Brazil (2 page)

Kicking his motorbike into life, Stripe drove quickly away down a side street. Joker swore loudly and gestured for the rest of the Comando Negro to follow suit. They sped off in an angry whine of engines, leaving the bus stationary in the middle of the road, the rain beginning to collect in puddles around it.

2. Blood Relative

The children filed out of Sacred Heart School amid riotous laughter, relieved to have escaped for another day. To Luiz Alves, who was walking quickly through the jostling crowds, the loud shouts and giggles sounded like a chorus of zoo animals. Fifteen years old, with light-brown skin, curly black hair and broad shoulders that filled out his white school shirt, Luiz moved with a quiet self-assurance that suggested he didn’t mind being on his own.

Sacred Heart was a private school set in the heart of Botafogo, a bustling, middle-class neighbourhood of Rio, where the streets were dotted with cafes, museums and bookshops. With the school charging expensive fees, the pupils were a mixture of foreign students and children from well-to-do local families. English was the language heard in the corridors and the classrooms, not Brazilian Portuguese. While Sacred Heart could boast state-of-the-art computer rooms and sports facilities, the security cameras at the school exits and the high iron railings provided a constant reminder that not everywhere in Rio was as affluent, or as safe.

As Luiz walked away down the street, a football flew past his ear and he heard a familiar voice cry out, ‘Hey, asshole!’

He turned to see his friend Gui standing by the gates, his arm draped over the shoulder of a pretty blonde girl. ‘We’re going down to the beach,’ he called out. ‘You coming?’

Luiz shook his head. ‘It’s Ana’s birthday,’ he shouted back. ‘I’ve got to go home.’

Gui shrugged. ‘Your loss, asshole! See you tomorrow.’

With a wave, Luiz turned away. As he walked off, he heard Gui’s girl scream with laughter. Ordinarily Luiz wouldn’t have thought twice about going with them, but today was different. His younger sister, Ana, was turning fourteen and he wanted to be home when she got back from school. Their foster parents, Francesco and Mariella, were in São Paulo for two weeks, researching an exclusive story for
O Globo
, the newspaper they both worked for. When they returned, the family was going out for a special meal in one of the posh restaurants in the Zona Sul, but for tonight it was going to be just Luiz and Ana.

Life hadn’t always been so comfortable. Luiz and Ana had grown up in very different surroundings, in the sprawling
favela
of Santa Marta that clung to the hillside overlooking Botafogo. Abandoned by their dad after Ana’s birth, they were brought up by their mum on her own. When she succumbed to cancer, a local priest had come to the rescue, taking Luiz and Ana in and contacting an adoption agency. A week later, Francesco and Mariella had arrived to collect them from the mission, and had then introduced them to their new home in Botafogo.

Settling in hadn’t been easy. On Luiz’s first day at Sacred Heart, one of the kids had made the mistake of laughing at his coarse
favela
accent. It had taken three teachers to prise Luiz off him and the other boy had had to go to hospital. Luiz had nearly been expelled on his very first day; after that, the other pupils gave him a wide, wary berth, as if he were a dangerous animal or a leper. In the end it had been Gui – irrepressible, fun-loving Gui – who had plonked himself down next to Luiz during a maths lesson and started cracking jokes. They had been best friends ever since.

Gradually Luiz had begun to feel more at home. He managed to rein in his temper and stopped taking offence at every perceived slight. It had been two years since he had last been in a fight – Ana joked that he was turning into a pacifist. Luiz knew that his anger would never entirely disappear, though, that it bubbled somewhere deep within his soul. Nor had he forgotten about Santa Marta. For all the dangers of the
favela
, Luiz missed its vibrancy, the energy that crackled through the streets. He wasn’t stupid – he knew what his life would be like if he was still up there. He’d probably be in one of the gangs, selling drugs. There were only so many ways you could make money in the
favelas
, especially without parents, and you had to eat. Even so, walking underneath the shadow of Santa Marta every day, it was hard not to feel the occasional pang of regret.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, Luiz looked up the hillside at the cramped dwellings piled on top of one another, at the makeshift buildings with their slanting roofs and the winding, treacherously narrow alleyways. A long time had passed since he had last been back to Santa Marta – four years, maybe. At first he had cut school to sneak up to the
favela
, meeting with his old friends and laughing about his new life. Eventually, tired of the arguments caused by Luiz slipping out, Ana had made him promise not to go back. She had a habit of making Luiz do things he didn’t want to. Little sisters were like that, he grumbled to himself.

