by Dan Smith
‘And what’s she done to upset them?’ I asked. ‘She causing some kind of trouble?’ I didn’t know much about land ownership or Indian rights but I knew there were people trying to bring some balance – little people who could put a barb into the big man’s fingers when he tried to grab more territory.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not really. Like I already told you, I don’t do this work any more.’
Costa smiled again. Always the same expression of knowing, as if he saw things I couldn’t. ‘Maybe if you say it enough times, you’ll believe it.’
‘What?’
Costa waved a hand, then eased back in his seat and fanned himself with a folder from the desktop. ‘You haven’t done any work for me for six months at least. You must be hard up, needing the cash.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Of course. Because now you do ... what? I heard you were working at Ernesto’s one time, the soya place, odd jobs for that old boatman you spend so much time with, and now you’re shovelling shit at Batista’s pig farm, is that right?’
He dug a packet of cigarettes from the top drawer of his desk and took one out. Throwing the packet towards me, he reached for a lighter. ‘That’s what happens when you meet a woman,’ he said, thumbing the wheel a few times before sparking a flame. ‘That’s what they do to you, Zico.’ He breathed his smoke into the tepid air. ‘They take what you are and strip it away. Change you into what they want. Next thing you know, you’re shovelling shit on some pig farm.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I watch, Zico, I listen too, just like you do; only I listen better. I listen deeper. I know you’re friends with the old boatman. You have a girl, too. The one who works in the store. She’s very pretty.’
‘You’re threatening me?’
Costa held up his hands. ‘I don’t want it to come to that. I’m just saying they stop you from doing what you do best. Women, I mean.’
‘No one stopped me. I stopped myself. I don’t want to do it any more. I have a different life.’
‘No money? No real job? No place to call your own? Not much of a life, Zico – which is why you’re still sitting here, right? You need money. I could never persuade you to come and work full-time for me, but I could always call on you when you needed the money. For those special jobs.’
‘It’s different now.’
‘Is it? I can see you need money, Zico. I can see it in your eyes. If you weren’t considering it, you’d be out that door already.’
‘You don’t know me as well as you think—’
‘I’ve been instructed to go to two thousand.’
For a moment the office was silent but for the swirl of the fan and the lilt of samba music from the street.
‘Dollars?’
Costa smiled. ‘It’s a lot, Zico. More than ever before. Probably more than you ever saw in your whole life. Think about it. You could treat your girlfriend. Do something nice for her. Or how about that old boatman? Raul, isn’t it? Just think, Zico, you could fix up his boat for him, give him a better life.’ He sighed and rose from his seat again, leaving a trail of smoke as he went to the flask that stood on a table by the fan.
Costa pumped coffee into his cup and drained it, wiping the back of his hand across his lips before speaking again. ‘Two years ago a tenth of that money would’ve got me the bishop. And you would’ve organised it.’ He pointed at me, the cigarette wedged between two fingers, both adorned with wide bands of gold.
‘That was two years ago.’ I said. ‘Things are different now. And you’re talking about killing a nun. A foreign nun. From what I’ve heard, she’s practically a saint.’
‘She’s a pain in the—’
‘Whatever she is, she’s obviously worth more than a thousand.’
Costa smiled. ‘Ah, now we’re getting to it.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Of course it is, Zico. How much, then? How much is she worth?’
‘I don’t do this any more.’ I watched his lips moving, hating him and everything he stood for. I hated being in this impossible position. I hated having no choice but to do what Costa wanted. Most of all, though, I hated the part of me that didn’t need to be threatened by this man. I could see a positive side to this and I wanted his money. I thought it would give me the life I hoped for with Daniella.
‘We both know you’re going to do this,’ Costa said. ‘So let’s stop pretending you have a choice.’ His forearms were on the desk, across some loose pieces of paper, the cigarette smouldering between two fingers. ‘The only reason I’m allowing this game to go on is because I want to find a price that will make it agreeable to everyone. That way we all get what we want.’ He lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked back at me, his expression dark. ‘I can see you’re struggling with this, Zico.’
‘I—’
‘You want the money but you don’t want to admit it to yourself. You want to be noble, to do the right thing. You want to leave here and have nothing to do with me or Dolores Beckett. You think you want a different life where you’re someone else. Maybe a happy farmer with his wife and kids or whatever the hell it is people like you dream about. So let me make this easy for you, Zico. I’ll take the decision away. I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.’
He spoke slowly and clearly, the words carrying such weight that I could almost feel them.
‘If I were so inclined, Zico, I could make you do this for nothing. I couldn’t have done that a year ago, but now? Now you have ties. This girl. The old man, Raul. You have something more important than money to think about. There are people who matter to you. People who—’
‘Don’t threaten me, Costa.’ I put my hands on the desk and leaned forward so our faces were close and the smoke from his cigarette drifted around us.
‘Or what? There’s nothing you can do, Zico. You have too much to lose. If anything happens to me, there are people who will take action. And if I’m dead, who would protect the old man? Who would keep Daniella safe? You? Alone?’
I leaned back, knowing he was in control.
