BROKEN BOARDS, CHAPTER 2
BROKEN BOARDS, CHAPTER 2
A Jake Jansen Mystery
« Chapter One, The North Shore - Chapter Three, The Organization »
CHAPTER TWO - THE KINGPIN
During the early evening hours, deep in the jungle a few miles outside of Rio De Janeiro, the exterior of a heavily patrolled and guarded warehouse was dark and silent. Out here, the pitch-black surroundings swallowed any light within just a few feet. High fencing, topped with razor wire, surrounded the exterior. A small, sparsely lit, dull, concrete guard shack stood at the parking lot entrance, manned by a guard with a large German shepherd. A closed gate, blocking access into the compound, could only be opened by the guard. The windows of the large building were blacked out and only motion-controlled lights attached to the roof provided exterior illumination.
The guard carried a pistol on his hip, and a high-caliber assault weapon hung across his back. His clothes were saturated with sweat from the oppressive South American December weather. The guard glanced at the thermometer hanging in the window. It read 88 degrees, but the extremely high humidity, held under the dense jungle canopy, made the weather almost unbearable in this region. He wiped off his sweat with the sleeve of his shirt. He glanced down at the dog, who guzzled at the large cooking pot full of water.
He walked over to the old, small refrigerator, opened the top, and pulled out a small tray of ice. He returned to the dog and dumped the tray full of ice in his water. He leaned down and patted him on the head.
“Good boy, Diablo,” he said with a smile. Diablo looked up and then returned to drinking his water. “I know it’s hot, boy. We’ll go to the beach tomorrow,” the guard said, smiling at his dog.
The guard walked over, looked at the temperature gauge thermostat on the wall, and then tapped on it. The needle moved. A slow hum started as he looked up and watched as the ribbons hanging from the vent barely moved. He walked outside behind the shack and kicked at the large air conditioning unit. A cloud of dust sprayed out as the AC unit coughed and sputtered to life. The man shook his head and sighed. He walked back inside and waited a moment. He placed his hand near the vent as a very slow-moving amount of cold air started to come out.
“Hmph. Better than nothing,” he said as he wiped at the dripping sweat.
Off in the distance, a faint pair of headlights started cutting through the darkness, slowly growing brighter as they drew closer. The familiar hum of an SUV could be heard down the road. A minute later, the SUV would turn into the entrance and stop at the shack. The guard grabbed his flashlight and placed his hand on his pistol without thinking. Even though he knew who it was, he felt it was always better to be prepared.
“Diablo. Alert,” he ordered. The large dog stopped drinking water and immediately moved to stand at attention on his left side.
Right on cue, the white SUV turned into the driveway and slowed. Both driver-side windows rolled down simultaneously. The driver nodded. The guard nodded in return.
“Good morning, Juan. How’s my boy, Diablo?” the man questioned with a smile.
“Good morning, Sir. Diablo is very good, Sir,” The guard replied as he wiped at his sweat.
“Is the AC on the shack still not working?” the man in the SUV asked.
“Yes, sir. The fan appears to be failing, sir. The air is cold but just doesn’t blow. I fixed it temporarily earlier in the week, but won’t last,” he said.
“You’re very resourceful, Juan. I have been wanting to speak to you about an opportunity. I think I have better use for you than patrolling the exterior,” the man said with a nod. “I’ll send a man out to relieve you, and we’ll talk.”
“Thank you, sir!” Juan said, nodding.
The man in the backseat of the SUV reached into a small bag and pulled out something wrapped in butcher paper. He opened the small package, pulled out a piece of meat, then tossed it to the German shepherd. He looked at the guard, nodded, and smiled. Diablo began devouring the piece of meat, cleaned himself, then sat down next to the guard. The guard reached just inside the doorframe and pushed a button. The heavy arm raised, and the gate opened. The white SUV pulled ahead into the parking lot and parked near the only door on the exterior.
The driver climbed out of the front and opened the rear passenger door. A tall, pristinely dressed man, with thick black hair, in a crisp linen suit climbed out of the back. His menacing appearance commanded respect. The driver closed both doors as the man in the suit surveyed the building exterior and surrounding area, then acknowledged the other armed guards walking the corners of the property. They both made their way to the entrance as the driver slid a card through a reader. The door released and opened, and both men disappeared inside.