If Luiz had taken time to come to terms with their new life, Ana had fitted in seamlessly. Bubbly and popular, she had quickly caught up with her schoolwork and was soon outstripping her classmates. Earlier that very year, she had won the lead in the school play. Watching Ana up on the stage, Luiz felt he would burst with pride.

Now his sister had set her heart on becoming a journalist like their foster parents and was getting work experience at
O Globo
. In the last few weeks, Ana had been spending increasing amounts of time researching a piece she was hoping to show the editors at the newspaper. No matter how much Luiz teased her about her big ‘scoop’, she refused to talk about it. It was typical Ana – when she had her heart set on something, she went out and got it. Unlike her brother. God only knew what Luiz was going to do when he left school. He could just about keep up in class but was no rocket scientist – as Gui was quick to point out.

Luiz shook his head. Missing the beach for his sister’s birthday was one thing, but his best friend would piss himself laughing if he could see Luiz pondering such deep thoughts.

Home was a detached house down a quiet residential street. As he turned the key in the front door, Luiz wasn’t surprised to find that he had got back before Ana. He flicked on the television, then began rooting around in the fridge for something to eat. The news was still showing footage of the bus that had been held up two days ago, the camera focusing on the bloodstained window where Nene Barbosa had been killed. Something about this murder – the sheer senselessness of it – seemed to have shocked the city. Luiz could understand that. Only a month ago, he had watched Nene playing basketball for Flamengo, marvelling at the fact that the boy was only a year older than him. And now someone had shot him in the head.

The camera cut to a press conference on the steps of a police station. A bulky man in an expensive suit was standing in front of a bank of microphones, sweat glistening on top of his bald head.

‘Councillor Cruz,’ one of the reporters called out, ‘I’ve been told that the police suspect the Barbosa murder was the work of the same gang responsible for the looting of the jewellery store in Ipanema – a gang calling themselves the Comando Negro. Can you confirm or deny these reports?’

The bald man held up his hands. ‘The police are still carrying out their investigations and I’m not prepared to comment directly yet. What I will say is that – whatever name they call themselves – this pack of
favela
hoodlums has extinguished the life of one of Rio’s most promising young men. Be assured that I will not rest until the animals responsible are in prison.’

Luiz shook his head. Councillor Jorge Cruz was always on the television bad-mouthing the
favelas
. He made it sound as though everyone who lived in the shanty towns was a member of a gang. Luiz’s foster parents reckoned that there was something fishy about Cruz himself – his dad had investigated several shady business deals that had the councillor’s fingerprints on them but could never prove anything. Not everyone in Rio had such a bad opinion of the
favelas
, but idiots like Cruz didn’t help matters.

Luiz changed the channel to MTV and slumped down on the couch with a sandwich. He was dozing through an R&B video when he heard the front door open. Finally, Ana was back.

‘You took your time,’ he called out. ‘You’re late for your own party!’

‘No one said anything about a party,’ a man’s voice replied.

Luiz sprang up from the sofa as three strangers walked casually into the room. Dressed in business suits, they carried themselves with the calm self-confidence of policemen. None of them bothered to flash any ID cards, however, and they had just walked uninvited into Luiz’s house.

‘Who are you?’ he said.

‘Nice place,’ one of the men said conversationally, ignoring the question.

Shorter than his two companions, he was wearing dark sunglasses. He picked up a vase Luiz’s mum had brought back from a trip to Europe and inspected it curiously.

‘What do you want?’ Luiz asked, his heart beating loudly.

‘Just a chat. Nothing to get excited about,’ the man replied. He glanced around the room. ‘Perhaps here isn’t the best place, though.’

‘I can’t go anywhere,’ Luiz said, stalling. ‘My sister’s gone to the shops and she hasn’t got a key.’

The man glanced up sharply and put down the vase. ‘That’s not a good start,’ he said. ‘All we want is a chat and already you’re lying to us. Ana’s not at the shops. What you should be asking yourself, Luiz, is – where is she?’

