City of God (51 page)

‘To be honest, I reckon he had a point, you know. This thing about only attackin' at night's all wrong. If we show up at a time we've never showed up before, we might get lucky. We might even catch 'em sleepin' …'

‘You reckon?'

‘Might be worth a try …'

‘Let's go now then! Hey, Wart! Round up the guys 'cos we're goin' down.'

The eleven o'clock sun was strong. Knockout's gang slid
through the alleys. None of Tiny's lookouts were on duty. In Block Thirteen, Slick and Night Owl were smoking dope with the other gangsters. Most of them were as high as kites and more than thirty joints were alight. Two-Wheeler didn't notice Butterfly's hatred whenever he gave Slick a friendly pat on the back.

Knockout and his men were faster now. Instead of going through the Nut Cracker, they decided to take the road along the right branch of the river all the way to the end, then took the last alley parallel to the river and came out in front of Block Thirteen. They stopped, checked their guns and ran to the enemy area.

The attack was quick; their enemies beat a retreat before they were hit and then Lincoln, Monster and eight other policemen arrived, shooting.

A few minutes before the shootout, Renata de Jesus had been sitting in her pram looking at everyone who went past. She puckered her lips, laughed and cried, as seven-month-old babies do. Her mother tried to get her away from the front of the house, but the spray from a sawn-off shotgun arrived first and blew her head off.

‘Stop!' shouted one of the policemen chasing Knockout's gang. Bira had fallen in the rush and was picking himself up, giving his pursuer time to take aim.

They handcuffed him and took him to the police post. Bira, a fugitive from the Esmeraldino Bandeira Penal Institute, was then accused of having raped a nine-year-old girl who lived near Block Thirteen three days before. The victim herself had gone to the Thirty-Second District Police Station, accompanied by her mother, to file a report. At the post, Bira confessed to the rape after a severe beating and then, to boot, signed a confession saying he'd murdered the baby.

*     *     *

After the death of the baby girl, there was a spontaneous lull in the fighting. Knockout didn't speak to Carrots for two days for having supported the idea of attacking by day. A child had been killed by one of his gang's bullets as a result. No one actually knew who had hit her, but only he, his brother, a pawn, Fabiano and Weeny had been armed with sawn-off shotguns. He wasn't going to go along with any more suggestions he didn't really agree with, and his remorse at having killed Fatso disappeared forever. He couldn't accept the other death. To stop it happening again, every time they planned an attack, he sent a boy ahead of time to warn the gangs from Block Thirteen and The Flats of the day and time it would take place. Tiny laughed and told his friends that Knockout was a dickhead, because only a dickhead would tell the enemy when he was going to attack. Once, Huey warned them that Knockout was planning an attack on The Flats the following Friday at midnight. Tiny set everything up to ambush him and Knockout didn't show, because the police had closed everything off Up Top. The next time Huey went there to pass on a message, he got three shells in the head from a sawnoff shotgun.

‘Wanna make some easy money?'

‘Only bankers make easy money, man!'

‘Hey, I'm serious …'

‘When did you start handin' out tips-offs?'

‘Get rid of a guy for me.'

‘Who?'

‘Two-Wheeler.'

‘What're you talkin' about? Ain't the guy your friend?'

‘I thought so too, you know, man. We grew up together … But here's the story: remember that day they killed the baby?'

‘Yeah.'

‘He made the death sign behind my back when we were makin' our getaway! He doesn't know I saw.'

‘But if I get ‘im, I'll have the whole gang after me!'

‘No you won't, man. I'll give you a nice little bundle so you can disappear from the
favela
.'

‘Fuck, Butterfly. You're not up to somethin', are ya? I ain't got nothin' against the guy, OK? You know I don't take sides – I don't want no enemies. I bet he told you to tell me this story to test me! Didn't he?'

‘I'm not fuckin' around, man!? I'll give you ten thousand cruzeiros to take 'im out.'

Double Chin thought a bit and took a drag on his cigarette. He realised it had gone out and lit it again with his lighter, took a long drag and squeezed his nose. His movements were slow.

