City of God (38 page)

‘Leave 'im to me! Let's you and I go see 'im and if he gets smart on us we'll go ahead and take 'im out!' Sparrow told Tiny when he arrived.

Then he shook hands with each of his friends and hugged Tiny.

Sparrow ate two platefuls of cow-heel stew and snorted five wraps of coke. Tiny snorted five wraps too, and then they left. Rocket and Leonardo went with them as far as the bridge over the right branch of the river, then said goodbye. Sparrow said he'd be at Katanazaka's Bar that night. They wound through the alleys at a fast pace, guns in their hands, with the solemnity of gangsters at work. They crossed the main streets quickly and
slowed down in the alleys. In one alley, seeing the guns, a woman quickened her step and fell. Tiny laughed his quick, shrill little laugh, which alerted Sparrow, who knew that laugh well. He immediately said:

‘I said I was gonna kill 'im if he got smart on us, but I was just kiddin', man.'

Tiny didn't answer and, seeing an acquaintance, arrogantly asked:

‘Seen Hit-and-Miss?'

‘He's over in Fifteen, havin' a beer.'

When Hit-and-Miss saw the two of them holding guns at the end of the square in Block Fifteen, he tried to slip away. He knew they were there because of the rapes he'd committed.

In the most recent one, even before he'd grabbed the fifteen-year-old girl near the old cinema, covered her mouth, dragged her behind the State Housing Company building, pulled her knickers off from under her skirt and rammed his swollen penis into her anus, it had occurred to him that Tiny would get involved in this one, but he also figured that if he frightened the girl she wouldn't grass. He threatened to kill her if she opened her mouth. As soon as he'd moved away, however, the girl began to scream:

‘Pervert! Pervert!'

The news spread quickly, in spite of the fact that it was after midnight.

‘Hold it! Hold it!' shouted Tiny when he caught sight of Hit-and-Miss, who'd never had sex with a consenting woman. While he was in prison he'd had sex with two homosexuals, and had once raped a cellmate.

‘Is it true you raped a girl?' Sparrow asked firmly.

‘Yeah, I banged her, OK? But she was hangin' around in a really short dress in the middle of the night and she gave me the
come on, then changed her mind at the last minute, know what I mean, pal?'

‘What's this all this “pal” crap? We friends by any chance? And this story about her changin' her mind is bullshit. You're full of shit! No girl's gonna screw you with that ape face! Get your arse over here, 'cos I'm gonna give you a roughin' up to remember the next time you wanna force a girl to have sex with you.'

‘You guys don't let go of your shooters, but I could crush you both with my hands.'

Sparrow handed his gun to Tiny and danced about in front of Hit-and-Miss, who followed suit. Sparrow gave him a thrashing and then, tired of hitting him with his fists, grabbed a pool cue and brought it down on the enemy's head. He then allowed him to flee the fight, his hand pressed to the deepest part of the wound.

‘What's up, man? All spiffed up like a rich kid from the South Zone! Where you off to?' asked Daniel.

‘The damn bar didn't work out. My mum's been sayin' she doesn't want to support a layabout and I don't fancy bein' skint either, know what I mean, man? I'm headin' over to Macro to see if I can rustle up some work. I worked my arse off in that damn bar …'

‘You gonna work in a supermarket, you nutter? Fuck! That takes guts! But you gotta wear something square, man! You won't get anywhere in that playboy outfit.'

‘Good point!' said Rocket.

‘How come the bar went under?'

‘Credit, man, too much credit, know what I'm sayin'? I told ‘im: “Look man, you're sellin' too much on credit.” And he said: “Don't worry, I've got things under control!” And look what happened. Katanazaka's really thick, you know. Thinks he's
always right … Hey, I'm goin' home to get changed, then I'm gonna see if I can rustle up this job, OK?'

‘Good luck!'

