Hermes
Six Years Ago
I glanced at my watch — almost midnight on a hot Friday night. My partners, Marcos and Rafael, picked me up at the university gates so I could join them. I was in my fourth year of law school, trying to balance my studies with my profession.
As a police investigator assigned to GARRA, the Armed Robbery Suppression Group — an elite unit of the São Paulo Civil Police — I was on the night shift that evening, from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m.
"Any news?" I asked, changing out of my T-shirt into the black GARRA polo with the Civil Police badge, since I’d spent part of the shift at school with my superiors’ authorization.
"Nothing serious. We stopped a few suspicious cars in the outskirts, but then they sent us to patrol Itaim Bibi and Vila Olímpia," Marcos replied, driving the patrol car with Rafael beside him. Those neighborhoods were packed with clubs and bars, popular with the upper middle class and the wealthy.
"Let’s go, then," I said, excited. I loved my job. I had joined the police less than a year earlier and, thanks to my stepfather, Mr. João — a now-retired Civil Police chief — I was fortunate enough to get assigned to the armed group.
I never knew my biological father. From what I’d heard, my mother, Dona Mirtes, though from a middle-class family, had fallen in love with a pickpocket who worked the busy Paulista Avenue, stealing wallets and purses — even though he was enrolled in college.
He lived in a neighborhood near hers, and they met at a mutual friend’s party. They had a passionate three-year relationship, despite my grandparents’ disapproval.
Careless in their love, my mother became pregnant, and when I was born, my biological father named me Hermes — a cruel irony, since Hermes was the Greek god known for being a thief.
When I was a year old, my father got involved in more serious crimes. He tried to rob a bank and ended up dragging my mother into it too, supposedly as an accomplice. Our lives changed drastically. But the group was arrested, and my mother was later proven innocent. She didn’t deserve to pay for my father's crimes. All thanks to the police chief assigned to the case — who ended up marrying her three years later.
My biological father died a year into his sentence, killed in a prison fight. That chapter became a family taboo. But when I turned fifteen, my stepfather — whom I saw as my true father — sat me down for a serious talk and told me everything. He said he loved me as a son but that I had the right to know the truth.
My mother, who was also present, explained that she’d fallen for the wrong man, but after regret and remorse, she had found her true love: Chief João.
After that day, we never spoke of it again. Neither did I. To me, João was my father. And it was because of him — and wanting to make him proud — that I decided to join the police force.
They now live in the coastal town of Ubatuba, enjoying their retirement. Before moving, they left me a small apartment in the Vergueiro neighborhood, near Aclimação Park.
"Any units on QAP?" crackled the radio, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"GARRA 42 on QAP, Cepol!" Rafael replied.
"Possible robbery in progress on Gomes de Carvalho Street, Vila Olímpia, at a bar called Coconut," the voice on the radio instructed.
"GARRA 42 en route. We're nearby," Rafael answered as Marcos flipped on the siren and sped off, weaving through traffic.
"GARRA 44 en route," I heard another team respond on the radio.
Thanks to the patrol car’s GPS, we quickly reached the neighborhood streets.
"Next corner, turn right!" Rafael shouted over the piercing wail of the siren.
The car swerved sharply, tires screeching, and I saw four individuals climbing into a red car parked in front of a bar. There were tables and chairs on the sidewalk and a glowing sign that read Coconut.
"There! The car’s speeding off!" I shouted, energized.
"Let’s get them," Rafael growled as Marcos pushed the engine harder.
The red car raced down the street, and we took off in pursuit. With our more powerful engine, we quickly closed the distance and tailed them closely.
After a few kilometers, the red car lost control and slammed into a street pole. Marcos hit the brakes hard, tires squealing. Even before the car came to a full stop, Rafael and I jumped out, weapons drawn.
"Police, you motherfuckers!" Rafael shouted, taking cover behind the open front door and pulling out his pistol.
I positioned myself next to him as Marcos also jumped out and took cover on the other side.
"Hands outside!" Rafael barked.
I saw movement in the crashed car as four suspects opened the doors and stepped out with their hands in the air. I advanced with my gun trained on two of them, while Marcos covered the other two exiting from the other side.
"Face down! Now!" he commanded.
The young-looking suspects knelt and then lay flat on the ground, faces to the pavement.
Rafael and I approached while Marcos covered us. I placed my knee on one suspect’s back and cuffed him behind. I did the same with the second guy using my spare cuffs.
Rafael cuffed the other two. After securing all four, we frisked them but found nothing illegal — just some cell phones. Inside the car, though, I found two .38 revolvers on the front seat.
"Look at this!" I said, laughing as I held up the guns.
"Holy shit, there are phones and purses all over in here," Rafael called from inside the vehicle.
"You losers are done," Marcos snarled, slapping one guy on the head, then walked back to the car to report in.
"Cepol, GARRA 42. Four suspects in custody, two firearms, and several stolen items recovered," he said into the radio.
"Copy that. Well done, GARRA 42," the voice responded.
Moments later, sirens signaled more units arriving. Two Military Police cars and another GARRA team pulled up.
"Hey, guys," greeted Fidel, the bearded leader of GARRA 44 — nicknamed for his resemblance to the Cuban revolutionary.
"Yep, we got these bastards," Rafael laughed.
"Alright, the chief wants me to take everyone to the station for booking. You guys head back to the bar and identify the victims whose stuff was stolen."
We returned to the bar. Customers were chatting nervously, clearly shaken. A Military Police car was already there. We spoke with a sergeant and started asking the victims to step forward to identify their belongings — though we made it clear items would only be returned at the station, after official statements and suspect identification. Many complained, but that was the procedure.
I scanned the place, noting the clientele. Most were young, clearly upper-middle-class university students judging by their designer clothes.
“The highest concentration of beautiful women per square meter,” I thought, keeping my expression neutral.
While Marcos and Rafael interviewed victims — both more senior than me — I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning, I found myself face-to-face with the deepest black eyes I’d ever seen.
A young woman with long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders smiled at me. Her teeth were white and perfect. Her skin was tanned, like someone who loved the beach. She wore tight white pants, high-heeled sandals, and a flowy burgundy blouse with sleeves to her forearms. The top two buttons were undone, revealing the top of her cleavage and a glimpse of black lingerie.
"Officer, could you return my purse and phone?" she asked in a soft voice, flashing a charming smile when she noticed my gaze.
"I’m sorry, miss, but only at the station," I replied with a friendly smile.
"Oh! But how will we get there? My friends and I have been drinking and can’t drive," she said, laughing and pointing to two equally stylish young women — one blonde, one Black — whispering and giggling nearby.
"Drive them over, Hermes," Marcos said, chuckling and elbowing me in the arm.
"Alright, where’s your car?" I asked, unable to look away from the girl in front of me.
"The next street over," the blonde answered, approaching and handing me the keys.
I turned back to the first girl.
"Officer Hermes," she said, almost savoring my name. "So unusual..."
"Miss?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Fernanda. Fernanda Cervino Abrantes," she replied, extending a delicate hand that I gently shook.
And that’s how she came into my life.