‘OK, but I want five thousand up front.'

‘It's yours.'

Butterfly fished a plastic bag full of money out of his jocks, took out five thousand cruzeiros and handed it to Double Chin, urging him to act fast.

Double Chin had never held so much money in his hands and his look of happiness was genuine. If he killed Two-Wheeler, he'd have double the amount. He thought he'd struck it lucky, because only a week earlier he'd been released from a five-year prison sentence, the second he'd served. It really was his chance to start a new life. Double Chin knew all the tricks of the trade, not because he'd been involved in crime since he was a kid, but because he'd learned them in jail. He'd been caught red-handed in the only two robberies he'd tried to pull off.

‘What's up, Two-Wheeler? Feel like a puff?' asked Double Chin two hours later.

‘Sure!'

‘Let's go this way 'cos the filth've just headed down to Block Thirteen …'

‘On foot or by car?'

‘On foot.'

‘I've got some stuff here too …'

‘Is it from here?'

‘Yeah, from the den.'

‘I've got a brick … it's from Padre Miguel.'

They left the Nut Cracker. Double Chin went ahead. Two-Wheeler broke up some weed, tore the paper lining out of his packet of cigarettes, cut it into a rectangle, placed the weed in the middle and rolled the joint. Double Chin scanned the entire square behind Leão supermarket, didn't see anyone familiar, let Two-Wheeler go ahead of him, took his .38 from his waistband and shot him three times.

Nothing in a
favela
goes unnoticed. There is always someone who sees and tells. The law of silence works only for the police. Slick went out to comb the
favela
just minutes after Two Wheeler's death. Together with the brothers of the dead man and another four men, he was going to make a mess of Double Chin, who by that time had already met Butterfly in a prearranged place. He had already received the rest of the payment, shaken the traitor's hand and was just leaving when Lincoln and Monster announced that he was under arrest.

‘That one there robs buses. He had more than five thousand in his pocket! And this guy's one of Tiny's mob,' said Monster, pointing out Double Chin and Butterfly for the journalists milling around the police post.

Butterfly and Double Chin were placed next to two other prisoners to have their picture taken. Butterfly covered his face with his hands, while Double Chin lowered his head.

‘Go ahead and take 'em to the cell,' said Lincoln.

‘No, let's leave 'em here – the car'll be here soon to take 'em to the station.'

‘Can I go to the toilet?' interrupted Double Chin.

‘Yeah.'

‘No, not prison again! You fuckin' cunt, Monster! I'm outta here, I'm outta here …' thought Double Chin.

Certain the police wouldn't fire in the presence of the journalists, Double Chin dodged sideways, pushed Butterfly at them, took the first left when he reached the street and got a bullet in the neck.

‘I want cars, man, but new cars, the newer the better, this year's models, OK? For every car you bring me I'll give you five pounds of dope and three of coke. It's better for me and you, know what I'm sayin'? It ain't gonna cost you nothin' and I'll make more money,' Tiny's supplier told him one Friday night.

‘Deal.'

The supplier got into his car, accompanied by two civil policemen, and headed up to Carrots' den, where they struck the same deal. They then visited Rio de Janeiro's twenty other dens and made the same proposal.

That same day, Tiny issued an order for all stolen cars to be left in the vicinity of the abandoned mansion with the pool. There was a huge area of dense forest where the police didn't go, and should one of the gangsters see the police heading that way, they were to fire a shot into the air to distract them and stop them finding the hiding place, as Tiny had instructed.

The very first day he went out to steal cars, Skinny got three, and the following day he got another four, which encouraged the rest of the gang. But three of Tiny's men were caught redhanded
and, the next day, two more were killed by the Civil Police after a long chase.

Skinny's run of luck stealing cars continued. After a time, the supplier came to deliver the drugs near Building Seven, and Tiny divided them into equal parts, even though he hadn't been pressured to do so. Skinny looked Russian Mouse straight in the eye and tossed him two pounds of dope and one of coke, saying he was a good guy. When Bicky realised he wasn't going to get anything, he turned his back on them, stroking the handle of his pistol.

