Brazil (7 page)

Up ahead, the road banked sharply, creating a narrow funnel where it curved to the right. There was a building on the corner at the narrowest point, sandbags piled up around its base. A group of boys were milling around the doorway, openly parading their guns. Some were carrying satchels: they would be filled, Luiz knew, with one-gram wraps of cocaine in clear plastic bags.

As he approached, one of the boys stepped forward, levelled his firearm at him and shouted at Luiz to stop. Luiz recognized the weapon from one of Richard Madison’s training sessions – an FAL self-loading rifle, powerful enough to punch a sizeable hole through the toughest metal. With a sinking heart, he realized something else as well.

MC Livio was nowhere to be seen.

Luiz slowly brought his scooter to a stop and dismounted.

‘Who the hell are you?’ spat the boy. ‘This
favela
belongs to the Comando Negro. You got a death wish or something?’

‘I’m meeting someone here,’ Luiz said, trying to keep calm. ‘MC Livio – you know him?’

The boy laughed harshly. ‘Everyone round here knows Livio. That don’t make them his friend. And it sure don’t make you mine.’

As a pregnant silence descended, another guard, older than the first, appeared in the doorway of the checkpoint. He stalked over and pushed the other boy in the shoulder.

‘Who’s this – your new boyfriend?’ he said venomously. ‘You know that Angel don’t want no strangers hanging around the
boca
. Are you going to deal with him or not?’

The mood outside the
boca
was turning ugly. Luiz silently cursed the MC. Was he late or had he just forgotten about him? On the roof of a building beyond the checkpoint, he saw something metallic glinting in the sunlight. More weaponry. Luiz knew that there were firing positions all over the rooftops around the
boca
. It would only take one jumpy finger on the trigger and he would be mowed down in a hail of bullets. He turned around, slowly raising his hands in the air.

‘I don’t want any trouble,’ he said. ‘I’m not carrying any guns. Check me if you want.’

Luiz felt the rifle jab him in the back. ‘I don’t give a shit
what
you’re carrying. You’d need an army to get past us. Down on your knees.’

‘Just wait for Livio and he’ll –’

The other boy smashed the gun against the back of Luiz’s legs, sending him sprawling to the floor.

‘Wait!’ a voice called out.

His heart leaping with relief, Luiz saw MC Livio labouring up the hill towards them, a bulky brown paper bag in his arms.

‘He’s with me,’ the MC called out. ‘Don’t shoot!’

The gang member swore loudly. ‘You cut it pretty fine, Livio,’ he shouted back. ‘Five more seconds and your friend here would be looking for his brains in the road. What are you doing telling strangers to meet you at the
boca
?’

‘I’m here now, aren’t I? It’s all cool.’ Livio pulled Luiz to his feet with a pudgy hand. ‘Sorry I’m late, Luiz. Took me longer to sort my shit out than I thought.’

‘Just glad you got here when you did.’

‘Come on, let’s go.’

Nodding at the gang members, Livio moved past the
boca
and into Santa Marta. Luiz took a deep breath and followed him.

8. Santa Marta

Luiz stepped into a riot of colour and noise.

Santa Marta was a warren of alleyways and backstreets that criss-crossed the steep hillside, cutting pathways through rows of rickety, tin-roofed shacks. Many dwellings had been built directly on top of one another, forming precarious tower blocks that looked as though one strong gust of wind could topple them over. They were painted in bright, Day-Glo paint, vibrant shades of pinks and yellows overlaid with Comando Negro graffiti: not just the now-familiar CN gravestone, but vivid murals showing gang members engaged in gun battles with rivals from the Compadres and Quarto Comando. Almost every house seemed to double as a shop, hand-painted signs advertising everything from Cheetos and lollipops to beer and bottled gas. Above Luiz’s head, tangled webs of cables conducted illegally tapped electricity back to the houses.

The narrow streets were breathless with activity, young boys kicking footballs around while old women struggled with shopping bags. Shouts of laughter overlapped with scooter horns and blaring TV sets. Somewhere further up the hill, a thumping beat was blasting out from a sound system. Luiz’s nostrils were filled with a combustible mixture of diesel, sewage and barbecued meat, while the pungent aroma of marijuana hung thickly in the air. As he looked around the
favela
, memories of his childhood came flooding back and it was hard for Luiz to keep the smile from his face. He realized that, no matter how much time he had spent in the suburbs, a tiny part of him would always be a
favela
boy.

Wherever they went in Santa Marta, everyone they passed in the alleyways seemed to know Livio. Old women called out to him and young girls blew kisses at him. The MC took it in his stride, nodding and smiling at them, his gaze lingering on the prettiest girls. He puffed as he toiled up the steep incline, shifting the brown paper bag in his arms.

‘What’s in the bag?’ Luiz asked curiously.

The MC gave him a long look, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘Medicine for my little girl,’ he said. ‘She’s not been so well and it’s not easy getting her to a doctor. My wife would have killed me if I hadn’t brought it back.’

Luiz glanced at Livio. Though he knew that many of the young boys in the
favelas
had families, the MC was barely a year older than him, and Luiz couldn’t begin to imagine taking care of a wife and kids. He was about to ask Livio about his family when the MC gestured for silence.

They had come to the end of a long alleyway and now found themselves in a small, dusty square surrounded on all sides by shacks covered in Comando Negro graffiti. The joyful energy of the
favela
had disappeared – despite the muggy heat, the atmosphere in the square felt cold.

Livio grabbed Luiz’s arm. ‘We’re here. Leave the talking to me at first, OK? The Comando Negro don’t know you and they hate surprises.’

There were only three people in the square, lounging around the entrance to one of the shacks. A boy wearing a bright yellow Brazilian football shirt and orange Ray-Bans was straddling a low wall, music pumping out of a stereo beside him. He drummed the wall in time with the beat. An older boy with bleached-blond hair and a long scar running down his face was slouched on the shack’s steps, a bored expression on his face. Slightly removed from his companions, a younger, lighter-skinned boy in a dirty T-shirt was sitting on the ground, scratching at the dusty earth with a stick. Unlike the other two – whose semi-automatic pistols were visible in the waistband of their shorts – he didn’t appear to be armed. The boy jumped up excitedly when he saw Livio approaching.

‘Hey!’ he cried. ‘Look who’s back!’

‘You know it!’ Livio greeted him gleefully, slapping his palm in a greeting. ‘Can’t keep a good man down, Dog.’

‘Word was you got arrested,’ said Dog, in a high-pitched voice. ‘How did you get away?’

‘You should have seen it!’ Livio replied. ‘As soon as we stepped out of the police station some dude started firing at the cops!’

‘Who?’

‘Who knows? Could have been one of the Comando Negro, could have been another gang. There’s enough people in Rio who want to take a shot at the police, aren’t there?’

‘It wasn’t the Comando Negro,’ the boy with the scar said. ‘We would have known about it.’

‘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.