Brazil (8 page)

‘Hey, Livio,’ Luiz said cautiously. ‘What’s going on?’

‘All kinds of shit, man,’ the MC drawled. ‘It’s madness up here.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘There was a gun battle a few hours ago. Some bastards from the Compadres tried to gatecrash a party here.’

‘What happened?’

‘Angel happened,’ Livio replied meaningfully. ‘As soon as he clocked them there was a gun battle. Bullets flying everywhere.’

‘Jesus. Did anyone get shot?’

‘Don’t think so. The Compadres ran for it as soon as they realized they were outnumbered. But the Comando Negro are talking about going to war anyway. It’s an honour thing – you can’t let shit like that go off on your own turf! And if there’s a war, we’re going to need more numbers. I’ve had a word with Angel and he says he’ll see you at seven tomorrow evening at the
favela
.’

‘That’s great!’ Luiz said.

‘I guess,’ Livio slurred back. ‘Don’t know why you’re so eager to get shot at, man. I’m going to go get some pussy before this party ends. See you tomorrow.’

Luiz rang off and put the phone down, his heart thumping. He had done it. He was in.

9. Road Test

As the sun set over Rio, a lone scooter wound its way up the hill towards Santa Marta.

Luiz had spent a long day in Trojan’s warehouse, giving exhaustive descriptions of the gang members he had met. No detail was considered too small. After several hours, one of Trojan’s technicians had built up startlingly accurate e-fits of the Comando Negro on the computer. Richard Madison was pleased with the results.

‘We’ll send these over to Oliveira and see if he recognizes any of them,’ he said, during a meal of skewered chicken. Sucking his fingers clean of grease, Madison passed Luiz a piece of paper with a number on it.

‘What’s this?’ Luiz asked.

‘You can’t come back to the warehouse again. It’s too dangerous now. You hear anything you think we should know about, call this number and arrange a meeting instead. We don’t know who might be listening in, so it’s best to talk face to face.’

The Brit noticed the uncertain look on Luiz’s face. ‘Don’t worry. If anyone else uses this number, it’ll sound like an ordinary pizza place. But if you ask for a large pizza with black olives, you’ll be put straight through to me.’

‘Large pizza, black olives,’ Luiz repeated. He fingered the gold cross around his neck. ‘Is the GPS working OK?’

‘You needn’t worry about that,’ Madison said, laughing. ‘You could go deep-sea diving and we’d find you.’

At this rate they might have to, Luiz thought to himself, as he navigated his scooter up the hill. If the Comando Negro discovered his true identity, he’d probably end up at the bottom of the ocean. If he wasn’t shot dead or microwaved first.

As the
boca
came into view, Luiz was surprised to see the Comando Negro lined up on the brow of the hill, the sun dying a golden death behind them. Angel stood at the head of the gang, his Remington shotgun resting upright against his shoulder, taking a drag from a fat spliff his brother Joker had handed to him. Stripe and Livio were holding a hushed conference with one another, while Dog skulked unnoticed in the background, his white vest stained with mud.

Angel flicked the remains of the spliff on to the road as Luiz steered his scooter to a stop alongside them, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air.

‘So Livio’s been bitching in my ear about how you should be allowed to join the Comando Negro,’ said the
dono
finally. ‘Even though you’re not local, not a Santa Marta boy.’

Luiz spread out his hands. ‘I’m still a
carioca
– Rio born and bred. I just don’t stay in the same
favela
for too long. Never know when the heat’s going to fall on you, you know?’

‘Hear that, boys?’ Angel barked. ‘We got ourselves a nomad!’

Livio frowned. ‘What’s a nomad?’

The
dono
shook his head. ‘You are one pig-shit ignorant soldier, you know that? It means he doesn’t call one place home.’ Angel turned back to Luiz. ‘And now you want to try your luck in Santa Marta.’

‘Just give me a chance,’ Luiz replied. ‘I’ll prove to you I can drive.’

‘We’ll see about that. Be grateful that the Compadres have decided to try and start a turf war with us. I can’t afford to be that choosy about men right now. Here’s the deal.’

At a glance from his older brother, Joker tossed Luiz a large package. Through the clear plastic wrapping, he saw that it was filled with white powder.

‘Our sister needs this,’ Joker said. ‘She’s got a house over in Flamengo. The cops are always on the lookout for us, so we can’t go there.’