The following week, the supplier came back to call off the car deal. Things hadn't gone the way he'd wanted, as he'd had to fork out an arm and a leg to the Federal Police to get across the Paraguayan border with the cars.

Marisol, Daniel and Rodrigo were the only ones of the Boys who still hung around together and carried on getting tattoos, wearing hipsters and perming their hair at home, even though the Boys thing was coming to an end – disco fever was all the rage now. They hadn't become involved in the war, and only did robberies. They had several types of screwdrivers, pliers, crowbars, saws, knives and pistols to help them break into houses and cars. They kept their tools and weapons in a guitar case and went out to do their jobs as if they were going to a party.

It worked because they were white, didn't attract the attention of the police and didn't arouse suspicion in places frequented by whites. Marisol didn't blow the money he got. He used it to fix up his house, then bought a car. They continued until they were able to open a bar and give up crime.

Of the many houses in which he could hide, Knockout had chosen Brickie's place that day. Brickie left him alone, which is what he wanted. He sat on a bench, his tears splashing down
onto the rough cement floor. The forty-watt light bulb barely lit the small room. The smell of cooking oil, the still cobwebs. Since there wasn't a breath of wind, no little hand dared move to show the passing seconds. All was still. He was a criminal, a killer, the creator of a gang, a person who led youths astray. This wasn't why he'd learned to pray when he was a child, this wasn't why he'd always been the best student at school, this wasn't why he'd kept to himself in the
favela
. His diploma in physical education had gone down the shithole, as had his honeymoon with his loved one after he'd witnessed Tiny's penis pounding into her like a bulldozer, his grandfather's bloody body, his house riddled with bullet-holes, Steak-and-Chips' mother picking up the scattered pieces of her son's head from the warm asphalt. More tears welled up. He had the awful feeling he hadn't prayed enough for God not to abandon him, and felt fury taking root in every pore of his body. He didn't sleep that night.

The next morning Knockout heard that Slick was in the habit of going to parties at Skinny's friend's house in Cruzada de São Sebastião. Both Skinny and Slick went almost every Saturday night, stayed until sunrise, then on Sundays went to the beach in Leblon. A friend of the family had seen Slick at the council estate at weekends. He'd kept an eye on the gangster without him noticing and, as soon as he knew his movements, had given Knockout the lowdown. Carrots had always said that Slick was as dangerous as Tiny and that, if they managed to kill him, they'd knock the wind out of the Block Thirteen gang's sails. Knockout gave his friend a phone number to call if he saw the enemy in Cruzada de São Sebastião, and the phone rang the very next Saturday.

‘I'm comin' with you!' said Fabiano. Fabiano drove the car slowly while Knockout kept his head down to avoid the police, because he thought that two men in a car would attract attention.

It was ten o'clock at night, the sky was full of stars and the moon was in its last quarter. The Leblon nightlife enchanted Fabiano.

‘Get up, get up … Check out all the gorgeous girls!' he said, driving slowly.

They watched the colours of the Leblon night. Perhaps that really was normal life – young people just like them intoxicated with a happiness they themselves hadn't felt in a long time. The cars, the clothes, the lights … They thought nothing in the world was worse than poverty, not even disease. They stopped at some traffic lights and a black boy offered them a Sunday paper. Fabiano shook his head, the lights turned green and they only drove off when the cars behind them honked their horns. They saw a police car parked at a corner and suddenly reality returned. Their reason for being there became clear again when they saw the .38 in the holster of the policeman leaning against the car. They sped off towards Cruzada.

Slick, Skinny and Footy were snorting coke on the stairs of a building in Cruzada. They were talking about Bicky, who thought he was hot shit and was always sucking up to Tiny. He'd really put his foot in it with this business of setting up a den near Block Thirteen. Perhaps they could take him out during a raid and blame the enemy.

‘Let's wet our whistles, then go to the party,' said Footy after he'd snorted the last line.

‘Where?' asked Slick.

‘In the bar on the corner over there. The guy pours a mean shot of Jack Daniel's.'

‘That's really good whisky.'

‘Let's leave the shooters at your place.'