by Paulo Lins
He put together the body parts as if solving a jigsaw puzzle, put everything in a shoebox and with unsteady steps headed for his mother-in-law’s house. He pressed one of his palms to the left side of his chest to try to calm his furiously thumping heart. Contrary to what he had always done, he clapped his hands at the gate. His youngest sister-in-law came to the door and immediately called his wife. She had gone to her mother’s place, two blocks from home, to get some fennel to make tea for the baby, who seemed to have colic. The murderer felt avenged; there were only a few minutes left before he’d see that woman suffering like a cow in a slaughterhouse, because that’s what she was. He couldn’t accept that his child was white, since he was black and so was his fucking wife. She came quickly, thinking about the baby; it was breastfeeding time. As she came over she asked where it was. Instead of answering, he waited for her to arrive, took the lid off the box and said:
‘Give it to your child’s father. You think you were gonna pull the wool over my eyes forever?’
In an impulsive gesture, the woman pulled one of the baby’s arms out of the box. A mere trickle of blood connected it to the rest of the body. The woman fainted, the man fled. He was arrested a few days later.
Over in the Rec, a man lay in wait behind the club. At around 10 p.m., he’d told his wife he was going to a friend’s to lend him a mallet and large knife, but he’d had a drink or two and there he was, alone, after midnight, preparing to defend his honour.
Two days earlier, he’d followed his wife when she left work. He’d been suspicious of her for a long time. He felt relieved when he saw that she went straight to the bus stop, but even so, he took a taxi to follow the bus, like a detective in a TV film. Instead of getting off at her usual stop, his wife rang the bell at The Flats. As she got off, she glanced around without noticing her husband inside the taxi, and hugged a man who was always passing in front of their house on his way to The Other Side of the River. She gave him a kiss on the lips and, holding hands, they went into a block of flats.
‘I bet they’re gonna screw at some friend’s place,’ he thought.
He went home to wait for his wife. She arrived, complaining that she was tired, and begged off doing anything that night because her boss had worked her hard that day, making her stay back late. He agreed. The next day he went to the corner to see what time the guy passed. The bastard went past at two o’clock in the morning and even had the nerve to greet him.
Loverboy should have crossed the Rec bridge by now. The betrayed husband was crying by the time he saw a man appear on the corner by the Leão supermarket. He let the man draw closer to be sure it was really the guy that was fucking his wife. He adjusted his grip on the knife in his right hand, the mallet in his left, and crouched down, waiting for him to pass. He tiptoed after him and, with several blows, decapitated him. He took a plastic bag from his pocket, put the bloody head with bulging eyes in it, went home and threw it into the adulteress’s lap.
Over at the motel, Pipsqueak walked down the second-floor corridor looking for victims. He wanted to rob, maim or kill someone – it didn’t matter who. The guests, frightened by the shots, locked their doors. Pipsqueak broke down the first, the second, and stormed the third after shooting the lock, like the heroes in American films. A couple awoke to discover they were being shot at, although the bullets only grazed them. He cleaned them out. He broke into another room. The man tried to resist and got a bullet in the arm. He was trying to break into more rooms when he heard police sirens. He threw himself out of the window head-first, did a somersault in the air and landed on the ground ready to run.
He was happy as he ran into the bush, for he had actively taken part in the hold-up. That’s why he had faked the arrival of the police. He couldn’t stand hanging around outside where time didn’t pass, with everything going on inside. He’d hoped that a couple would turn up at the motel, because then he wouldn’t have to simulate a situation in order to get involved, but nothing had happened for real; not the police, nor more guests.
Hellraiser, Black Carlos, Pelé and Shorty came to a halt in the bush. It was time to sort things out and split the loot, even though they hadn’t yet counted the money or checked the value of the jewels, because if the police appeared and one of them was caught with all the goods, everything would be lost.
‘Pipsqueak must’ve got caught. I didn’t want to bring that kid,’ said Hellraiser, mopping the sweat from his face. ‘Now the shit’s hit the fan, I reckon we’d better head back to City of God,’ he continued.
‘No way, man! Let’s get on over to Salgueiro ’cos we might …’
‘You wanna take a car now, with the pigs after us?’ broke in Hellraiser in an authoritative voice. They walked on through the bush for a time in silence. After passing the Dread pitch, Hellraiser said they’d have to set aside Pipsqueak’s share and, if he’d been caught, they’d send him the money in prison. They stopped at the foot of the haunted fig tree to divide the money five ways. Hellraiser bemoaned the arrival of the police.
‘If the cops hadn’t shown up, we would’ve got ourselves a nice little bundle! We would’ve hit the jackpot!’
‘What if Pipsqueak grasses?’ asked Carlos.
‘The kid can be trusted, man. He won’t grass.’
The mosquitoes stopped them from hanging about for long. They headed for Block Thirteen to have a beer, smoke a joint and play pool. They went around the lake and crossed the State Water Department bridge in a hurry. As they turned into the first alley of Block Thirteen, they heard Detective Beelzebub’s voice:
‘If you guys touch your shooters or run for it, I’ll take you down right where you are!’
