Brazil (11 page)

Stripe whirled round and glared at Joker.

‘Are you blind?’ he shouted back. ‘The ball bobbled up! Lousy pitch!’

He kicked the goalpost so hard it shivered. As Joker continued to point and laugh, Luiz saw a look of concern cross Livio’s face. Stripe didn’t have a sense of humour at the best of times and he was being humiliated in public here.

‘Cut it out, Joker,’ the MC called out. ‘The ball
did
bobble – I saw it.’

The boy ignored him. ‘Don’t worry, Stripe. Football’s not your game, that’s all. Why don’t we stop and play net-ball instead?’

No one else would have dared to mock Stripe in this way. But then, Joker was Angel’s kid brother. Touch him and the
dono
of the Comando Negro would come after you with his shotgun. Not even Stripe was crazy enough to take Angel on.

The opposition had stopped playing and were milling around nervously.

On the other side of the pitch, Dog clapped his hands together. ‘Why have we stopped playing? Next goal the winner!’

Stripe paused, then broke away from the group and stalked towards his goalkeeper, ignoring Livio’s attempts to call him back. As Stripe closed in on him, Dog waved his hands in the air.

‘Hey, Stripe, come on! What are you doing?’

Saying nothing, Stripe walked right up to Dog and head-butted him in the face. The younger boy squealed with pain, clutching his nose as he collapsed to the floor. Following up, Stripe kicked Dog viciously in the ribs. There were horrified murmurs from the crowd; one of the girls buried her face in her friend’s shoulder and started to cry.

‘We’ll start playing when I say so!’ Stripe bellowed. ‘You hear me, you little shit?’

They cast two dark silhouettes against the blazing sunlight: one lying on the floor, the other standing threateningly over him. Luiz watched in horror as Stripe reached down to his sock, pulled a miniature .22 pistol free from its strapping and took deliberate aim at Dog’s head.

‘Hey!’ Luiz cried out. ‘Leave him alone!’

Racing over to Stripe, he grabbed hold of his left arm and pulled him away. For a second a look of astonishment passed across Stripe’s face, as though he couldn’t believe anyone would dare to stop him. Then he spun around and pointed the .22 at Luiz, his hand shaking with rage.

‘You don’t get to tell me anything,’ the boy spat. ‘Joker’s got Angel to protect him. That fat MC has got friends all over the
favela
. Even this little shit Dog probably isn’t worth the bullet. But you, Luiz? I don’t care what anyone says – you aren’t Comando Negro. I wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet right
here
.’ Stripe pressed his index finger between Luiz’s eyes. ‘In fact, I’d enjoy it.’

‘It’s just a game of football, Stripe,’ Luiz said softly.

Stripe looked around at the crowd watching him.

‘Forget it,’ he muttered, stuffing the miniature pistol into his shorts’ pocket. ‘Game’s over.’

He stomped off the pitch, barging his way through the group of girls. The pitch had plunged into silence. Though everyone in Santa Marta had witnessed violence at one time or another, the suddenness of Stripe’s explosion had still been shocking. Even Joker looked taken aback.

Luiz crouched by Dog, patting him on the shoulder as the little boy sobbed uncontrollably, his face drenched with blood and his nose twisted out of shape.

Livio walked towards them, shaking his head.

‘Pretty brave, getting involved like that,’ the MC said. ‘Stripe’s not going to forget, you know.’

‘I know,’ Luiz nodded, watching Stripe disappear into the
favela
. ‘Neither am I.’

13. Room Service

An uncomfortable silence hung over Santa Marta.

Luiz was sitting in the small
favela
square outside Angel’s shack with the leaders of the Comando Negro, the sunlight beating down on the back of his neck. Livio had disappeared off on a mysterious errand and Dog had been in hiding since the football game, presumably licking his wounds. That left Luiz with only Angel, Joker and Stripe for company – and he didn’t feel comfortable with any of them. The two brothers spoke to one another in low murmurs, while Stripe ignored Luiz, wrapped up in checking his new gun: a chrome-plated AK-47 assault rifle. The blond-haired boy had stopped speaking to Luiz altogether, apparently content with shooting him the occasional murderous glance.

Luiz was relieved when the quiet was finally broken by a beeping horn. A battered Chevrolet rounded the corner and pulled into the square. Through the dirty windscreen, Luiz saw that Livio was in the front seat, his tongue poking out with concentration as he peered over the steering wheel.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Luiz, as the car rolled to a stop in a cloud of dust.