‘The quickest route is via the highway,’ rapped Angel. ‘Take it and don’t piss about. This is urgent.’

Flamengo was a large residential district of Rio northeast of Botafogo. Following Angel’s route, it would only take Luiz half an hour to get there on his bike. He tucked the heavy package under his arm.

‘No problem.’

He was about to get on his scooter when Stripe called him back. The blond-haired boy jerked his head at a black 50cc motorbike leaning against the wall of the
boca
.

‘Take my bike.’

‘What’s wrong with mine?’

‘This is the Comando
Negro
, stupid,’ sneered Stripe. ‘We don’t go riding around on white scooters. Take a proper machine.’

Luiz reluctantly walked over to the black motorbike and fired it into life. As he revved the engine, Livio came over with a satchel. ‘Best to put the stuff in this, yeah?’ he said loudly.

‘Cheers, man.’

‘Listen up,’ Livio whispered suddenly, his voice barely audible above the throaty roar of the bike. ‘The highway takes you right through Compadres territory.’

‘What!’

‘As soon as they see you coming all in black, they’re going to start firing. It’s a test, Luiz. Angel won’t trust you until you prove yourself.’

‘Can’t I go a different way?’

Livio shook his head. ‘There’ll be people watching you.’

‘But how the hell am I supposed to get past the Compadres?’

‘Drive fast?’

‘Thanks for that,’ Luiz muttered.

Livio smiled. ‘I’ve seen you drive, remember? You’ll be fine, man.’ The portly MC patted him on the back and stepped away from the bike.

*

As Luiz roared away from the
boca
, Angel watched him, a thoughtful expression on his face. He turned to Joker. ‘What do you reckon?’

His brother shrugged. ‘If he’s as fast as Livio says, maybe he’ll make it through alive.’

‘Stripe?’

The other boy smiled. ‘Dead man walking. Believe me.’ He turned and strolled back into the
favela
, whistling a tune to himself.

Luiz began driving in the direction of Flamengo, dark clouds of anger and confusion scudding across his mind. It felt like everyone was out to get him. Trojan Industries had all but blackmailed him to work for them, claiming that they wanted to bring down the gangs – but now, thanks to them, Luiz was couriering cocaine across Rio. The Comando Negro said they’d give him a chance to join their gang, only to send him straight into a trap. Luiz was sorely tempted to throw the packet into a bin, drive back to his parents’ house and forget all about this mess. But the image of Ana in the police station wouldn’t leave him. His sister was counting on him – he had to do this.

As Luiz rode along the broad, deserted highway, street lights flickered into life above his head. Through the encroaching gloom, he saw a picture of a playing card graffitied on a wall in red spray-paint. It was the King of Diamonds – the tag of the Compadres. He was in enemy territory now. Spying a gang of boys loitering at the side of the highway, Luiz shivered with fearful anticipation. As his black bike zoomed past them, a shout of alarm went up and the evening air was punctured by the crack of a pistol shot.

Luiz sharply twisted the accelerator on the handle, angling the motorbike in a diagonal line away from the Compadres. Risking a quick look back, he saw that two scooters had set off in pursuit. He gunned the 50cc engine again, trying to squeeze every last bit of speed from it. Luiz knew that the Compadres would be contacting one another on their radio phones, word spreading across the
favela
like bushfire. Out here on the highway, he was a sitting duck.

He veered left, heading off down a hill along a narrow road that wound between two rows of shacks. There was another gunshot, then a bullet bit into the road in front of him: a Compadres sniper on the roofs. With no room for manoeuvre, all Luiz could do was bend low over the handlebars and pray that the sniper was unable to get a clear shot at him.

At the bottom of the hill, the way forked. The main part of the road continued to the right, while a dirt track ran off at a sharp angle to the left. Luiz waited until the last second and then threw the motorbike left. The bike skidded on the surface, tipping violently to one side. Clinging on with all his strength, Luiz managed to stay in his seat and sent the bike hurtling down the dirt track.

There was a loud crash behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, Luiz saw the mangled remains of a scooter in the wall at the fork in the road and a boy lying sprawled across the concrete. The other scooter had slowed to negotiate the turn, losing time as it made to follow Luiz.