Ignoring the threat, they tore off down the alleys. A random dope head came along with a lit joint and, when he saw everyone running, took off too, but his steps didn’t take him very far. A spray of bullets from Beelzebub’s machine gun perforated his head. The man writhed in the burbling water of a blocked drain. Beelzebub ignored the others and went doggedly after Hellraiser, who reached the edge of the river, zigzagging back and forth. Before he’d got to the end of the first block, he turned into someone’s yard and jumped the back fence into Middle Street. Boss of Us All was lying in ambush on the corner and joined the chase. As he ran he told the detective to leave it to him. Beelzebub begrudgingly went after Black Carlos, Pelé and Shorty again. Hellraiser, hearing only fire from a .38, figured that Beelzebub was no longer chasing him and decided to return fire. As he rounded corners, he waited for his pursuer to appear at the other end, then pulled his trigger. He wouldn’t have done this had his enemy been carrying a machine gun, but in the case of a .38 against a .38, the smartest would win. Boss of Us All swore, saying there’d be no escaping this time. They passed Batman’s Bar, rhythmically exchanging fire.
Mango and Green Eyes got rid of a roach and took off running when they heard the gunshots. Boss of Us All spotted another two police officers in Main Square and fired several shots to alert them. They joined the chase. In desperation Hellraiser invaded a house with the intention of taking a child hostage, but he was unsuccessful; there was no one at home. His breathless thinking reminded him that he had to jump walls, fences, and climb onto rooftops to see where his enemies were and where they were heading. He thought it best to run for The Plots. His legs were slow to obey his head’s commands. He decided to climb the first leafy tree he saw so he could recollect himself.
Down Below, Black Carlos, Pelé and Shorty were exchanging fire with Beelzebub and Officer Baldie. Furious with a defect in his machine gun, Beelzebub didn’t want to catch the gangsters – he wanted to send them off to the pits of hell. Pelé and Shorty went wherever Carlos went, which irritated him. He decided to lose them.
‘Hey, I’m gonna double round and shoot him in the arse.’
He went around the block, took aim at the detective, fired and hotfooted it out of there. The shot grazed Officer Baldie. Beelzebub’s ire took on a new proportion. He strode out into the gunfire and the gan
gsters retreated to The Flats with Beelzebub on their heels.
Hellraiser had been up an almond tree for more than half an hour. Boss of Us All had seen him cross the street and head towards The Plots. The police officers figured that he couldn’t have got very far. They decided to split up, and whoever found him first would fire a shot to warn the others. When he noticed Boss of Us All heading his way, Hellraiser moved in order to jump and take off running again. For a second he thought he should stay where he was. No, it would be better to jump and get out of there. His hesitation lost him time. There was no way he could keep running without getting hit. He knew Boss of Us All was a good shot. He settled back on his branch and bided his time. He visualised his pombagira. Now everything depended on her.
Boss of Us All searched the bush high and low. He remembered the torch he hadn’t brought as he took one last drag on his filterless Continental and tossed it away. Then he crouched down to pick up the butt and lit a joint. He imagined Hellraiser would be far away by then. He might as well relax, since everything had gone wrong. He strolled along slowly, decided to sit under the tree where Hellraiser was and pulled on the joint.
He lit another cigarette, took off his cap, loosened his bootlaces and placed his revolver on an exposed root of the almond tree. Hellraiser tried to change position so he could shoot him in the backside and silently cursed the wasp flying around his head.
‘Fuckin’ hell! Why did the little bastard have to appear now?’
Pelé and Shorty arrived at The Flats along with Beelzebub’s bullets. To their surprise, Silva, Cosme and Biriba, gangsters from The Flats, were also exchanging fire with other civil policemen. The cops retreated when they arrived. But Beelzebub shouted:
‘Let’s kill the bastards!’
After stopping to catch his breath, he took aim at Pelé’s neck and fired. One of the gangsters from The Flats passed in front of him. He fell to the ground writhing and a pool of blood formed around his head. A thin trickle filled the holes in the ground where Stringy and Rocket had played marbles that morning.
Cosme and Silva joined Shorty and Pelé, crossed Gabinal Road and hid in one of the haunted mansions. Detective Beelzebub checked the dead man’s documents. He laughed when he noticed that his gun was one of many that he’d given his friend Armando to sell. (Armando was a Military Police officer dismissed from the force for having killed his wife and her lover when he found them fucking in his bed.) He took the documents; they might be useful for forging something in the event that the guy didn’t have a record.
Hellraiser let the wasp sting him. On his branch it was hard to find a position to shoot from. Boss of Us All leaned his head against the tree trunk. Tiredness made his eyes unsteady. The desire to sleep forced him up to go look for the other police officers. A little further along he stopped to adjust his boot and heard the sound of someone getting a beating. They had caught three teenagers smoking a joint and drinking wine, while one of them played a guitar.
‘You catch the bastard?’ asked Boss of Us All.
‘No, but we caught these dope heads here.’
‘Got any money on you?’
‘Yeah, here, take the lot!’
‘Now run and don’t look back!’ said Boss of Us All.