It was Angel who replied. ‘The Doctor’s set up a deal in the Zona Sul. We need wheels.’

‘You’re dealing outside Santa Marta?’ said Luiz in surprise. ‘Bit risky, isn’t it?’

‘It’s worth it,’ replied Angel. ‘Some big-shot businessman staying in the Hotel Real wants to buy a load of blow. It’s going to make us a fortune.’

Stripe shrugged, brushing his fingers across his nostrils. ‘Inside the
favela
, outside the
favela
– who gives a shit? We’re Comando Negro. If anyone gets in our way, we open fire.’

Joker circled Livio’s car, kicking the tyres suspiciously. ‘This is a real shitheap, Livio. Why couldn’t you have got something classy like a Porsche or a Ferrari? I can’t have no women seeing me driving around in this!’

‘It was the best I could do!’ Livio protested, as he climbed out of the car. ‘Angel asked me to get a car – I got him a car. No one said anything about Porsches and Ferraris!’

‘With good reason,’ Angel said. ‘No one’s going to look twice at us in that. Cops see us driving round the Zona Sul in a Porsche, they’re going to pull us over.’ He cuffed his brother around the back of the head. ‘You need to stop thinking with your dick all the time, Rafael. This is serious.’

It was the first time Luiz had heard anyone call Joker by his real name. Although the
dono
had said it softly, his brother’s face fell and he went silent. The mood in the square had changed as suddenly as the current at Ipanema Beach – when the Comando Negro prepared for action, the wise-cracks stopped. Watching the gang calmly loading their guns, Luiz was reminded who he was dealing with. They were drug dealers and killers – even Livio, who was hauling two suitcases filled with cocaine into the boot of the car.

Mindful of his last run-in with Angel, Luiz stood in the background and kept his mouth shut. He was surprised, therefore, when the
dono
sought him out and came over to speak to him.

‘Heard you stepped in with Stripe the other day,’ he said. ‘Takes a lot of balls to do that.’

‘Someone had to do something,’ replied Luiz. ‘He was going to kill Dog.’

Angel scrutinized him closely, his brown eyes betraying a fierce intelligence. Despite his fearsome reputation as a killer, the
dono
wasn’t all muscle. Eventually Angel nodded, as though he had made up his mind about something.

‘Get in,’ he said, jerking his head towards the car.

‘You want me to come with you?’ Luiz asked, surprised.

‘Think I’m going to let Livio drive? I haven’t got a death wish, asshole.’

Angel barked with laughter – the first time Luiz had heard that sound from him – and punched him on the shoulder. The
dono
took up residence in the front passenger seat, while Joker, Livio and Stripe squeezed into the back.

Luiz settled in behind the wheel and turned on the engine. The car started with an arthritic splutter. As he steered the car through the winding roads of the
favela
, Luiz saw that Joker was right about one thing – the car was a bomb. Gears scraped agonizingly as he changed them, while the engine’s every hacking cough sounded as though it could be the last. All this, and they were going downhill. The car might be able to make it to the hotel, but whether it could get them home again afterwards was another matter entirely. It took all of Luiz’s skill behind the wheel to get them out of Santa Marta and into the early-afternoon traffic of the Zona Sul.

The Hotel Real took pride of place on Avenida Atlantica, the long road that arced around the back of Copacabana Beach. It was a grand, imposing building with a white stucco front, granting those rich enough to afford the best rooms a sweeping view of the Atlantic Ocean. The most famous hotel in Rio, for decades the Real had been the choice of actors, rock stars and the jet-set elite.

Now, as Luiz nursed the ailing car towards the building, he saw two women in crisp tennis whites striding towards the entrance, their long legs luxuriously tanned.

Livio giggled.

‘Angel, how the hell are we supposed to blend in here? We take one step in there and they’ll call the cops.’

‘That’s why we’re going round the back, dickhead. Keep driving, Luiz, and take a first right after the hotel.’

Angel directed them out of the sunny glare of the Avenida Atlantica and into the shade of the backstreets behind the hotel, ordering Luiz to stop near a service entrance. After a quick scan to check that the street was deserted, the boys in the back seat got out. Joker and Livio unloaded the suitcases from the boot, while Stripe stood guard, his AK-47 at his side. Angel got out of the car, his 12-gauge shotgun hidden within the folds of a long black trench coat, and walked around to Luiz’s window.

