by Paulo Lins
Niftyfeet, Oriental and Black Carlos decided to rustle up some money in Copacabana on New Year’s Eve.
‘The best thing is to concentrate on the gringos. We can hang around the hotel a bit then head over to Leme, right? But we can’t stay near the Copacabana Palace the whole time – it’ll be crawlin’ with pigs,’ said Niftyfeet.
Hellraiser gave Berenice money to buy the things they still needed so they could move in together properly. She spent the week asking him to take some time out of his life of crime. He still didn’t have a police record and there was no reason why he couldn’t get a job. She wanted peace and quiet in order to bring up their kids without any hassles. Hellraiser said he was going to keep at it until he hit the jackpot so he could set up a big business with lots of employees working under him, while he counted money and gave orders. Then he’d think about kids.
Pelé and Shorty didn’t waste time making plans. All they could think about was the five wraps of cocaine they were going to buy to see in the New Year. They told everyone they knew that the best coke was in Curral das Éguas, the neighbourhood above Campo Grande in the West Zone of Rio, and whoever wanted some just had to give them the money because they were going there to buy it on the 31st, as long as they gave them a quick snort. Everyone got really out of it on New Year’s Eve and during Carnival. Some people only snorted on these two occasions.
Squirt, Hammer and Cleide arrived on the last day of the year to celebrate the New Year with their friends. Cleide didn’t want to go Up Top to get what was left of the furniture from her old place.
‘The thing to do is get loads of money and do what Berenice did – buy everythin’ new. Right, gorgeous?’
‘But only after January. Now everyone’s spent everythin’ and people ain’t got two pennies to rub together,’ said Hammer, adding that they were going to spend some time at Hellraiser’s place until things were sorted out.
The first minute of the New Year arrived. The year of Xangô, winner of disputes, the most powerful orixá, god of lightning and fire, king of justice. It was the year to work hard for a stable relationship, health and lots of money. The just would be successful that year.
Before the sun had even set, people had raced for places on buses heading for the beach so they could create a midsummer spring in the night and the sea. They cast flowers into the sea to bring new currents into the lives of all the children of father Xangô. They sang a verse for each orixá, hailing them before the waters of Iemanjá. They set off fireworks for Xangô, the keeper of justice, millions of colours to imitate his brilliance and many prayers to give thanks for his protection.
In City of God, hands were clasped, and words of happiness bathed in wine were uttered. The police did not turn up and there were no fights, gunshots or deaths. The smokers smoked. The snorters snorted. The drinkers drank. Everything in the blessed peace of the year that was beginning.
Being busy with the meetings of the different samba school groups, choosing costumes and rehearsing made January pass quickly. The gangsters got hopping. It was much more important to get money for Carnival than for the end of year celebrations. They held up bakeries, taxis, pharmacies, pedestrians and homes in nearby areas and within the estate itself. Even Niftyfeet took any and every opportunity to get his hands on a bit of dough. Pelé and Shorty were responsible for most of the hold-ups within the estate.
On a scorching Friday, the two of them were walking down Middle Street, outraged at the pittance they’d got holding up the gas truck and shops on The Other Side of the River. They decided to rustle up some more that night. Anyone who didn’t have their wits about them was going to end up with empty pockets. They entered an alley and crossed the Prospectors’ rehearsal square.
The boys from the carnival group were crouched on a corner playing cards. The idea of holding them up occurred to both Pelé and Shorty at the same time. They looked at one another and nodded to show they were thinking the same thing. The players, absorbed in the game, didn’t notice their footsteps. The group had finished rehearsing a short time before. They had put away their instruments, smoked a joint and were trying their luck at cards. Pelé and Shorty ordered them to stop the game. They said they didn’t want any games in the area so as not to attract the pigs. And now that they’d warned them, they were not only going to take the money from the game, but also whatever they had in their pockets. Luís the Tease, who was in the game, got up, looked them firmly in the eyes and said:
‘What’s the story, man? You think we’re dickheads just ’cos we don’t carry shooters? No one here’s givin’ money to anyone, man! We’re here mindin’ our own business and you guys come along tryin’ to push us around. Fuck off and leave us alone!’
