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LEMON JUICE KING

In what way?

The way he talked to the people . . . he always liked to feel important. There was a time he started to tell people his name was Max, because he was the ‘maximum.’ I was like, ‘Fucking Max, give me a break.’ Max is minimum, not maximum. But he was a funny guy.

– Alberto, drug dealer

The Lemon Juice boss’s fortunes had gone up and down ever since he was a child. Marco had begun life with a silver spoon in his mouth, but it had quickly tarnished. He was born into a rich family in Manaus, the Amazon’s capital city, to a young beauty queen whose own father was a wealthy media mogul. But life turned dark for the young boy when he first saw his father bash his mother. They moved to Rio, where before long his mother left behind her two toddler sons.

My mother escaped from the house when I was three years old because my father beat her. I don’t use my father’s name because I’m angry with him. I saw him beat my mother. I was a very small boy, but even now I can still remember.

– Marco

There was still money for a while, enough to give Marco ten years of show jumping lessons – and a nanny and maid in a nice apartment 50 metres from the beach in Rio’s up-market Ipanema district. When the cash ran out, he became the poor kid from the Amazon jungle, mixing with Rio’s rich kids, earning him the nickname Curumim – or little Indian boy – which stuck. But he was popular, winning his place in the elite group by being able to make people laugh.

He became a beach boy, with all the rich-kid toys like surfboards, jet-skis and hang-gliders, courtesy of his best friend