Regulate (Dante and Tony)

[Tony Carvalho]

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
February 19th, 2012
4:09 PM

Swoosh.

Such was the sound as the Jaguar XJ smoothly glided along a turn, its $3,000 sound system blaring one of Mr. Carvalho's jazzier albums. He is a classy man, at heart, you know, and he likes to flaunt a bit of class now and then. Not enough to attract too much undue attention, but enough to make him feel better about tomorrow, you know? He tapped his fingers on the leather-covered steering wheel as he drove on at a nice leisurely pace. He was to pick up a good friend of his, and a comrade in the war they were fighting outside the public eye. Of all the men Tony Carvalho had called a brother, a comrade, a true friend, Dante Alencar was the one he had the most faith in. If there was ever someone he'd trust with his life, it'd be him.

Sad to say, some of his brothers, comrades, and true friends throughout the years haven't looked on him so kindly. Backstabbed, betrayed, spit on by the ones he'd once fought shoulder-to-shoulder alongside. Corruption was a foul thing, he only later realized. Such cruelty was a part of life, some may say. But no, he firmly believed it was a flaw in the human existence, something to be purged out, done away with. A world free of corruption, of greed, of deceit... That was his dream. He wished someday to have it become reality.

But he was getting sidetracked, and in fact, very nearly missed his friend on the side of the road. Jolted back into the more important matter of driving, he stopped the car, coming to a sharper, but still rather smooth, stop beside Dante. Rolling down the window, he tipped down his sunglasses, and gave the man a friendly smile, gesturing for him to take shotgun. "Hey Dante, how're you doing, amigo? Hop in, we can go wherever you need to be."

[Dante Alencar]

It was only moments before the visionary on the sidewalk saw the glide of the approaching Jaguar in his periphery that he had actually considered starting to walk to his destination. By all rights, Dante Alencar should have been irritated, given the timely fashion in which the day's events were scheduled to occur - and he was getting ready to chew out his would-be driver as he sidled into the passenger seat, before the face of the Armani watch he had a particular penchant for told him that his companion was infact a sharp sixty seconds early. "Hey Dante, how're you doing, amigo? Hop in, we can go wherever you need to be."

With a smile, a tanned hand rose to the revolutionary's brow and he propped up the sunglasses he wore with such enthusiasm. Smiling, he knew that they did not only complement the day's attire, which was a charcoal jacket, tie, and formal trousers, with appropriately black footwear and a vibrant orange shirt he took a particular penchant to, but they were essential for maintaining, at the very least, a muffled identity. Which, of course, was important today. But the man in the driver seat told him that they could go "wherever Dante needed to be".

"Antonio." So where did he need to be? "Drive south." Was all he bluntly spoke; for infact this day's regime was so planned out to the minute that Dante knew exactly where he was going. The gunslinger's alienation to the entire affair, however, was not remarkable in the slightest - for the stand that Liberation were to make today had been organised and thus far executed by him, and him alone. Implicating as few members as possible was a boon for an underground rebel group: and the Ritualist had no problem with performing the legwork. "Subordination" and "obedience" were two false virtues that they came truly far from worshiping in their modus operandi.

However, the only thing he hadn't been able to account for - having entered the city proper at around eleven and walking from one objective site to another til he'd cleared three of the four - was the journey from here, the east of the city, to the south; which he needed to complete before 4:45PM. 4:10 gave them thirty-five minutes to get there - even with traffic - and perhaps complete the last of Dante's enigmatic inner-city operations a tad more punctually. So he'd called upon one of his most reliable comrades; someone who shared a similar view. Tony Carvalho.

Irrespective of how his partner would resist, "Antonio" was a moniker Dante had placed upon the seasoned gunslinger many a year ago; he had proven loyal to Liberation time and time again and had no qualms about the... grittier... of their operations. One of which this would be. But this all dwelt far from the realms of relevance - as soon as the Jaguar began gliding through the streets once more, quietly - the engine silent enough - within the car's canopy, Dante began to explain. "I left the base at eleven today without telling anyone where I was headed."

With a smile, he continued. "Across Rio de Janeiro today, we uncovered four scheduled meetings of four very important government officials," Cocking his head, Dante sighed gently. "The Secretariat for Human Rights is giving a series of seminars in the north." That was one. "The General of the Security Cabinet is overseeing a series of gang-based proposal operations in the west." Two. "The Minister of Social Welfare is making a protected tour through the fringes of the eastern favela, about three blocks from where you picked me up." Three. And finally... "And the Chair of the Treasury is holding a meeting with the Vice President in the south."

The smile quickly turned to a grin. "The meetings all finish at dead on 5PM." He explained, before drawing along to a subtle, though emphasised conclusion. "They've parked their cars within sight out of some dull sense of narcissistic greed." Pride: it was the undoing of so many in politics. And here it would be today also. "I'm going to interrupt their meetings before they end." Four cars. Four government officials. Four disruptions. Four separate news stories. One goal: raising Hell.