One Wednesday night, Mango told his friends he was going to do a couple of houses with two mates, Tião and Coca-Cola. He'd met them during the five days he spent in the lock-up at the Drugs Division after he was caught in the city centre with two bundles of dope in his jocks. The policemen had thought it a good idea to leave him in the slammer for a few days, to see if he'd get his act together. The police usually treated white junkies like this. Even in the
favela
, whites who weren't from the North enjoyed certain privileges when caught smoking marijuana. Most of the time the police didn't even arrest them. They just gave them a warning, then let them go. Because of this immunity, Mango always said that blacks were dope heads, and he was just an addict.

His life of crime began precisely when he met the two gangsters in jail. Before he was released, they asked him several favours which included going to a hiding place to recover four hundred thousand cruzeiros from a hold-up they'd done, and taking it to them a little bit at a time in visits to Section B of Frei Caneca Prison, where they were going to do time. After a month, Mango made friends with other members of the dominant criminal organisation in some of Rio's prisons. Not even Mango himself knew why he was so fascinated when he talked with the gangsters and listened to their stories of bravado, murders, robberies and hold-ups. His passion for crime grew even stronger when one of the inmates in Section B asked him to manage a den in Quitungo council estate, a position that gave him power.

Within the
favela
itself, he started doing business with the guys
from Tiny's gang; he bought and sold stolen goods and brought in loads of dope, coke, revolvers and ammunition.

On one occasion, before he started managing the den in Quitungo and dealing in guns and drugs, he'd had a serious runin with Tiny, to whom he'd sold a stolen motor scooter with forged documents saying it was his. Tiny gave it to the son of one of the cool guys as a present, but two days later he swore aloud that he'd kill Mango the first chance he got because the police had arrested his friend's son for theft and fraud in Barra da Tijuca. If it hadn't been for Orange, Jackfruit and Acerola, Tiny would have already killed him.

When he became a fully-fledged gangsters and supplier of drugs, revolvers and ammunition, he regained Tiny's respect. He'd heard of the organisation and occasionally asked him how it all worked.

On one of his visits, Mango heard from Tião himself that he and Coca-Cola were about to get out of prison. Tião asked Mango to find them a nice hideaway, set aside some pistols and sell all the revolvers so that when they got out they could do some houses and give the den a boost. Business wasn't going so well due to a lack of stock.

By that Wednesday, there was only one revolver left to sell. Mango told everyone that he had a revolver going cheap, since revolvers were no longer of interest to Tiny, who now only bought pistols.

‘Gimme a look at the shooter then,' said a thief near Batman's Bar who made his living holding up buses and mugging people.

Something in the thief's gaze told Mango that he wanted to steal the revolver, and his mistrust was spot-on.

‘Hey, playboy, this shooter's mine!' he said without checking the weapon.

‘Yours!?' said Mango, exaggerating an ironic calm.

‘You're a playboy, man! Your dad's got money! You look smart, you can get a job anywhere you want, you don't need money … It's mine! The shooter's mine!' he finished, not knowing that Mango was now a much more dangerous criminal than he was.

‘OK then, keep it, but you know what?' said Mango. ‘You're takin' it to hell, you fuckin' cunt!' he said, pulling a 7.65 mm pistol from the back of his waistband.

It was only then that the thief realised the revolver wasn't loaded. He suddenly fell to his knees and begged Mango for God's sake not to shoot.

‘Hit the ground!'

Acerola and Orange came over when they heard Mango's voice in Batman's Bar. Even after they'd heard their friend's story, they tried to get him to spare the thief, and eventually managed to convince him.

‘But get out of the
favela
today, or you're dead!'

The three left together and spent the night at Mango's house snorting coke and drinking whisky. At first Acerola said he didn't want to snort, but after Mango said: ‘Just once won't hurt,' he decided to keep his friends company.

They talked about crime, football and women. Only in the morning did Mango tell them that he and his partners were going to do a good joint that afternoon. They'd rustled up some doctors' clothes, 007 briefcases, sunglasses and prescription glasses, watches and new shoes to make them inconspicuous; Tião and Coca-Cola were white and tall like him.

‘C'mon, man, don't get involved, you don't need it, your dad's a lieutenant … You should ask 'im for help, you know. Go back to school …' Acerola advised him.