Up in the tree, Hellraiser had got rid of the wasp, changed position and was furious for not having managed to kill Boss Of Us All. He stared at the distant police officers, who were dividing up the kids’ money. He climbed down and made sure the money and jewels were secure. He walked swiftly through the night, crossed the river and took shelter at Nasty Jorge’s place.
At the street market, talk of the previous night’s shootout frightened housewives, who made sure their children didn’t leave their yards.
Out Front, Mango and Jackfruit were listening to Acerola who said there had been more than twenty Civil and Military Police officers patrolling the estate the night before. He said that as well as the murders, a motel on Bandeirantes Motorway and two bakeries in Freguesia had been held up, an Army colonel’s house on Pau Ferro Road had been broken into and two pharmacies in Taquara had been robbed. He finished by saying that it was a bad idea to get high anywhere in the estate because the pigs wouldn’t leave anyone in peace until they caught someone.
‘How do you know about all this commotion?’ asked Green Eyes.
‘I heard it on the radio this morning …’
Hellraiser left Nasty Jorge’s place after one o’clock in the afternoon. He found Berenice at the market. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she was his. He planted a kiss on her lips, took her hand and they walked together down Middle Street. Back at home, he asked her to go look for his pals.
‘Pipsqueak must’ve got caught, man! He still hasn’t shown up,’ said Carlos.
‘I bet it was him that grassed,’ said Berenice.
‘No way, the kid can be trusted. He’d die before he grassed on someone!’ said Hellraiser.
The gangsters had dinner, grumbled about not having hit the jackpot, and decided they’d better spend some time away from the estate; the police would continue to be trouble until they killed or caught someone.
‘Truth is, no one knows if Pipsqueak grassed or not,’ said Black Carlos.
They went to Salgueiro late in the evening.
On Monday, Saturday’s crimes had made front-page news. A couple had been murdered at the motel. There had been no fatalities in the other hold-ups. After spelling his way through the news for his friends, Black Carlos got angry about the death of the couple. Pelé and Shorty stood up for themselves, saying they’d done everything Hellraiser had told them to. But the news emblazoned across the front page of the motel robbery, the death of the baby and the decapitated man gave them the reputation of being courageous and fearless.
‘Gangsters’ve gotta be famous to be really respected!’ Hellraiser told Carlos.
In fact they were all proud to see the motel on the front page. They felt important, respected by other gangsters in the estate and in other favelas; it wasn’t just anyone who saw his exploits stamped across the front page of a newspaper, and what was more, if they were unlucky enough to get caught, they’d be respected in prison for having pulled off a large-scale robbery. It was a shame their names hadn’t been mentioned in the article, but at least it said that it could only have been the gangsters from City of God. Everyone who knew them would know it was them.
‘It’s better like that, you know, ’cos if our names were there, we’d have another investigation on our hands.’
Children took over the streets. They spent the mornings selling ice lollies, and the afternoons playing. The school holidays, which arrived together with the heat, were always like that. Stringy and Rocket decided to sell ice lollies that Tuesday. They got the goods on a sale-or-return basis at China’s ice cream parlour on Edgar Werneck Avenue, near the estate. Their friends had declined the enterprise. They preferred to tie string to the ends of a broomstick, and throw it into the river to fish out the things washed along by the water. It was much more exciting than plodding around in the sun shouting, ‘Ice lollies for sale!’ Fishing in the river for pieces of wood, oil cans, tree branches and all those other things required talent and luck.
Rocket sold his box of ice lollies in a few hours and went to give his mother the money he’d earned. He went through the neighbourhoods of Freguesia, Anil and Gardênia Azul, as well as the streets of the estate. Stringy sold less than a third of his goods. He decided to give his fishing friends ice lollies and consumed his merchandise while having the odd go on the broomstick. Rocket didn’t stay at home long; he’d earned the right to play until whatever time he pleased. He’d passed his end-of-year exams and now worked during the holidays to help out at home.
It was the time of year to go shopping, fix up the house, look after your body and make New Year’s resolutions to stop smoking. End-of-year festivities always brought the hope that everything would work out from then on. The kids earned money by selling river sand to
construction sites, and ice lollies and bread in the streets. Some boys offered to weed yards and paint houses and flats. Others collected bottles, wire and iron to sell at the scrapyard. Workers relied on their Christmas bonuses, gangsters on hold-ups and robberies, and Boss of Us All, Beelzebub and the other police officers concerned themselves with beating up dope heads when they busted them, stealing stolen goods from thieves, and demanding protection money from the den owners. The girls who worked the street markets in the South Zone sold their stolen goods personally.
Out Front, stalls were set up selling all manner of products. Pork Joe sold meat from his own pigs behind the Leão supermarket. The stalls gradually took over the main streets of the estate. December 24th. The men started drinking early and put their sound systems out on their window sills when they’d done their last-minute shopping. The women divided their time between domestic duties and visits to the beauty salons within the estate itself. At midnight, families gathered together to cry for the loss of loved ones, then went outside to wish their neighbours a Merry Christmas.
The week passed in a festive atmosphere. Hellraiser, Black Carlos, Pelé and Shorty returned to the estate. They figured the pigs wouldn’t bother them right after Christmas.
