Brazil (15 page)

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 sat 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.’

‘Really? Where?’

‘Polinter prison,’ replied Oliveira, a shadow crossing his face as he spoke.

18. Prison Break

Oliveira drove through Rio’s downtown traffic in an unmarked red car, visibly unhappy at the presence of Luiz alongside him. When the boy had first suggested accompanying him to the prison, the policeman had flatly refused.

‘No way,’ he said. ‘You have no idea what it’s like in there. And, believe me, you don’t want to.’

‘I don’t care!’ Luiz shot back. ‘Let me come with you. Then I can check this guy out and see if he’s on the level.’

Oliveira raised an eyebrow. ‘You worried I might get hoodwinked by one of these geniuses?’

‘I’m the one who’s been hanging out with the Comando Negro, not you. I’ll be able to tell you in a second if he’s bullshitting. You need me there!’

‘It’s not safe. Jesus, Luiz, I can’t take a kid with me into Polinter!’

‘The prisoners are behind bars, aren’t they? Anyway, you’ll be with me.’ Luiz paused before continuing quietly, ‘Look, the sooner we find out who the Doctor is, the sooner I can get Ana out of the police station. She’s not going to spend one more second in there than she has to.’

Oliveira muttered something under his breath.

‘You’re as bad as Jordan, you know that?’ he said finally.

‘It’s my sister, Juan,’ Luiz replied simply. ‘Would you sit around and wait?’

The policeman blew out his cheeks and reluctantly gestured towards his car. Now they drove in a tense silence, neither of them sure what to say to the other.

‘So why’s this guy talking, anyway?’ Luiz asked eventually, as the car came to a stop at traffic lights. ‘If word gets out that he’s informing on the Comando Negro, they’ll kill him in a heartbeat.’

‘Well, he’s not doing it out of the goodness of his heart. In exchange for the information, he wants us to get him out of Polinter.’

‘And will you?’

‘If he leads us to the Doctor, I’ll unlock the cell door myself. But I’ll believe it when I see it. These guys are full of bullshit – they’ll do anything to get out. You’re right about one thing, though: the informer’s not safe. There’s almost as many gang members in Rio’s prisons as there are in the
favelas
.’ Oliveira turned in his seat to look at Luiz. ‘You want to understand the gangs in Rio, you gotta understand the prisons, son. If you’re not a gang member when you go inside, chances are you will be by the time you come out. You don’t survive these sorts of places on your own. The Compadres actually began in prison. So did the Quarto Comando. Being a new gang, the Comando Negro are badly outnumbered in Polinter, and that’s not a good situation to be in.’

‘They’d better stay out of prison, then.’

‘Believe me when I say that your pals in the Comando Negro will end up one of two ways: lying face down in the dirt with a bullet in their head or here. Either way, they’re screwed. In prison, quite literally.’

‘There’s no hope for them?’

‘Put it this way: you seen any old gangsters walking around Santa Marta, holding up people with their canes?’

Luiz fell silent. The policeman had a point.

‘Look,’ Oliveira continued. ‘I’m not saying that I don’t understand their position. These kids have got no money, no education, no prospects. If you’re rich and live in Rio, you live like a king. If you’re poor, you live like shit. But that doesn’t give you the right to go around robbing and shooting people.’

‘Not everyone in the Comando Negro is a bad guy,’ Luiz protested. ‘Guys like Livio are OK – they just don’t think they’ve got any choice. It’s not like anyone outside of the
favela
is going to give them a job.’

Oliveira raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I live in Borel
favela
and I don’t deal drugs.’

‘
You
live in a
favela
? But you’re a cop!’

‘You noticed?’ Oliveira replied, laughing.

‘I mean – how come no one’s tried to kill you?’

‘Because no one knows what I do. I keep the badge hidden until I get outside of Borel. Like I say, Luiz, there’s always a choice.’

Casting his mind back, Luiz remembered Jordan saying something similar when they met. Not for the first time, he was struck by the fluid lines between right and wrong in Rio – the corrupt politicians, the friendly gang members, the ‘black ops’ organization that had forced him to go back to Santa Marta. He had a sneaking suspicion that the gruff policeman was in fact the best of them all.

Oliveira indicated left and drove into Polinter’s car park. From the outside, the prison – a small, nondescript white building in the centre of Rio – looked like nothing more than an office block. A queue of people had formed outside for visiting hours, their arms folded and their faces subdued.

Oliveira parked the car, then reached into his glove compartment and handed Luiz a black balaclava. ‘Put this on.’

‘Why?’

‘Polinter’s filled with gang members, remember? Do you really want word getting back to the Comando Negro that you’re walking round with a cop?’

‘Oh, right.’

Luiz put on the balaclava, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He scurried after Oliveira as the policeman marched past the waiting queue and through the main entrance, flashing his badge at the guards at the security check. A couple of the guards nodded at him in recognition.

