City of God (42 page)

‘If I go over to Realengo, I'll pick up some cheap stuff for you,' said Hit-and-Miss after Carrots had given him thirty cruzeiros. He went on:

‘Thanks for sendin' me them funds over in the slammer …'

‘I didn't send anythin', man … The money was yours – right?'

‘Some bastards don't send any, know what I mean? But you did the right thing by me.'

They stood there in a corner of the square in Block Fifteen talking about Tiny's gang. When Hit-and-Miss heard that Sparrow had been caught, he laughed heartily and swore that one day he'd kill him. Carrots frowned at him and said:

‘If you kill ‘im, you'll be killin' the nicest gangster in the
favela
.'

Hit-and-Miss went quiet for a while, took the paper lining from a packet of cigarettes and cut it. Carrots put a bit of dope on the paper, Hit-and-Miss rolled the joint and they smoked it, making small talk.

A new day dawned and a north-westerly breeze was blowing, bringing with it a mild chill. The den assistant, who'd remained quiet most of the time, counted the money, took his
cut, handed the rest to Carrots together with the remaining drugs and left.

‘Feel like a snort?' asked Carrots.

‘A little pick-me-up before headin' over to Realengo'll do me good.'

‘Your mum lives there, don't she?'

‘Yeah, but I'm not goin' to her place. I'm gonna find a pal who did time with me … He's been out for a while, but he always sent me money while I was inside, dope, coke … He told me to go see 'im when I got out and he'd give me a hand.'

They snorted the coke in an instant.

‘Thanks. Later on I'll bring you some good weed for the den,' said Hit-and-Miss.

Less than two hours later Hit-and-Miss was in Realengo. He knew it was more dangerous for a fugitive to walk around there than in City of God, but he was friends with the gangsters he'd met in jail and, since his friend knew a good supplier, he'd surely give him a few pounds of dope on sale-or-return as he'd promised. He'd get the drugs and get out of there as quickly as possible.

The transaction with his friend was over faster than Hit-and-Miss had imagined, but he'd only have a day to pay for the top quality weed. He was also given the money to take a taxi to Cascadura, but thought he'd be better off taking a bus. Taxis were for whites. He believed that blacks who took taxis were either no-goods or at death's door.

He gave his friend the weed, got paid and decided to have a beer to celebrate. In addition to the beer, he had a few shots of whisky and some fried sausages. He talked loudly in front of his cousins, said he'd fucked more than one dickhead in prison, remembered the good old days, and improvised a samba.
Completely drunk, Hit-and-Miss saw Sparrow's sister go past and, pretending he didn't know he'd been arrested, said:

‘Tell Sparrow I'm gonna do your place tonight and I'm takin' down whoever's there: women, children, the fuckin' lot …'

Sparrow's sister arrived home in tears and had to drink a glass of sugar water before she could tell her brothers what had happened. Edgar, Sparrow's eldest brother, also an armed robber, decided to send the rest of the family to their aunt's house. Edgar prepared himself in every possible way for an encounter with Hit-and-Miss, who drank late into the night, was carried out of the bar by his cousins, and slept at his aunt's place. When he woke up, he had only a vague recollection of what had happened.

Enraged, Edgar went looking for him as soon as it was light. Although he wasn't friends with the men in Tiny's gang, he complained to a couple of them who'd asked him what was going on when they saw his gun cocked. Soon, Tiny's entire gang was looking for Hit-and-Miss, who luckily managed to get out of the
favela
unscathed.

On the bus, Hit-and-Miss panicked when he realised he'd either lost money or spent too much. He even wondered whether his own cousins had robbed him. The worst thing of all was not having a gun, and he had to sort one out urgently so he could hold up a joint and settle his debt.

Three days later, Hit-and-Miss got a gun from Carrots in an escapade that ended in the
favela
. He'd held up a petrol station and was now at home alone with his aging mother, Margarida, who was short-sighted and suffered from asthma. He didn't listen to a word she said. He'd woken up in the middle of the night and was in the kitchen frying himself an egg. Afterwards, he was going to settle his debt. He heard a noise outside, immediately thought it was the police, ran to the bedroom, opened the window and jumped into the backyard.

