Cherished (Adam & Ella) (16 page)

The taxi sped along, and Ella removed the mourning costume. Folding the long coat, she placed it on the floorboard next to her and set the hat with the veil on top. She wouldn’t need them again. Quickly, she changed out of the old-lady pumps and tossed them in the heap. After slipping her jogging shoes back on, she was dressed like she was when she’d left home.

It wasn’t a long drive. She hopped out as soon as the taxi stopped, and handed the driver his fee. With her bag over her shoulder, Ella ran up the steps. The tour center was busy. Walking past posters and racks of brochures, she stepped up to the counter. Her reservation was in the system, and the attendant directed her to the back lot, where the van waited.

Ella slid into a window seat, not wanting to miss anything. The people around her were tourists, so the guide and his assistant spoke English. She’d also verified they spoke Portuguese, as that was going to be important. Once the van filled to capacity, it pulled out and started toward the favela. The others seated around her were from various cultures; she could tell by the different languages. But there were many that spoke English, which was comforting.

Out the window, Ella could already see
favelas. They were never out of sight. The hand-constructed buildings reminded her of a set of blocks. They covered many of the hillsides, crunched together with too many people in too little space. Right next to them skyscrapers and condos soared; the contrast between poverty and affluence striking. She couldn’t imagine another city quite like Rio, with its high mountains rising to the vast blue sky, covered with green from the thick forest. The mountains jutted out of the ground, rising starkly against the endless ocean.

The city around the shoreline was as modern as any, with its tall buildings, wealth of restaurants, and plethora of nightclubs. Rio de Janeiro had to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Yet shoved up against the thriving city were the overcrowded slums, called
favelas. The day before in her online searches, she’d learned it was Brazil’s term for “shanty town.”

The
favelas had a long history, a very interesting one. She was amazed to learn that as of just a couple of years earlier over eleven million people lived in them. For some time, the occupants lived without running water or electricity. Houses were made of cardboard and scrap metal, anything that could be found. It was difficult to imagine living in such unsanitary and polluted conditions, barely secure against the elements.

But Ella’s interest was centered on what the
favelas became: a center for the cocaine trade. Assorted illegal activities leading to high murder rates made the slums prime territory for drug lords to take over. Regular shoot-outs between drug traffickers, police, and criminals made life untenable. The traffickers run by the drug lords took control, guaranteeing safety to individuals in exchange for favors and political support. Order was established in each favela based on reciprocity and respect. Despite high levels of violence, certain segments of the local population felt safe.

The use and sale of drugs were rampant at night when some of the
favelas hosted a dance party called baile. The communities were run by local drug gangs. Ella was astounded to learn that drug sales in some of the occupied areas raked in as much as $150 million a month, according to the Rio media estimates. And that was where Claudio came into the picture.

Adam had told her that his father trafficked cocaine. Drugs and gambling appeared to be his livelihood. Although he might get caught one day, Ella couldn’t wait for that to happen. And even if he was arrested, she had no confidence he’d be detained for long, considering the type of crowd he hung with. Certainly, bribes were effective, and it was likely he’d be out of prison no sooner than he was in.

Ella had another idea. As the van curved over the roads, she gazed at the favelas. They covered the hillside as if a god had scooped up handfuls of homes and strewn them down the hill. There were so many, tossed together in a makeshift way, blotting out the natural mountain environment with thousands of block homes, cluttered together. It was a touching scene, and she was glad that in recent times, some improvements in living standards had been made.

Brazilian
favelas were known as some of the world’s poorest and most dangerous neighborhoods. With government intervention and elite military troops, conditions in some favelas had improved. Still risky environments, the only way to visit was on an organized tour. The gangs were paid by the tour companies to stay quiet and let the tourists have a look.

Taking photographs was limited; tourists were to stay with the group and not wander. Historically, neither locals nor tourists went into the
favelas, fearing for their safety. The tours made it possible to enter, but could not assure absolute immunity. Following the rules and staying in the group was best chance of safe passage.

The guide parked the van, and everyone exited in a group. They stayed together, walking with the lead guide as he narrated, followed by another tour company employee making sure there were no stragglers. He explained that, over the years, people had started to build with bricks and concrete instead of cardboard and rubbish. Almost all houses now had electricity, plumbing, and basic sanitation. Walking through narrow passages between the homes, they saw misery and poverty. They passed children carrying weapons, because in order to eat they might have to rob someone or defend themselves.

The favela was high on the mountain, looking down over the ocean. The scene made Ella think of how precious life was, and spurred her toward her goal. The favelas were a sad story of people forgotten by the rest of the world. Maybe, in some small way, what she was going to do would help. Looking up, she saw wooden porches with uneven slat railings, and laundry hanging across lines, decorating the neighborhood.

Near the top, the group stopped on a level area, and there he was. His description in the media barely did justice to his imposing presence. Almost a mythical figure in the world of organized crime,
Vinicius Gustavo Cardoso looked every bit the underworld drug baron he’d been. Known only as “Gustavo,” he’d risen to the top of the criminal world. Because he could read and write, he could handle accounts, and took charge of a prominent criminal group.

Forming a semi-circle around him, the tourist group looked at the rugged man in awe. Ella glanced at them, and back at the former drug lord. Admiration and respect for him was in everyone’s eyes.
And with good reason. He’d reformed after many years of crime, and had dedicated the rest of his life to helping young people turn away from crime, prison, and high odds of an early death.

