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I watched as Da Silva went through his contact book and laptop, looking up whatever information he needed to get me a face to face with Mr. Becker. I laid my head on the headrest as I glanced out the passenger side window at the people walking by outside on the streets of Sao Paulo. Ordinary folks just going about the night, not knowing about the absolutely horrific shit going on in their city by their fellow Paulistanos, some of whom they were supposed to trust. I glanced back over to Da Silva who was now making a phone call before resting my sore eyes. A few moments later I hear Da Silva thank the person on the other end of the phone and hang up. I turned toward him.
“So?” I asked, eagerly.
Da Silva smirked lightly.
“I got you an appointment with Becker. Said something about some guy with important information to share. Made it sound official and urgent enough for the secretary. The meeting is at 10 o'clock sharp.” Da Silva said calmly as he put this stuff away in the back seat.
I nodded.
“Okay. So I just walk in there and say I have a meeting with Becker? Just like that?” I ask, intrigued by Da Silva’s casual approach to this messed up situation.
He started the car.
“Mmm. That’s pretty much it. You hungry Max?” He asked, turning over to me.
I thought that if I was going to walk into a place full of special forces cops and meet their honourable leader, I should have something in my stomach.
I nodded.
“Sure. I could eat.”
There was still a while to go until 10 pm. Da Silva put the car in gear and began driving.
“What do you want to have? I know a good place that serves American food around here. You know, burgers and things,” he said sarcastically.
I chuckled slightly. Not a laugh.
“Yeah that’s fine,” I said as Da Silva drove.
We pulled up to a rather clean looking establishment. Well, pretty clean in comparison to the rest of the city I’d spent the last few days in. Da Silva told me that this place was popular with the young folks and was located in a more upscale part of town. I guess the younger crowd liked the offerings of the U.S of A. Americana was all the rage with those who’re considered hip here. Then again, I’d had burgers hundreds of times and am an American so I guess I don’t have the same lust for the old patty and buns. Da Silva ordered from the drive through and we pulled into the restaurant's parking lot. I’d asked for whatever he wanted to buy. I wasn’t picky.
“Here you go. A cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake. It’s my personal favourite order,” Da Silva said as he handed me the bag of high fat, low nutrition, American inspired cuisine.
“Thanks,” I said as I took it.
I took a bite of the burger. It tasted like crap. Maybe it was just my messed up palette from years of less than healthy vices.
“How’s it Max? A little taste of home huh?” Da Silva quipped as he ate his exact same order.
“It’s good,” I said.
I rolled down the passenger window for some air. The night air came in with a light breeze.
“So the UFE. What’s their jurisdiction exactly? I know your department is the city cops but what exactly do they do that you guys can't?” I asked Da Silva, wanting some clarification on the angry boys in blue up to no good.
He took a gulp of his shake before answering.
“Well back in the 70s, the 55º Batalhão Polícia da Cidade, which we commonly call the Unidade de Forças Especiais or UFE for short, was created to fight gangs in the city. 55º Batalhão Polícia da Cidade meaning 55th Battalion of the City Police and Unidade de Forças Especiais meaning Special Forces Unit. Gangs were out of control and the cops needed a specialized unit to fight back so UFE was created. They train in urban combat type stuff, not like me who can give tickets and things. They have their own jail, station, and everything. You’ll see when you go there. The Sao Paulo Police department handles the everyday policing in the city, we investigate murders, thefts, corruption, you know.”
Da Silva lit up a cigarette.
“So they UFE are like SWAT. Special Weapons and Tactics like in America?” I asked.
“Mmm sure. That would be their equivalent.”
“But SWAT’s part of the department. They share the same building’s and everything. They’re not separate. All the anti gang units in the States are within the police departments, in New York it is at least,” I said intrigued.
Da Silva nodded.
“Well as you've seen, crime and poverty are a lot higher here than where you’re from. So I guess we decided that the UFE needed to be their own thing,” Da Silva explained as he puffed on his smoke.
I chuckled. “And they're doing such a good job at fighting gangs aren’t they?” I replied sarcastically.
Da Silva nodded and smirked.
“I guess looking tough and killing people is good enough in their books,” he replied.
“And the city cops who don’t think they’re doing enough, they join the UFE, and then when they still don’t think that’s enough they join the Cracha Preto, though a lot of guys just go to the Cracha Preto from the city PD too.” De Silva added, continuing to puff away.
I raised an eyebrow.
“When cops grow tired of the system’s failures, they become vigilantes huh?” I quipped.
“Mmm yeah. Something like that. You know, I’ve read up on your background, Max. You and the Cracha Preto are- or were, not so different. At least initially.”
I closed my eyes and chuckled. Da Silva wasn’t wrong by any means.
“Uh huh. Maybe so,” I said, with a sigh.