‘So let’s sort this out together,’ Costa said. ‘You can save yourself a lot of pain and make something out of this. Make it swing in your favour. Just name your price and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll have it waiting for you in that safe.’ He pointed to the corner of the room over my left shoulder, but I stayed as I was, staring into him, feeling the frustration build in me.
‘Come on, Zico. Name your price.’
I sighed and shook my head. ‘Something like this won’t be easy. She’ll have people round her—’
‘She doesn’t have security, she’s a nun, for Christ’s sake. This’ll be easy for you, Zico. Just another job. How much?’
‘Ten thousand.’
‘Ten thousand dollars?’ He stubbed the cigarette into a full ashtray. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Ten.’ I kept my expression set, my eyes directly on his, daring him to smile again.
‘You really are trying to sway this in your favour.’
‘And I want a piece of land with my name on it. Nothing big. Just enough.’
‘Ten?’ he repeated, his expression becoming serious. ‘And you want land?’
‘With my name on it. Signed over.’
‘Enough for you and the girl from the shop ... what’s her name?’
‘None of your business.’
‘You drive a hard bargain, Zico, I like it. You’ve grown since you first worked for me.’ Costa smiled a grin that showed me teeth straighter than any dentist in Piratinga could have made them. ‘I’ll have to check with my employers,’ he said. ‘See what they say.’
‘OK.’ It wouldn’t be easy. The people he worked for were not well known for their generosity. Rich people don’t stay rich by giving away their land and money, and it would hurt for them to have to give anything to a man like me. I was nothing. We both knew they wouldn’t give me ten thousand dollars but if I went in h
igh I stood a better chance of getting enough to make some choices. With enough money, Daniella and I could get married, get a place of our own or even leave town. Leave the shadow here. And the old man could move away to Imperatriz like he always wanted.
I moved to the door, eager to escape the smell of tobacco and aftershave. The years of sweat and smoke ingrained into the soft walls. I pulled it open and turned to look at Costa sitting behind his desk. ‘You can find me when you have an answer. I’ll be around.’
‘Where?’
‘It’s a small town,’ I said. ‘You’ll find me.’
Costa nodded. ‘And let me save you a trip. Your job at Batista’s farm is gone. It’s all been arranged.’
I stared at him for a moment, angry at how easily he had backed me into this corner; angry at being owned by this man. He was no better than the men I had killed, and I would find it as easy to take his life as I had taken theirs, but there would be consequences; he had made that clear. I had more than just myself to think about now, and Costa had used that to his advantage.
‘I’ll see you soon, Zico.’ He smiled and then looked down at something on his desk, as if I weren’t even there.
I slammed the door and made my way down the stairs and out into the sunlight.
Outside, I stopped and leaned against the wall beside the door. I took a deep breath of warm air and watched a pickup pass on the road, tailgate rattling.
I closed my eyes and, for a moment, I was somewhere else. I wasn’t on the street in Piratinga, standing outside Costa’s office. I was nineteen years old again, hiding in Father Tomás’s room at the back of the church, listening to the pounding on the door, the boys looking for me the day I left the favela. Somewhere further up the hillside, in a small house occupied only by boys and drugs and guns, a body lay stiff and dead, and right here, right outside, right now, the others had come looking for me.
Father Tomás’s footsteps were soft on the concrete floor of his small, empty church where no one came any more. I pictured him walking the length of the room, his robe rough and old around his thin ankles, his hands together, his back straight, his hair grey against his black skin. I heard him draw back the bolt, the sharp words of the boys outside, the sudden and familiar sound of gunfire defiling this place of worship forgotten by people with a terrible emptiness inside them.
Wherever I went, whatever I tried to do, that shadow always slipped over me. And here it was again, smiling its wicked smile, a knowing glint twinkling in its dark eyes as it welcomed me back.
4
I went straight to the grocery store, hoping to see Daniella, but her mother was outside, in the plastic seat, waiting for customers. She was sitting under the awning, out of the sun, her thighs splayed out over the seat of the chair, her forearms flattened across the armrest.
‘Zico,’ she said, looking me up and down. ‘You keeping out of trouble?’
‘Always, Doña Eliana.’ I gave her my best smile. ‘How are you? Business good?’
She sagged and made a noise like escaping air. ‘Ah, you know how it is. Why aren’t you at work?’
‘Is Daniella inside?’
‘She’s busy. Working hard. You shouldn’t disturb her.’
‘I won’t be long.’
‘And why aren’t you at work? You ...’
I missed the end of her sentence and went into the shop, allowing my eyes to adjust from the brightness outside. It was cooler in here, where it was dark and the air was being turned by a couple of floor-standing fans with red ribbons tied to the cages. Everything smelled of dry and fresh goods.
The shop wasn’t much, just a square room with three or four aisles of shelves filled with tins and bags and tubes and packaging. Near the entrance, there were sacks of rice and beans and, at the back, by the counter, there was a fridge with Coke and a couple of brands of beer. There were cigarettes in a rack, and jars of sweet things for the children. Even a small section for hooks and lines and folding knives that could be used to cut and gut a fish.