The guide had informed the crowd not to applaud, as the noise was unwelcome in the
favela. But all eyes were on Gustavo as he started to speak in Portuguese. The guide translated for the tourists, likely having heard the talk many times. It was new to the audience at that moment, and Ella was spellbound by him, as she was sure the others were.

He stood about five feet, ten inches, thick and muscled. He had dark skin, and appeared to be of Spanish descent. His black hair was shaved so he was nearly bald, and a day of beard growth added to his menacing appearance. Tattoos covered his bare forearms in dark, elaborate designs, which probably had significance in his former career. Wearing a black shirt, black pants, and black shoes, he looked like he’d just stepped from the underworld.

The thing Ella noticed most was his command of the audience. Looking out at the tourists, he commanded them. His powerful stance and booming voice conveyed that he was not a man to cross. She could only imagine how it was for the gang that had followed him—or for any that betrayed him in those years. His inner warmth came through in his tone. Having lived the hard life, his care for those who strove to reform was all the more moving.

Listening to him, Ella heard about his past, some of which she’d learned recently, and some she hadn’t known. Gustavo had served several prison terms, and in excess of ten years of his life was spent behind bars. He described his life as a drug lord, telling the crowd how he had to hide if he left his own
favela. Death threats were common, and his family was no safer than he was. In charge of a large operation then, he had money, women, and jewels.

But he didn’t have what he discovered was most valuable—his freedom. Now, setting an example that a life lived in peace is the only life worth living, he was devoted to helping others turn their life around. Many of the seven hundred and fifty
favelas in the area, still ruled by drug lords, needed help. The pacification project supported by the government had improved conditions in many areas, and he was pleased to see that.

Gustavo did all he could to help: assisting ex-convicts to find jobs, speaking to the youth about alternatives, and even working to convince drug dealers to join programs to pursue new lifestyles and become employable. It was his aim to see others abandon crime and live in peace. If a man with his history could reform and make a better life, then there was hope for anyone. But “many feel hopeless,” he said. His message was that there was hope.

The crowd was silent at the end of his talk. Gustavo nodded toward them in a friendly manner and then began to walk away with his guards. The lead guide turned to talk with the crowd and answer questions. The other tour company employee, called Joseph, nodded at Ella, and she walked with him toward Gustavo.
This better work
, she thought.

Joseph called out in Portuguese and Gustavo stopped. His guards turned to glare, challenging anyone that would approach their charge, uninvited.
“Gustavo.” The words escaped Ella’s mouth before her mind caught up. Finally, she had his attention, and was determined that the opportunity not pass until he’d heard what she had to say.

Gustavo looked at her, his face fierce, yet she didn’t feel animosity. Looking up at the rough, crusty former drug lord, doubts surfaced and her confidence sagged. Pushing away all reasons for hesitating, she squared her shoulders, ready to see through what she’d started. It was no time to let shyness stop her. Speaking in rapid Portuguese, Joseph explained Ella’s request, and she held her breath, fully expecting him to turn and walk away. He didn’t. With a brief smile, he turned to face Ella directly. Joseph translated his words for her.

“You are a bold one. No one approaches me like you have. My reputation probably scares them off. I am on my way to another engagement, but I admire your courage. Go ahead and say what you need to, but I can only delay a few minutes.”

Ella looked up at him. Next to his imposing stature, she felt small. Physically, he was frightening, yet she got only friendly vibes from him. Hardened he was, but he had empathy for those that hadn’t found a different path in life, such as he had. And he fought for reform. That was what she was counting on.

“Joseph explained my intention?”

“Yes, he did,” Gustavo said. “I understand you wish to make a donation to my rehabilitation programs, and for that I am grateful. Much help is needed, and it’s very generous of you.”

Ella was glad he thought so. It was the rest of her savings, and she hoped it was enough to make a difference, but she also hoped a little reciprocity was in order. “The donation is yours with no strings. I will send it to your office.”

“Under what name?
I will watch for it, and make sure it goes to one of my priority projects.” One corner of Gustavo’s mouth turned up, and she wondered if he was being nice or laughing at her. Either way, she plunged ahead.

“I’m Ella Walker. And it’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Gustavo.”
Again, that enigmatic smile.

“But you want my help, is that right?”

“Yes, I feel you are the only one in a position to help me.”

“And what position is that?”

“Because you have connections to the world of crime, especially the drug trade—and even more, because you have chosen to turn away from it and take others with you.”

Gustavo raised his eyebrows.

“Let me explain. For many years, those I love have been threatened by a man in the drug trade, a man that has been dealing cocaine for quite some time—Claudio Bianci.”

“I have heard the name,” Gustavo said.

“Well, he is a danger—not just to us, but now to the church. He’s threatened to harm the church congregation. He would hurt women and children to get what he wants.”

“Which is?”

“Money.”

“Oh, of course.”

“His son, Adam Bianci, has created software that his father wants so he can reap the profits. And if it would keep us safe, he would relinquish it to him. But that wouldn’t end it. He’d just want more and more.”

“That’s always the way.” Gustavo paused for a moment, pressing a finger to his temple. “I’ve read about Adam
Bianci in the papers. It’s been a while. Isn’t he the child prodigy that was writing computer programs at a very young age?”

“Yes, that’s Adam.”

“And you came today, instead of Adam, to speak with me?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here.” Ella looked down, a little off balance. Then she looked into Gustavo’s eyes, seeing he was waiting for her to continue. “You see, Claudio has continued in his life of crime, and would harm those in his path. Your programs are all about reform, and I thought you could help.”