A fine rain was falling that night, the streets were deserted, and the streetlamps were weak and far apart. He slipped over the fence into the neighbour's backyard and jumped the back fence with his lithe, long legs. The intruders called out his name.

‘Antônio, someone's calling you,' said his mother, giving him away.

When he didn't reply, his mother walked over to the door saying her son had been there just a minute before but had disappeared. The man who'd sold him the dope, believing his mother was involved, opened fire against the flimsy wooden door. Hit-and-Miss's mother was hit several times.

Hit-and-Miss heard the shots and ran faster. He didn't notice a Military Police car in an adjacent street. Without shouting that he was under arrest, the police shot at him and he returned fire. When he realised he was almost out of ammunition, he decided to turn himself in.

‘Let's kill the cunt now!' said the corporal.

‘No, let's arrest ‘im,' said the sergeant, thinking Hit-and-Miss might grass on all the dealers in the region.

One Saturday at the end of the month, a tired Rocket went to work at Macro supermarket. He was already sick to death of his boring routine as a supermarket assistant. What he really wanted to do was take photos. He'd work a little longer, then do everything he could to get fired. He'd use his severance pay to buy the camera he so desperately wanted and enrol in a course. Problem solved.

The last Saturday of each month was good for those who stole from supermarkets, because they were always full. Two thieves from The Flats were spotted by the floor manager waving at Rocket as they went past with a TV set, taking advantage of the confusion at the checkout. Rocket had no choice but to let the
thieves pass; otherwise he'd have to move from the
favela
or be killed. He was scared, and when he realised his manager had seen everything, he pretended he hadn't seen the thieves in action.

The thieves were caught by the security guards and beaten up; they weren't handed over to the police so as to keep the supermarket's name out of the newspapers. Rocket worried for the rest of the day that the thieves might think he'd turned them in, which wasn't the case.

When he got to work at the beginning of the following week, Rocket was called into the office. He confirmed everything he'd told the floor manager. Looking his bosses straight in the eye, he told him honestly what could happen if he turned them in. The managers didn't understand and Rocket was fired.

His severance pay was enough to make a down payment on a Canon camera, but he'd have to pay the rest off in instalments and help out at home … He looked in the papers for a used camera, which would be fine while he was learning. He saw he had less than half of what he'd need to buy the cheapest of them all. He tore up the newspaper in a fit, went to the den at The Flats, bought some dope, and headed for the Eucalypt Grove to smoke it alone. Along the way he ran into Stringy, from whom he'd grown apart ever since he'd started Bible-bashing. He made up an excuse so he wouldn't have to stop, crossed the bridge, and was walking along the river's edge when he heard someone call him.

‘What's up, Ricardo?' he answered.

‘Fuck! I'm really down …'

‘You too, huh? I just got fired from my job and the money wasn't enough to do what I wanted to do. I'm fucked.'

‘We need a joint.'

‘I've got one here. Come have a smoke with me!'

‘I knew you'd have one up your sleeve.'

They crossed the State Water Department bridge, and Rocket's depression began to lift, not because of his friend's presence or the dope he was about to smoke, but because of the beauty of the place: that immense plain, the lake, the almond trees and the Eucalypt Grove.

They raved on about other things while they smoked. The third joint from the generous bundle of weed was petering out and they were both staring into space, when Ricardo said:

‘Wanna do a job?'

‘OK!'

‘We both need to get back on our feet, don't we?' said Ricardo emphatically.

‘Too right we do!' exclaimed Rocket.

Two days later, they got on a City of God–Carioca bus at around 10 p.m. at the last bus stop in the
favela
. They sat at the back. They were going to wait until the bus was full, then hold up the conductress and passengers. The operation had to be over before the bus went up the Grajaú Range, where Ricardo lived. Ricardo had stolen a double-barrelled derringer from his grandmother. Rocket had also tried but failed to borrow a revolver from his cousin. They'd have to make do with the old derringer.