They made their way deep into the bowels of the building, until the sunlight was replaced by a fetid gloom. The final checkpoint was at the end of a long corridor, where two men were standing guard at a door, pump-action shotguns in their hands.

Oliveira flashed his badge at one of the men, who glanced at Luiz.

‘Who’s your masked friend?’

‘Informer. He’s helping me out on a case.’

The guard shrugged. ‘Whatever. You know the drill. Inside there, you’re on your own. Get into trouble, don’t expect us to come rushing in to save you.’

‘You’re all heart,’ Oliveira replied sarcastically. He turned to Luiz. ‘Stay close to me, OK?’

Pushing through the doors, they walked straight into hell.

The first thing that hit Luiz was the stench, a stomach-churning mix of sweat, excrement and burning electricity so strong he could almost taste it. He had to fight the urge to vomit. Looking around the hall, he saw that Polinter was filled with rows of metal cages. Jammed with ten times the number of people they were designed for, the cages were so overcrowded that the inmates were forced to stand up, their limbs spilling out through the bars. There were so many bodies in such a small space that there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the air. Sweat dripped from the ceiling like rain. The floor beneath Luiz’s feet was slippery with murky liquid and the walls were smeared with brown stains.

Luiz frowned. ‘I can’t see any guards. Where are they?’

‘They don’t usually come this far into the prison,’ replied Oliveira, warily scanning the room. ‘The only law that exists in this place is survival of the fittest.’

As he surveyed the cages, Luiz thought of the Comando Negro. Maybe Angel could survive in here, but Joker? Livio? Imagining the friendly MC in this hellhole, he shuddered, instinctively drawing closer to Oliveira’s side.

The policeman walked grimly past the cells, his jaw set and his hand resting on the handle of his gun. There were no cots inside the cages, merely hammocks fashioned from items of clothing. At the sight of the two newcomers, the prisoners reached out through the bars, their arms dangling imploringly towards them. Luiz couldn’t look them in the eye. Instead he glanced at the rows of plastic bags and bottles hanging down the outside of the cage bars. He nudged Oliveira.

‘What are they for?’

‘The bags are filled with shit, the bottles with piss,’ the policeman replied. ‘There aren’t any toilets here and the maids don’t come round very often.’

Luiz made a face. ‘Ugh. That’s gross.’

‘Tell me about it. Listen, while we’re on the subject of hygiene – whatever you do, don’t look up at the ceiling. The place is so filthy that the drips will give you eye infections. There’re so many diseases in this place you’ll probably get the plague.’ He glanced at Luiz. ‘Still glad you came with me?’

‘No,’ Luiz replied truthfully. ‘But I’m here now. Where’s the informer?’

Oliveira pointed down the corridor. ‘The Comando Negro cells are this way.’

Although Luiz was slowly becoming accustomed to the dreadful smell, the humid atmosphere inside Polinter was making him feel dizzy. Sweat was pouring down his back, soaking his shirt. As he followed Oliveira through the prison, Luiz was surprised to hear the sound of voices singing. Turning a corner, he looked on with astonishment at the scene before him.

A church choir was standing on top of a makeshift stage, women in long, bright blue robes who clapped their hands together as they raised their voices to the heavens. At the front of the stage, a man in a suit was preaching into a microphone about God and redemption. A group of prisoners had been allowed out of their cages and were listening raptly as the man spoke, waving their hands in the air and cheering in agreement.

‘What the hell’s this?’ Luiz whispered.

‘Evangelicals,’ replied Oliveira. ‘They visit the prison from time to time, trying to convert the inmates to Christianity. There’re plenty of sinners to save here. They sing, they pray, they exorcize the prisoners’ demons. Come on – this isn’t a sightseeing tour.’

As they moved away, the preacher with the microphone stepped into the audience of inmates and touched one of them on the forehead, chanting in a strange tongue Luiz couldn’t understand. The prisoner collapsed to the ground and began writhing around as though he was on fire. The inmates around him roared their approval as the choir sang on and the preacher continued to speak in tongues.

Then, above the sound of the choir, Luiz heard a blood-curdling scream. It had come from one of the cells at the far end of the hall.

‘Shit!’ Oliveira swore, pulling a pistol from his belt.

The policeman broke into a run as another scream rent the air, before abruptly ceasing. Polinter was alive with noise now, the prisoners bouncing up and down in their cages like monkeys, hollering and whooping. As Luiz raced after Oliveira, the choir responded to the noise by breaking into a chorus at the top of their lungs. The inmate being exorcized was now foaming at the mouth, his limbs thrashing so violently that other prisoners were trying to pin him down.

Oliveira had stopped at a cell at the end of the corridor and was leaning on the bars as he peered inside. Catching up with the policeman, Luiz saw that the inmates beyond had pressed themselves against one side of the cage, revealing a body lying sprawled on the floor.

‘Don’t look, Luiz,’ Juan said softly.