The dirt track was rough and bumpy; Luiz had to swerve to avoid a pair of chickens scratching around in the dirt. The
favela
was busier here, throbbing to the sound of music and the chatter of the locals as they sat outside their houses in the warm evening. Luiz ploughed on, disregarding the shouts of protest from the onlookers.

Figures were scrambling in the gloom further along the track, dragging large crates into his path. The Compadres were setting up a roadblock. Luiz dived into a side alley, sending the motorbike juddering down a flight of steps. He drove blindly through the darkness, relying on instinct to negotiate a way. With a bump the bike righted itself, as the steps came out on to a mercifully flat passage. At the end of the alley, Luiz recognized the welcoming lights of Rua Pinheiro Machado, the main road that marked the beginning of the Flamengo district. If he could just make it there, he would be safe.

The engine coughed violently beneath him and the motorbike slowed to a crawl. He had run out of petrol.

‘Shit!’

Luiz scrambled off the bike and furiously hurled it to one side. That was why Stripe had made him take it. He wasn’t supposed to get out of the Compadres territory alive.

The dire whine of scooter engines was getting louder in his ears. His pursuers were closing in. He had to move. Holding on to the satchel tightly, Luiz tumbled over a wall and began running round the back of a row of shacks. Meanwhile, in the alleyway, he could hear the Compadres shouting and swearing at one another as they discovered his bike.

‘Spread out!’ one of them called. ‘That Negro bastard can’t have got far.’

Luiz rounded the corner of a shack at pace, only to crash headlong into someone. Startled, he saw a boy his age dressed all in red, a pistol in his hand. Luiz had run straight into a Compadre.

The boy looked at him in amazement, too surprised to raise his gun. Luiz didn’t hesitate, dropping down and sweeping the Compadre’s legs out from under him. As the boy made to shout, Luiz drove a knee into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. The Compadre curled up in pain, allowing Luiz to wrestle the boy’s weapon away from him. He flicked off the safety catch and took aim.

The boy looked up, tears welling in his eyes, to see a gun barrel pointing at him.

‘Please…’ he whimpered.

Luiz broke away, took aim again, then stopped. With an oath, he hurled the pistol into a nearby bush and sprinted away from the boy. Hurdling a low wire fence, he dropped on to Rua Pinheiro Machado and began running into Flamengo. He had escaped.

Twenty minutes later, Luiz found himself jogging down the road where Angel’s sister lived. Compared to Santa Marta, this neighbourhood was a suburban haven of detached houses and neat lawns. After his encounter with the Compadres, the quiet seemed deafening in Luiz’s ears.

He stopped at a small house at the end of the street. Through the glass door, he saw Angel’s sister was waiting for him, cradling a wailing baby in her arms. She barely looked up at him as he entered the house.

‘You’re late,’ she said.

‘Nearly didn’t make it at all.’

The girl placed the baby carefully down in a cot, making soft soothing sounds. Looking at her closely, Luiz thought she was a little bit older than him – eighteen or so. As her baby quietened, she turned briskly to Luiz.

‘You got the stuff?’

Luiz nodded and handed her the package. She gave it a critical glance, then took it into the kitchen, tore open the plastic and – to Luiz’s amazement – calmly began tipping the white powder down the sink.

‘What are you doing?’ Luiz gasped. ‘I nearly died bringing you that! It’s gotta be worth a fortune!’

‘Depends how much you want clean clothes,’ the girl replied, scraping the last of the white crystals from the bag. ‘It’s washing powder.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not like I could tell what brand, but it sure isn’t cocaine.’

‘I nearly got shot… for washing powder?’ Luiz muttered in disbelief.

‘Hey, it’s not like you
had
to drive through Compadres territory either. It was a test, wasn’t it? And my brother isn’t called Joker for nothing.’ Noticing the dumbfounded look on his face, she punched Luiz playfully on the arm. ‘Cheer up. You made it, didn’t you? You’re a member of the Comando Negro!’

Luiz nodded dumbly, slumping against the sideboard. The girl tossed the torn packet into a bin.

‘Now it gets
really
dangerous,’ she said, and laughed.

10. Dog Sitting

Unwilling to take any more risks that evening, Luiz caught a bus back through town, steering well clear of Compadres territory. By the time he had returned to Santa Marta, it was the middle of the night. Word must have got through that Luiz had passed the test, because the guards at the
boca
waved him in. There was no one he knew waiting for him, though, and he didn’t have a clue where he was supposed to go.