Pelé and Shorty were surprised by Luís the Tease’s words. They fell silent for a moment. They instinctively cocked their guns, but before they could point them at Tease, they heard Vidal’s voice:
‘It’s like this: if you pull your trigger on one of us, you’re gonna have to pull it on all of us, right? ’Cos we’re gonna beat the shit out of you. We ain’t buyin’ this gangster crap! And if you kill us all there’s still stacks of others to come and settle the score! Everyone here’s respected in the area. Just mention the Prospectors and everyone knows who we are. This business of pointin’ shooters at us is a joke!’
The others went on in the same way at Pelé and Shorty, who shook to the core. They weren’t game enough to kill them all, and felt that the Prospectors might well jump them. Shorty remained frozen, while Pelé argued:
‘That’s right – I seen you talkin’ with Niftyfeet. You a friend of his?’
‘What if I am, man?’ exclaimed Tease.
‘I’m gonna let this go ’cos of that, OK?’ said Pelé.
‘So no more messin’ us around. You know it’ll get ugly for you lot if there’s any trouble, right?’ warned Acerola, who until then had only glared at the gangsters.
They headed for Block Thirteen in silence. That episode had violently wounded their definition of themselves – real gangsters can’t be pushed around. Especially as the guys had been unarmed. They saw that no one there had been afraid. The terrible certainty of truth, in what both Luís the Tease and Vidal had said, hurt, and not only damaged their status as gangsters, but also as men. Red-blooded men. They’d been afraid of Vidal and Tease’s athletic builds. They knew that if they’d been challenged by either one of them to a fistfight, they’d have had the shit bashed out of them. That Acerola could’ve kept his mouth shut, since everything had already been settled. His threat had really rubbed their noses in it.
Pelé looked at Shorty again, who was walking along with his head down, his gaze marking his next steps. He thought about comforting his friend, without owning up to his own fear. But how to without admitting that they’d had to pussyfoot around with guns in their hands? The only alternative was to lie to himself, and say the only reason they hadn’t killed everyone was because of Niftyfeet. He tried to believe his own words as he said they’d have wasted them all if he hadn’t known that Niftyfeet would be pissed off. Shorty agreed with his friend without looking him in the eye. He believed the lie as much as his friend did. They said goodbye half-heartedly.
Carnival Saturday arrived with a fine, though constant, drizzle, but it didn’t dampen the Devil’s party in the streets of Rio de Janeiro. Sunday was the day the festivities really got going with the samba school parades.
Lúcia Maracanã paraded with Portela, Vila Isabel and Unidos do São Carlos as well as the estate’s samba school, Acadêmicos da Cidade de Deus, who were in the fifth division for the first time. Niftyfeet paraded with Salgueiro and Unidos do São Carlos. He could never parade with other schools because his own heart wouldn’t let him. For him, Carnival was about more than merrymaking – all year long, he spent his spare time at home practising the samba steps that would dazzle one of the tourists he had robbed the day before the parade.
On Carnival Monday, Niftyfeet paraded effortlessly in the Drago
n’s Breath carnival group, although not without enchanting the crowds. He liked it when Dragon’s Breath ran into the Bigwig of Ramos, its greatest rival, because there was always a brawl. The fight between the members of the groups smashed up bars and destroyed hawkers’ stalls. Some took the opportunity to rob people in the audience and the samba played on. The Jará group had promised to help Dragon’s Breath if they were around at the time of the fight. They called themselves blood brothers. The Bohemians of Irajá, however, didn’t get involved in scuffles. They paraded in the city centre, Madureira and Irajá.
City of God had no funding from the city council, which was why it didn’t have a stage in the square. Stoopy, a local shop owner, took it upon himself to make the stage and hire musicians for the estate’s Carnival. On the last day of the festivities, the samba school paraded down Main Street, along with the Prospectors and the City of God Angels.
Salgueiro came out on top. Even before the judges’ points had been counted, everyone was already saying that Salgueiro would be champion.