Mango shook his head, said he couldn't stick studying any more, and even if he did study, he'd never be as rich as he wanted
to be. He said he'd only be a gangster for a while. He'd rustle up some more dough, add it to what he'd already saved and buy a farm in the farthest flung corner of the country. He might even go to Paraguay and take up bee-keeping, a dream he'd had ever since he'd heard his science teacher talking about it.

Acerola and Orange said goodbye and went their separate ways, each thinking up excuses to tell their parents when they got home. Mango showered, had another shot of whisky, heard someone clapping outside and picked up his pistol. Peering through the hole he'd made so he could look out into his front yard without being seen himself, he saw his partners and shouted that the gate was open. They went over their plan, had a sleep – his partners had also stayed up all night – then headed off after dinner.

Tiny's gang appeared on the street around midday, the waking hour for gangsters according to the teachings of Zeca Composer, a composer for the local samba school. One of his sambas went:

As long as there are suckers in the world,
gangsters will wake up at midday
.

They all headed for Almeida's house. Almeida, one of the cool guys, had promised to prepare a nice dinner for Tiny and his gang.

‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!' went Almeida's rooster, suspiciously eyeing Tiny, who'd asked Otávio to buy twenty pounds of potatoes and five chickens to put towards the dinner.

Otávio sped off. He couldn't wait for the dinner that everyone had talked about so much during the week.

Before the sun had even risen, the rooster, having heard so much talk on the subject of his existence, cunningly pecked at
the string that tied him to a bamboo stake in the ground until it was weak enough to break at the slightest tug. He was going to run away, but only after Almeida had thrown him the corn kernels he so liked, which he still hadn't done.

Almeida's rooster didn't actually understand things all that well – he thought like a rooster – but when he saw that bunch of niggers with their mouths full of teeth, drinking beer, glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes, smoking dope and saying they weren't going to snort so as not to lose their appetites, he didn't sing as he usually did. He kept to himself, waiting for his meal.

Otávio arrived by taxi with the five hens rolled up in newspaper, their feet tied together. Marcelo helped the boy take the hens into the kitchen. Tiny told them to throw them into the yard so the rooster could bang them and die happy. He believed this would make the meat tenderer and more tasty. Almeida's wife said the rooster should be the first to go into the pot, as it would take longer to cook. Forgetting everything, the rooster jumped on a hen, then quickly went after another one, and everyone clapped while Almeida waited, holding an enormous knife. The rooster didn't give the chickens a chance. Although he was certain that everything had to do with him being cooked, he thought he was going to die, and then again he didn't. Rooster logic. But when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the knife in the hand of the one he'd always believed to be his friend, he realised that everyone around him was conspiring towards his death. On his first try he freed himself from the string, which had grown weaker as he was servicing the hens, dodged between the guests and took off running through the alleys.

‘Grab ‘im, grab ‘im!' cried Tiny.

The gang took off after the rooster, but
favela
roosters are wild as hell. He wound in and out of alleys, as swift as a panther,
dodged back and forth, forth and back, ran crouching so he wouldn't be seen from afar, only stuck half his head around corners to see if the coast was clear. From time to time he flew some fifteen to twenty feet, and ran desperately towards the New Flats, making it difficult to catch him. The gang laughed their heads off as they chased their dinner. Turning into an alley, Tiny bumped into a man selling pots and pans and fell to the ground with him. He leaped up, told the guy to fuck off and shouted:

‘Shoot the rooster!'

And the shooting began.

The rooster flew over the left branch of the river with bullets whistling past his ears and tearing up the ground, and went between Buildings Seven and Eight. By making short flights, he could climb The Hill or head for the square in The Flats. He chose the latter. Never had so many shots been heard in The Flats. Even those who always peered out of the window during shootouts to have a quick gawk didn't dare this time, for fear of stray bullets.

The gang did its best to catch the rooster. Whoever killed it would be more respected by Tiny, who was still in the alley beating the pots and pans seller with the butt of his gun so he'd never bump into him or swear back at him again.

At that moment Slick was strolling towards The Flats, but when he heard the shots, he did an about-turn and hid, thinking it was the police.