Antonio was there – the man who lived in the room above mine at Juliana’s. He was older than me, maybe in his late forties. The muscles in his arms and neck were tight and sinewy and his features were lined with experience. Dark skinned and grey haired, he moved as if life had been hard on him. He had drifted into town a few weeks ago, taken the room at Juliana’s and started working a few days at one of the fazendas, rounding up cattle from the back of a borrowed horse. Today must have been a rare day off. Or maybe he’d lost his job and was getting ready to move on.
He was coming away from the counter with a plastic bag full of beer cans and acknowledged me with a nod of the head. ‘Oi, Zico.’
‘You having a party?’ I asked, pointing at the cans of beer. They were already sweating in the bag so I could see the brand label through the plastic. Skol.
‘Just a few to get me through the day.’ He raised the bag a touch and showed me an almost toothless smile.
I clapped him on the shoulder and told him to take it easy, but when he moved out of the way, I saw who else was in the store.
Wilson.
As soon as I laid eyes on him, I felt my rage come to life, like a snake that had been sleeping inside me. My stomach went cold and my heart thumped and a surge of adrenalin flooded my muscles so they trembled in anticipation. It had been different when I had seen him waiting outside my place this morning. He had come for me, then, but now he was here, standing at the counter, talking to Daniella, while Costa’s threats were still fresh in my mind.
‘What are you doing here?’ I could hardly disguise the tension in my voice.
‘Hm?’ Wilson turned around and leaned back against the counter. ‘Oh. It’s you.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked again, but I knew he was here to remind me who was in control.
Wilson shrugged and lifted a hand to show me a packet of cigarettes. ‘I was running low.’
‘Well, you got what you want, now get out.’
‘Zico?’ Daniella asked. ‘What’s going on? You can’t—’
‘Outside.’ I tried to stay calm.
Wilson gave me a lazy smile and tucked the cigarettes into his pocket. ‘On second thoughts, maybe there were some other things I needed.’ He started to turn back to the counter.
‘No.’ I reached out and grabbed his wrist. ‘I think you have everything.’
Wilson tore free of my grasp and stood straight. He moved towards me so his nose was no more than a hand’s breadth from mine.
‘Don’t touch me.’ His rancid breath washed over me, and flecks of his spit peppered my face. I could feel the heat coming off him and smell the stale sweat on his shirt.
‘Everything all right, Zico?’ Antonio had stopped in the doorway and turned to watch what was happening. ‘You need some help?’
Wilson raised a hand and placed it on my chest, fingers spread. ‘Out of my way.’
Allowing him to push me back, I watched him saunter along the aisle, knowing there was nothing I could do. Nothing.
When he reached the door, Wilson shoved past Antonio and stalked out into the sunlight.
‘You OK, Zico?’ Antonio looked back at me.
‘Who is that?’ Daniella asked. ‘What was that all about?’
‘No one. It doesn’t matter.’ But I couldn’t just stand by. I had to do something.
My head was filled with a vision of the last time I had seen my sister Sofia. I saw her dull eyes and her twisted expression of pain and anger and fear. It couldn’t happen again. I would not allow it to happen again.
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Daniella called after me as I left the store, Antonio too, but I didn’t hear the words. There was only one thing on my mind now.
The sun was blinding when I moved from the darkness inside, and I lifted a hand to shade my eyes as I scanned the street for Wilson. He was only a few metres away, strolling along the street, opening the packet of cigarettes. He had dropped the wrapping into the
red dirt, and was putting a cigarette between his lips as he passed the narrow alley between Rui’s café and Josalino’s hardware store.
I jogged to catch up with him, my flip-flops slapping the soles of my feet and kicking up dust behind me. It wasn’t quiet, but I didn’t care if he heard me. He was too arrogant to think I would follow him; too sure that I was under their control.
A couple of paces behind him, Wilson heard my approach and turned in surprise, but he was too late to stop me. I shoved him hard towards the alley and followed him in, hitting him once in the kidneys and then pushing him up against the wall.
I gripped my left hand around his throat and slipped the knife from the back of my waistband, pressing the tip into the soft flesh beneath his chin. ‘If you go anywhere near her I’ll—’
‘No one’s going near her.’
I turned to see Luis standing just inside the mouth of the alley.
‘Not yet, anyway,’ he said. His pistol was in his hand, but he hadn’t felt the need to raise it.
‘Where the hell did you come from?’ I spoke through gritted teeth.
‘Lucky for both of you, I just got back from running an errand for Costa. Someone told me Wilson had come to the store and I saw you push him in here and ... well, here I am.’
‘Keep away from her,’ I said.
‘Whatever it is Costa wants from you, his orders are clear,’ Luis told me. ‘Your girlfriend is safe, but the moment he gives the word ...’He drew his finger across his throat. ‘And you know what? She’s a pretty girl. Whoever gets the job will probably have some fun. But if you press that knife any harder, I’ll shoot you dead right here, right now, then go round to the shop and find Daniella. That’s her name, right? Daniella?’