At the next stop, only one woman put out her hand. She had two children with her. She got on, saying the bus had taken a long time. The conductress said she couldn't help it, the owners of the company didn't put enough buses on the line, and she continued talking, now looking at Rocket and Ricardo. Rocket answered and within a few minutes the conversation had gone off in several different directions. At Anil Square, Ricardo told Rocket it was time to move, took the derringer from his waistband and said in a low voice:

‘Now!'

When she saw them get up, the conductress, who hadn't noticed the derringer, said:

‘Hop over the turnstile and just pay for one ticket.'

They looked at one another and decided in a second that it would be more strategic to do what she'd suggested. They hopped over. She said:

‘Thank God this is the last trip …'

‘How many d'ya do?' asked Rocket, as they sat down again.

‘Four.'

‘Takes ages, don't it?'

‘Yeah. I'm so sick of this job.'

The bus stopped and a couple got on. Rocket waited for the driver to take off and said:

‘Now!'

They both stood and looked at the conductress, who said:

‘Getting off already? Take care!'

‘No, we're not gettin' off yet – we're just gonna have a smoke.'

They sat down again and decided not to hold up the bus because the conductress was really nice.

They got off at Grajaú, wandered through the tree-lined streets of the suburb and agreed they'd be better off holding up the only bakery open in the area. They went into the bakery, ordered a Coke, and positioned themselves so they could see when another bus appeared at the end of the street. They'd do the hold-up, catch the bus, get off two or three stops later, and slip down the most obscure street they could find.

‘You'll have to get a token at the till first,' said the shop assistant.

The girl at the till served Rocket with a smile. Rocket stared at her face with a Don Juan-like expression. She laughed again. As always, Rocket started chatting. The girl was sweet. She wasn't
drop-dead gorgeous, but she was OK, thought Rocket. They drank their Coke in small sips so they wouldn't finish before the bus arrived. When another customer came in, they settled in and decided not to hold up the bakery because the girl at the till was really nice.

‘Hey, let's get a bus that doesn't go through the
favela
, OK? But one that'll leave us somewhere nearby – then there won't be anyone we know and it'll be easier to get off and forget about it,' reasoned Ricardo.

‘Good point!' agreed Rocket.

The 241 arrived empty. They got on, pretending not to know one other and bought tickets. Ricardo headed for the front of the bus, while Rocket went through the turnstile and stood close to it. The bus began to climb the hill. A compact view of Rio de Janeiro's North Zone slowly greeted their eyes. They could see the districts of Engenho Novo, Engenho de Dentro, Riachuelo, Méier and Penha, as well as Fundão and Governador islands. To the far left was Bangu, Realengo, and Padre Miguel. It was a cloudless, moonless night.

Suddenly, Rocket glanced at the conductor. He was mulatto, and under his uniform he was wearing a Botafogo Football Club shirt. Botafogo had defeated Flamengo the previous Sunday and that was Botafogo's destiny: to beat the idiots. He was sure that every time Flamengo had beaten the Glorious Team it had been a set-up, or the directors were lining their pockets. His gaze framed the conductor, then focused, clicked and that was it: he'd taken the photo he'd put beside the poster of his team. He thought about Ricardo. When he yelled: ‘Now,' he was to stick his hand inside his shirt and announce the hold-up.

The bus stopped at Cardoso Fontes Hospital, where two youths got on, helping a woman who looked sick. In five stops
they'd be at Freguesia and that'd be it – they'd have rustled up the money to buy his camera.

Rocket discreetly put his hand inside his shirt. All he had to do was wait for his friend to shout: ‘Now,' and he'd hold up the Botafogo supporter. He waited, waited and nothing. He looked over the heads of a few passengers and saw his friend in an animated conversation with the driver. No way was he going to shout: ‘Now!' He decided to go to the front of the bus, where his friend told him:

‘The driver's a really nice guy!'

They got off at Freguesia Square. Staring at the only open bar, they decided to do the place. They were crossing the road when a car pulled over next to them:

‘Hey, man, can you tell me how to get to Barra da Tijuca?' asked the guy in the passenger seat.

With the swift cunning of the thief he believed himself to be, Rocket said they were heading that way, and if they'd give them a ride, they'd be doing each other a favour.