Inside the warehouse, the driver started toward the back of the building before passing through a set of double doors. The other man ascended the stairs and entered the main office. He flipped on the light and walked to the window that overlooked the back of the warehouse that held a very active group of people. He stood and watched as his employees navigated around the numerous large machines with precision. Men and women dressed minimally in white shorts and tank tops moved quickly and efficiently. He smiled as he watched his operation work to perfection. A faint buzz could be heard as the man reached into his pocket yet continued to watch as he answered.
“Salvador Santos,” he said and listened for the person on the other end of the line.
“Ah, Mr. Hamilton. What do I owe the honor?” he asked. “Yes, we are absolutely still on schedule. I will have my best courier handling Hawai’i,” he said proudly. “Have no fear, Mr. Hamilton. I am the one with experience here. You’re the new man in this business. You handle Japan, and we’ll talk in the very near future,” he concluded and hung up.
Salvador Santos was born and raised in Rio. He had been born into an impoverished family that struggled to survive and make ends meet during his childhood, making him hungry for a better life. Growing up in a broken home due to his mother’s death led to him being raised by an abusive and alcoholic father. Rather than risk death, Salvador chose to flee the abuse of his father’s drunken rage. He had been homeless during his teen years, becoming tough and street-smart, while surviving the dangerous world of the gangs and drugs in the favela neighborhoods of Rio. He learned how to scam, how to survive, how to lead, and whom to trust.
But most importantly, he learned how to defend himself. He learned how to be dangerous and still maintain his compassion and sympathy. Though hardened by the streets, he never lost his love for children or animals.
As Salvador grew into his early adult years, he established himself as the leader of the notorious gang, Anjo Sombrios. The Dark Angels of Rio began controlling the smaller neighborhoods before growing in numbers and taking over more prominent and better-established communities. Salvador’s gang started by providing protection, then small-time theft. As his business grew, so did his profits. Salvador began to steal from the more well-to-do families and businesses and, in return, gave the money to the poorer families of the favelas. Eventually, his estranged father took notice and realized that his son was the man controlling the streets and came looking for money.
Once confronted by his past demon, he was consumed with rage and heartache. Salvador attempted to give his father a large sum of cash, telling him to disappear and never come around again. During this confrontation, Salvador discovered the truth about his mother – that his father had killed her in a drunken rage. And it was only in this grief-stricken moment that he reacted just as his father once had – killing him in the same way - a murderous rage.
The people on the streets that benefited from his kindness tried to protect him. They tried to cover the murder. Multiple members of the Anjo Sombrios confessed to the murder in an effort to throw the police off the trail, but it was no use. Salvador Santos was convicted and sentenced to the most brutal prison in Brazil, Carandiru Penitentiary in Sao Paulo.
It was here that Salvador’s knowledge and power grew. He was taken under the wing of a once powerful but now elderly drug kingpin, Pedro Ferreira. Pedro taught Salvador everything he knew about growing, manufacturing, processing, storage, trafficking, and distribution. He held a lifetime of knowledge about the drug trade, not only in Brazil but also in South and Central America. Salvador saw this as a new opportunity. When Pedro died in prison, Salvador swore to honor the man who had been more of a father to him and keep his legacy alive by building the most powerful drug empire in South America. He counted the days to release. He maintained contact with his gang members through careful communication through secretive channels with the prison guards, who were easily bought.
Salvador’s gang continued to grow and prosper financially during his ten years in prison. Upon completion of his sentence, Salvador entered back onto the streets with a ruthless vengeance. He went after those who had wronged him or betrayed him, both from inside and outside of his gang. No one was safe. With his new knowledge of the drug trade, he immediately started working on building his empire. He hired the best farmers, chemists, and financial experts. And he made them obscenely wealthy.
Salvador’s drug market proliferated in Sao Paulo. It was only a matter of time before he returned to his birthplace, Rio, and used his knowledge of the streets and the people to build his empire. He knew many law enforcement personnel very well, having grown up with or having maintained acquaintances. He familiarized himself with the politicians and learned which pockets to fill with cash. It was only a matter of time before Salvador Santos became the most powerful man in the region.