmly over Luiz’s shoulder at the front of the Casa Bahia.

  ‘Look like you’re enjoying yourself, son,’ he murmured. ‘I’m going to be taking a lot of photos of you this afternoon.’

  Luiz adopted a frozen smile, all the while fighting the urge to duck under the table.

  ‘I’m not sure how much Angel trusts the good Doctor,’ Oliveira said thoughtfully. ‘He’s strapped.’

  ‘He’s carrying a gun? How can you tell?’

  ‘After twenty years, you just can.’

  Risking a peek over his shoulder, Luiz saw that a man was standing in the doorway of the restaurant, blocking Angel’s path.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Luiz said excitedly. ‘Is it…?’

  Oliveira shook his head.

  ‘I’m afraid not. That’s Ivan Fernandes. He owns the Casa Bahia.’

  Ivan Fernandes was a small, blond-haired man with a close-cropped beard. Dressed in a flamboyant pink shirt, he flicked off a fleck of dirt from his cuffs as Angel approached. Even though the dono towered over him, Fernandes didn’t seem intimidated. For a minute, Luiz thought that the restaurant owner was going to stop Angel from entering, but at the last second he stepped aside and gestured for the gang member to enter.

  It was five to four. Luiz could feel his excitement growing. If he was right, then any moment now the Doctor was going to walk past them. If they could identify him, then Luiz’s mission would be over. Ana could be free before night fell.

  ‘Another one coming,’ Oliveira reported.

  Luiz clutched the policeman’s arm in shock.

  ‘Hang on a second,’ he gasped. ‘That’s Fabio!’

  One of the most famous actors in Brazil, Fabio was the star of a new novela – a soap opera – which had millions of people tuning in their televisions six nights a week. Luiz hated the novelas himself and was always teasing Ana for watching them. Even so, it was a surprise to see such a famous man in the flesh.

  His face partially obscured by a large pair of aviator sunglasses, Fabio glanced up and down the street before hurrying inside the Casa Bahia.

  ‘Idiot,’ scoffed Oliveira.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘He’s trying to look unremarkable, but everything he’s doing says “look at me”. If you want people to ignore you, Luiz, you gotta be Mr Grey, Mr Average. Our friend Fabio is about as inconspicuous as an elephant in a tutu.’

  ‘There’s no way he could be involved, is there?’

  Oliveira snorted dismissively. ‘That clothes-horse? Not a chance. My guess is he’s cheating on his girlfriend. Or his boyfriend.’

  They waited for more people to arrive at the restaurant, but the entrance remained quiet. Luiz glanced down at his watch. It was nearly quarter past four – and no one had come in or out of the restaurant since Fabio.

  ‘Maybe the Doctor’s not coming,’ he said. ‘Maybe –’

  ‘Ssh – look.’

  A silver BMW with tinted windows had pulled up outside the Casa Bahia. Two bodyguards sprang out from the side of the car and opened the rear passenger door. A round, bald figure got out from the BMW, dabbing at his forehead with a white handkerchief.

  Oliveira let out a low whistle.

  ‘Seems like it’s our day to spot celebrities.’

  As the bald man spun round to bark orders at a subordinate, Luiz recognized him instantly.

  It was Councillor Jorge Cruz.

  *

  Luiz gaped at the councillor as he brushed down the front of his suit and stomped inside the restaurant. His bodyguards checked the street behind him, their hands hovering by the insides of their jackets, where their gun holsters would be. Undeterred, Oliveira casually fired off a couple of photographs with Luiz in the foreground, before returning to his carimbola.

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense!’ Luiz hissed, leaning forward over the table. ‘Cruz can’t be the Doctor! He spends all his time going on about how evil the Comando Negro are – if he’s involved, wouldn’t he keep his mouth shut?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Oliveira shrugged. ‘His reputation does give him cover, though.’

  ‘You really think it could be him?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But let’s just say it wouldn’t be the first corrupt politician in Rio’s history,’ Oliveira said grimly.

  After Cruz had disappeared inside the restaurant, Luiz and Oliveira remained at the juice bar. For the first time, Luiz had a sense of what stake-outs must be like outside of the movies. He sa
t there with the policeman, staring at the same patch of pavement, unable even to see through the windows of the restaurant into the shady interior.

  Luiz was almost falling asleep when Oliveira suddenly stiffened, and he saw that Angel had come striding back out of the Casa Bahia. The dono lit up a cigarette, tossing his match to the ground near the entrance. There was a movement in the restaurant doorway and Ivan Fernandes appeared. The little restaurant owner pointedly picked up the match, exchanging an unfriendly glance with Angel. Luiz was worried that the dono was going to pull out his gun, but then Angel snorted with laughter and turned on his heel. Fernandes watched him walk away, the gang leader a head taller than nearly everyone else in the crowd.

  ‘That guy’s got some balls,’ Luiz muttered. ‘Not many people stare down Angel like that.’

  ‘Fernandes is legendarily proud of his restaurant,’ Oliveira said, chuckling. ‘It doesn’t look like he’s going to be welcoming Angel back any time soon.’

  It was another half an hour before Councillor Cruz followed the Comando Negro dono out of the door, surrounded by his coterie of bodyguards. He was escorted into the back of the silver BMW, which then flew away from the kerb in a squeal of tyres.

  As the car disappeared down Rua Redentor, Luiz, sore from hours sitting in the same seat, stood up and stretched languidly.

  ‘So they’ve gone. What now?’

  ‘I’m going back to the station,’ the policeman replied. ‘I’ll see what I can dig up on Cruz – if there are any links to the Comando Negro. Maybe I’ll strike lucky. I’m guessing you’re going back to Santa Marta. Hold on a moment.’

  Oliveira reached inside the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a vibrating mobile phone. He listened carefully as someone spoke to him at length.

  ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll take care of it. Thanks for the heads-up.’

  The policeman snapped his mobile phone shut, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  ‘Change of plan?’ asked Luiz.

  Oliveira nodded. ‘Looks like you may not need to go back to Santa Marta after all,’ he said. ‘That was one of my colleagues. We’ve got a guy from the Comando Negro who claims he can identify the Doctor. I’m going to speak to him now – see if he’s for real.’