Niftyfeet again won the prize for best sambista. He laughed and cried, drank, smoked heaps of really good shit and snorted the best coke to celebrate his victorious dance steps, the perfect-scoring percussion section, and the most beautiful master of ceremonies and flag-bearer of the Carnival.
* * *
Stringy, Rocket and their friends said goodbye to the holidays in the Eucalypt Grove. They’d woken up early that Friday morning. Rocket had promised to bring a frying pan. Stringy had brought the oil and the others had brought flour, sugar, matches, cold water and an instant squash mix. One busied himself lighting a campfire and preparing the raspberry squash, their favourite, while the others went into the Eucalypt Grove armed with slingshots to hunt for birds.
They were sure that Pipsqueak (who had started showing his face around the estate again), Night Owl, Carrots, Slick and the other kids that hung around with them would not turn up there. They liked picking fights for nothing, ran off with the ball when other kids were having a kick about, stole their toys, smoked dope on street corners and conducted all transactions with their guns cocked. They saw the other gang – Hellraiser, Squirt and Hammer – as adults.
After their meal, they lay in the grass. The sun’s rays sent shafts of light between the leaves. Over in the fields, the cows roamed back and forth. Cars went past unnoticed on Motorway Eleven. The river flowed softly. The water snakes swam freely in the pond. The lake remained unruffled by the gusts of wind that the boys felt on their faces. Our Lady of Sorrows Church and the mansions looked more beautiful from there. The fishermen tried their luck in the big lake. The sky was reflected in the sea at Barra da Tijuca, embodying the metaphor ‘bluer than infinity’.
Batman was an earthly superhero, you had to be on his side. Superman was the strongest of all the superheroes, but if National Kid wanted to, he could knock him out, no sweat, because his pistol beamed kryptonite and a shitload of other things. That Doctor Smith in Lost in Space is the biggest faggot. If a gorgeous naked girl appeared here in the Eucalypt Grove, what would you do? You say ‘but it’s not’ after everythin’ I say. I thought my nose was bleedin’ … but it’snot. If you make a hole and dig and dig and dig and dig, you’re gonna come out in China. I’m gonna be a doctor when I grow up. Well I’m gonna be a policeman, ’cos if anyone tries to mess me around I’ll arrest them. My friend’s got a dog just like Rin Tin Tin. Miss Vera’s the most beautiful teacher at school. Once I dreamed she was my girlfriend. Let’s see who’s got the biggest dick? This story about the stork is a load of balls, we come out of our mums’ snatches. I went to Santa Catarina by air, the plane stopped when we were halfway there, my parachute wouldn’t open and I was fallin’ fast, so I told the manufacturer to stick it up his arse. Milk milk, lemonade, round the corner, chocolate’s made. Think of a number, multiply it by two, add four, divide it by two, take away the number you thought of. The answer’s two.
They stayed there until nightfall. Classes started the following week.
Right after Carnival, Hammer had got lucky in a robbery over near Freguesia. He’d gone alone one sunny morning to hold up the employees of a mansion and had broken open the safe, grabbed jewels, a .38-calibre gun, dollars and a few cruzeiros that were on the dresser. He returned to the estate by taxi. When he arrived home, he told Cleide:
‘Here, go buy us some furniture, and get yourself a nice dress. Go to the beauty parlour, get your hair done and fix up your nails. But don’t take too long, ’cos I wanna see to ya!’ he finished, narrowing his eyes and biting his lip.
‘Where do I change the dollars?’
‘Go see Bahian Paulo – he’ll do it in a flash.’
The gas delivery men didn’t worry about the hold-ups any more, as only Pelé and Shorty carried them out. They even found it funny when the two of them made spectacular appearances from one alley or another in broad daylight, as if they were holding up a carriage or ambushing an enemy in the Old West. The delivery men already had something set aside for them. They’d leave with their guns pointed at their victims, and before turning the corner they’d fire shots into the air to intimidate them.