He knew their names. Luiz’s blood froze.

‘What do you mean, where is she? Is Ana all right? What have you done with her?’

‘Such a lot of questions!’ the man said, smiling. ‘Why don’t you come with us and we’ll talk about it?’

‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where Ana is,’ Luiz replied stubbornly.

One of the other men clamped a hand down on Luiz’s arm.

‘Get moving, you little shit,’ he said.

Luiz didn’t even think about it. Instinctively he swung his left elbow into the man’s face, felt his nose crumple on impact. The man cried out and staggered back, clutching his face. Immediately Luiz was on his toes, vaulting over the couch as the man with the sunglasses leaned over to grab him. As the third man raced to cut off the doorway, Luiz kicked him hard in the kneecap. He was rewarded by a loud curse and a clumsy punch thrown in his direction. Stepping neatly out of the way, Luiz caught the man on the side of the head with a punch of his own and watched him drop to the floor. Then he whirled round to take on his final assailant.

Too late.

The man with the sunglasses was standing right behind him, a black taser in his hand. He pressed the trigger, firing two darts through Luiz’s clothes and into his skin. A sheet of white pain enveloped Luiz, and he screamed in agony as he fell to the floor. As he lay there, limbs trembling, unable to fight back, the man produced a cloth from his pocket and pressed it over Luiz’s face. For a second he was overwhelmed by a sickly sweet smell and then everything went black.

3. Trojan Industries

Luiz came to, and immediately wished that he hadn’t. There was a thundering pain in his head and a sour taste in his mouth. It felt as though someone had dropped an anvil on his skull.

Blearily, he took in his new surroundings. He was stretched out on a couch in a small office, the air conditioning humming softly above his head. The room was dominated by a burnished wooden desk, upon which a laptop lay open next to a jug of water. A row of filing cabinets ran the length of the left-hand wall, while a leafy plant pot had been positioned in the far right-hand corner. Through the blinds in the window, Rio’s skyline was darkening with the onset of evening.

Struggling to sit upright, Luiz found himself face to face with a man in a chair that had been reversed so he could rest his arms upon its back. He was tall and black, wearing a crisp shirt and pinstriped trousers. A diamond stud gleamed in his left ear. Although no longer a young man – his short black hair was flecked with grey – he was well built, his clothes failing to disguise his muscular physique. The man watched Luiz intently through a pair of angular glasses.

‘Headache?’ he asked, in a deep American accent.

Luiz nodded, the motion sending shooting pains through his skull.

‘My apologies. My men were told not to hurt you, but it appears you caught them off guard. You broke Freddie’s nose.’

It was said matter-of-factly, without reproach. The man stood up and walked over to his desk, pouring a glass of water from a jug and handing it to Luiz.

‘You pack quite a punch for a young man,’ he continued. ‘I’m guessing you’ve had some martial arts training?’

‘Capoeira,’ mumbled Luiz. ‘My parents thought it would help my temper.’

‘And did it?’

‘Most of the time.’ Luiz took a cautious sip of water. ‘Where am I?’

‘In my office. My name’s Jordan. Darius Jordan.’

‘What do you want with me?’

Jordan leaned against his desk, his steely gaze never wavering from Luiz.

‘There was something I wanted to discuss with you. A business arrangement, if you will.’

Luiz gingerly touched the swollen bump on his head. ‘You’ve got a funny way of doing business,’ he said ruefully.

Jordan smiled, taking him by surprise. ‘Not everything can be done by the book, Luiz. I should have thought you of all people would understand that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Let’s just say I know more about you than you realize.’

Moving over to the filing cabinet, Jordan removed a large brown folder and began leafing through it.

‘What’s that?’ Luiz asked curiously.

‘You,’ Jordan replied, pursing his lips as he scanned a piece of paper. ‘This file contains the life history of Luiz Alves: birth certificate, adoption papers, arrest record…’

‘Where did you get that?’

‘You can get hold of anything if you ask the right people.’ Jordan glanced up at Luiz. ‘Do you know what I find interesting about this file? There are two different people here. The Luiz who lives in Botafogo now with his foster parents seems like a nice, quiet kid. Perhaps not the best at school, but he keeps his head down, doesn’t cause any trouble.