Da Silva smirked. “They saw themselves as cleaning up the streets in ways the cops couldn’t. The ex cops did. The ex soldiers too, and the ex firefighters I guess did too? Of course many of them were active duty too because of course they were. But I digress. You did some cleaning of your own in New York,” Da Silva explained calmly.
“Some cleaning” was one way to put it.
“Uh huh. I see. Except I didn’t extort and kill innocent people, or steal their organs,” I quipped.
Da Silva nodded.
“Mmm. You didn’t stoop down to the level of the scum you put down. I get it. And now, the Cracha Preto is gone. Thanks to you. They got cleaned up, the same way they wanted to clean up the streets of the city.”
I laid back against the headrest. Da Silva was right about me and the paramilitary chumps, the vigilantes, the hired killers, the organ stealing scumbags, and whatever else those bastards were.
“Yeah. That’s one way of putting it,” I said.
“But going back to your cops and the UFE. I take it that the city cops are less corrupt than the UFE?” I asked.
Da Silva continued with his bad habit.
“Mmm. Just slightly less. People like money. The pay isn’t so good. So cops do what they think they need too and it gets bigger from there,” he explained.
I nodded. He continued.
“You know Max, a lot of city cops were working with the vigilantes. Not just joining their ranks but as contacts within the city police. They did it for the money of course, but also because they believed that the vigilantes were the only way to serve justice. I have reason to believe my fellow officers spotted you at the bus depot and reported your location to the vigilantes,” Da Silva explained.
I chuckled. I wasn’t surprised.
“A lot of good that did. So what I’m getting here is that you’re a good cop and aren’t corrupt?” I asked.
Da Silva looked at me and chuckled.
“No Max, I’m not corrupt. But that’s what they all say isn’t it?” He replied.
I chuckled lightly. Of course I knew he was telling the truth. I just wanted him to say it.
“And why not just be like the rest of the cops? It would make things a whole lot easier for you,” I asked, genuinely curious.
Da Silva shrugged.
“I guess I think that there’s still some good in this world. Otherwise, I might just join the circus like a lot of my colleagues,” he replied.
I nodded understandingly. I had known my share of bent cops.
“So instead of taking bribes, joining a vigilante death squad, or a team of super cops, you’re here with me. An ex-cop, failed bodyguard who doesn’t exactly do things according to the law. A vigilante by most definitions,” I asked Da Silva.
He nodded as he finished the last of his meal.
“Mmm. Something like that. You’ve got some honour, Max. You’ve never taken a bribe either, as far as I know. You got played and now want some justice. Only you can’t do that by the book. I told you, officially, I can’t do anything about the UFE. So here we are. We want the same thing, to put an end to their reign of terror. Plus, you're capable of going head to head with killer types,” He explained.
I chuckled sarcastically. Da Silva sure knew where he stood. I guess he was alright. As for me, being the fall guy wasn’t so fun. So I guess it was payback time for all that I had gone through.
“Now judging from my experience in the favela, the UFE are seriously equipped and trained. All that blood money must buy the best gear and training around?” I asked curiously.
Da Silva grinned.
“Uh huh. They got all the latest guns, vehicles, gear, and more. They also pay big bucks for expert guys from all over to come and show them how to kill people. Not all the UFE guys are bad of course, but they aren't doing enough to convince anyone otherwise,” Da Silva explained.
I nodded. It was getting close to 10pm.
“Okay. So what exactly do I do when I meet Becker? There’s got to be hundreds of guys there,” I asked.
“About 300 men. Approximately. Get a confession. Then take him out. Other than that, there’s not much more to it,” Da Silva explained.
I looked at him blankly.
“Look, while you’re in there, I’ll see if there’s anything else I can do to make it easier for you to do what you need to do. Like something to keep the UFE busy and not all focused on you. And, if you’re still alive, we’ll meet again.”
“And if not?”
“I’ll see that you’re given a proper burial.”
I chuckled sarcastically and shook my head.
“Okay, finish your supper. We need to go,” Da Silva quipped as he started the engine.
We pulled up in front of the UFE building downtown. It was a place that projected a sense of authority. They would need all their guns and training tonight. Da Silva lit up another cigarette. I asked him for one to which he happily handed one to me and lit it up for me like a gentleman.
“Okay Max, remember what you need to say?” Da Silva asked.
“Diga a Becker. Que vim para ele,” I replied as best I could.
He nodded.
“Good. Remember to give them your gun. It looks good that you’re there to be all diplomatic,” he said.
I nodded. I had no idea if this was all going to work, but I wasn’t going to leave there empty handed.
“Good luck,” Da Silva said as I got out of his car toward the main entrance for my 10pm face to face with the great leader of Sao Paulo’s heroic crime fighters.