Hellraiser and Squirt made some good money from the five taxis they held up one Friday night. They’d agreed that the money would go towards guns and ammunition. They’d let Armando know that they would be at the Doorway to Heaven bar to make the transaction on Saturday morning. Beelzebub delivered the goods to Armando. As always, he warned the middleman that if he ever found out that his name had been mentioned to the gangsters, he’d kill him. The former policeman signalled his agreement with the detective. The transaction took place among Doorway to Heaven customers at ten o’clock in the morning.
Before saying goodbye, Hellraiser lowered his head and looked as if he were trying to decide on the best date for an important engagement. Armando and Squirt waited for him to speak. The time Hellraiser was taking to talk made them somewhat ill at ease. Then out of the blue he confronted the middleman:
‘It’s like this, man – you’ve been makin’ a nice little bundle off everyone for ages, haven’t you? A cop down in the Fifth Sector sent us a message sayin’ he’d send us a box of bullets for half your price. That means you’re makin’ twice as much as you should. So this time I’m takin’ the shooters. Give us yours too and gimme back my money.’
Armando obeyed the villain in silence. Squirt was surprised by his friend’s attitude, and he concluded that they’d just made a dangerous enemy. Ex-policemen were worse than gangsters, because their old buddies in uniform would always cover them when they got into trouble. It wasn’t a good idea to go around making rods for your own back. He decided to bump him off. Hellraiser frisked Armando and told him to get running. Without consulting Hellraiser, Squirt fired at the middleman, who zigzagged back and forth across the vacant lot next to the bar and entered the bush unscathed.
‘Get ‘im?’ asked Hellraiser.
‘Yeah, right. You go and make decisions without consultin’ me … That guy’s all cosy with the cops. He’s a dangerous enemy to have. We shouldn’t have let him go alive …’
‘Just as well you didn’t waste him, ’cos I wanna know who his supplier is. How much you wanna bet that Beelzebub or Boss of Us All are gonna show up round here today? Let’s get out of here and tomorrow we’ll find out.’
Boss of Us All left home in a temper because he was broke and didn’t like demanding food from shops, bars, bakeries and supermarkets like the other policemen did. He went to work without the slightest inclination to do anything. He dispensed with the company of his fellow officers on his beat. He wanted to get some money on his own. He went through the estate with his gun cocked. He was unlucky in his first attempts, as everyone whose papers he demanded to see was employed. He crossed over to The Other Side of the River. He wanted to bust someone smoking dope so he could extort some money. He noticed a boy step up his pace when he saw him. Boss of Us All took two bundles of dope from his pocket and sized him up fro
m a distance, to make sure he really was loafing around. He could have got some dough out of him by threatening to take him in for vagrancy in the event that the bastard had been arrested previously, but that’d be a lot of work. He’d have to call the Fifth Sector to get them to check, and his friend there would want a little something to do the job on the quiet. He decided to frame the boy as he was frisking him. Each time he said the dope wasn’t his, Boss of Us All thumped him with the butt of his gun. He’d only quickened his step because he didn’t have signed working papers. Boss of Us All ranted and raved, saying he didn’t like being called a liar. When he found out he lived with his parents, he didn’t take him down to the station, but instead made the boy take him to his house so he could demand money from the family. And he did just that.
The boy’s father had to ask for the neighbours’ help to raise the money Boss of Us All demanded. Before heading back to the station, he went home to give his wife half the money. It was much more than he made as a Military Police officer. He arrived at the station in a better mood and told his friends that everything was calm in the area. He took off his boots, lay down and spent the rest of the day reading a trashy novel.
That same Saturday, Mango had waited for Acerola, Orange, Jackfruit or Green Eyes on the corner by Batman’s Bar to smoke a joint, but no one had shown up; they were all with their girlfriends. He was dying to have a toke or two and then stay home under a blanket watching a flick in a spacey haze. Time passed and none of his friends appeared. He decided to go to Jackfruit’s place, as he knew he had some weed at home. The day before he’d scored a shitload of dope in Curral das Éguas. The driving rain saturated his Lee jeans from the knees down, where his umbrella offered no protection. The electricity went off and on with every crash of thunder, frightening the dogs, the stray cats, the chickens in people’s yards.
‘Jackfruit!’ he called anxiously.