‘If the Doctor’s given this the OK, the deal should be sweet, but I don’t know this guy we’re selling to and I certainly don’t trust him. Wait here and keep your eyes open for any police. We’re in Room 1412, which is at the back of the hotel. If you start hitting the horn, we’ll hear it. Understand?’

Luiz nodded.

‘Good.’

The
dono
of the Comando Negro swept towards the service entrance, his trench coat flapping in the breeze. The rest of his gang trailed after him, looking right and left along the street for any sign of trouble. They slipped through the service entrance and into the hotel, Stripe bringing up the rear.

Luiz stared out at the street, absent-mindedly toying with the GPS cross that Madison had given him. Now that he was outside the
favela
, he wondered whether Trojan Industries were following him – whether Madison or Jordan, or even Valerie, was watching him now. As ever, Luiz’s thoughts turned to Ana. Jordan had promised he would try to arrange a meeting. Maybe once this deal was done, Luiz would phone Madison and push for a date.

A large black van pulled up by the hotel’s service entrance, blocking his line of sight. Slinking down low in his seat, Luiz watched as the young driver got out. He was wearing blue workmen’s overalls and had a bright green bandanna wrapped around his head. Walking to the back of the van, he opened the doors and a large group of boys began jumping down to the pavement. Although they were also dressed in overalls, they didn’t look like any workmen Luiz had seen before and they were all sporting green accessories – bandannas, wristbands and baseball caps.

Green. The colour of the Quarto Comando – a violent
favela
gang, sworn enemies of the Comando Negro.

As each of the boys took a bulky Adidas holdall from the van and slung it over his shoulder, Luiz’s heart was in his mouth. It was a classic gang tactic: there would be guns inside the sports bags, hidden from view but with their triggers in easy reach. Angel had walked straight into a trap.

Luiz jammed his finger down on the car horn.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again, harder this time, but still to no avail. The car was so beat-up the horn didn’t even work.

Swearing loudly, Luiz started the car and manoeuvred it away from the side of the road. With the Quarto Comando assembled at the rear of the building, he headed back on to Avenida Atlantica, coming to a screeching halt outside the main entrance of the Hotel Real. He left the car parked at an awkward angle, half on and half off the pavement, and sprinted past a line of ornamental trees into the lobby.

It was dark and cool inside, and it took a couple of seconds for Luiz’s eyes to adjust to the light. He found himself in an open area tastefully decorated with plants in earthenware pots. Well-dressed businessmen lounged in plush armchairs, drinking cocktails with glamorous women in flowing dresses and large sunglasses. The hall was filled with the low buzz of polite conversation.

Luiz raced through the foyer, his flip-flops clattering across the marble floor, making for the main staircase beyond the reception desk. At the sight of the scruffily dressed boy, a porter in a brocaded uniform dropped the suitcase he was carrying and reached out to stop him. Pushing him away with the flat of his hand, Luiz hared up the staircase, ignoring the shouts that followed behind him.

As he ran through the carpeted hallways in search of Room 1412, Luiz quickly realized that the Hotel Real was a warren of identical corridors and rooms that appeared to have been numbered completely at random. He rounded a corner and nearly crashed into a maid, who screamed with surprise. Luiz shouted an apology over his shoulder, praying that the Quarto Comando were as lost as he was.

Sprinting up another flight of stairs, Luiz almost cried out in relief when he saw that Room 1412 was at the end of the corridor. He leaned against the door, panting, and hammered against it.

‘It’s me, Luiz!’ he shouted. ‘Open up!’

There was the sound of swearing inside and then the door opened, revealing MC Livio, a semi-automatic pistol in his hand. He carefully checked the corridor before beckoning Luiz inside.

Tucked away at the back of the hotel, Room 1412 clearly wasn’t one of the plusher suites on offer. The blinds had been drawn and there was a thick smell of body odour in the air. Angel was sat at a low table with a fat man in a white linen suit, the
dono
’s shotgun resting near his left hand. There were three open suitcases on the table – two displaying bulky clear packets of cocaine, the other a vast wad of banknotes. Stripe was watching the window, while Joker stood in the doorway leading off to the bathroom.