City of God (45 page)

‘I hadn't heard … The other day he was walking through the square and you know what he said?'

‘What?'

‘ “The Boys give it like a girl after shakin' their arses at the dance.” Then he said: “I roughed up Marisol on the beach. I punched 'im in the face … I asked 'im to gimme a lend of ‘is bike, but he wouldn't.”'

‘He's the next one to go!'

‘That Israel's a bastard too! He killed a rich kid over at the shops yesterday for nothin'!'

‘Yeah, I heard … Chop me out a big line, 'cos I've only just got here, man.'

‘Do it yourself.'

‘Gimme the razor. I need a joint to calm down. Where's this coke from?'

‘Leaky Tap.'

‘His den's doin' a shitload of business! Roll us a joint there, man.'

‘Hold on, man, we'll have one in a minute.'

‘So what's the story with Israel again?'

‘It was this guy … some rich kid … I think he was from Pau Ferro. He showed up in The Flats askin' where the den was. Bicky said they were still doin' the packagin' … So the guy goes to the shops and orders a Coke and a packet of smokes … and Israel's watching 'im … Wasted man, completely wasted!'

‘He loves pickin' fights when he's drunk.'

‘The kid was a bit of a looker, right? Blond, huge tattoo on his arm … So he lit his smoke, put the lighter on the counter like this and stood there, mindin' his own business, drinkin' his Coke. Man! When he went to pick up the lighter, Israel whacked 'im one in the face. He'd been watching the guy out of the corner of his eye …'

‘He's got it in for anyone good-lookin', don't he?'

‘When the guy picked up the lighter, he jumped up and planted the guy one in the face and went: “Tryin' to take my lighter? This lighter's mine.” So the guy says the lighter's his, man! He smashed his face in with his 9 mm and really messed 'im up!'

‘Good Life's the only nice one of the lot: he doesn't give anyone a hard time. He treats everyone nice …'

‘True!'

‘You're right!'

‘Another one we've gotta take out is that Bicky guy …'

‘Let's make a blacklist! See if there's a pen down there.'

‘First, The Flats: Ox, Bicky, Russian Mouse, Beep-Beep and Marcelo …'

‘But no one can find out, and if anyone sees, they die too.'

Ana Flamengo went down Middle Street looking more gorgeous than ever, but she was discreet, since Guimarães had forbidden her to wear clothes that were outrageous or psychedelic, as he
called them. As happy as could be, she bowed to her husband's wishes. Husband? Yes, husband, who had bought a house in a peaceful place and furnished it with impeccable taste. He didn't let Ana Flamengo ply her trade any more; she was now a oneman woman and, to add even more sparkle to her life, he'd let her adopt the baby of a friend who was behind bars.

She went to the street market – the only reason she went to City of God – pushing a flash pram. Very chic. Scowling at the few who insisted on cracking jokes, she complained about the price and quality of the goods and stopped to talk only to those she held in high esteem, for now she despised the poor; they were noisy, toothless and didn't have the slightest understanding of homosexuality. Ana Flamengo was no longer a faggot – now she was a homosexual, and proud of it.

Ana Flamengo had been through a lot as a working girl: things on the streets had taken a turn for the worse – the police were always breathing down their necks, making it difficult to work, she'd taken several beatings, and had been brutally raped by two Military Police officers, who shot her three times after they'd tortured her.

‘It's a miracle I didn't die!' she said.

Unable to work in peace, Ana Flamengo turned to mugging, theft and smuggling drugs into prisons in her anus on visiting days. She was caught red-handed stealing from a supermarket in Barra da Tijuca, and did a year in prison, where she never lacked sex – someone was even killed in Sector B in a dispute over her attentions. But she was beaten when she didn't want to sell drugs and ran the risk of getting caught for a crime she wouldn't have committed of her own accord. Many inmates had seen their sentences extended for doing this kind of work …

After their dinner at the restaurant, when Fabiana said everything Guimarães had expected her to, he made an effort to lead a normal
life with his wife. He wanted to come clean, speak of his desire, tell her about his love for Ana Flamengo, but he limited himself to saying he was having some personal problems that he couldn't even tell her about. Fabiana tried to drag it out of him, but he said he wouldn't tolerate an invasion of his privacy and promised that he would do everything in his power to save their marriage.

It was difficult for him to resist seeking out Ana Flamengo, and on several occasions he pulled his car over near her street corner to watch the one he truly loved, before going home to debase himself in the sex that he forced himself to have with his wife. His home life was harmonious for a time, and it seemed as though his problem had been solved but, as the days went by, the familiar monotony set in: having to fuck that shrivelled snatch, covered in hair, made him feel sick. The architecture of the vagina was ugly and badly finished: it was hard to get it up for that red hole with those dead-looking bits of flesh. But worst of all was when Fabiana asked him for oral sex; touching that slimy thing with his mouth made him queasy, and the damn woman always refused anal sex, which depressed him and made him miss Ana Flamengo even more. That enormous shaved bum, winking arsehole and naughty feeling gave him pleasure, lots of pleasure.

One fine day, sometime later, a drunk Guimarães went looking for Ana Flamengo. He showed up out of nowhere, grabbed her, planted a steaming kiss on her lips, after which he didn't even need to say that he'd live with her forever. That same night he went home, woke up Fabiana and, without the slightest shame, told her the whole truth.

After many fights, expletives and threats, Tiny lost his girlfriend. The girl's parents won her back and managed to rent a house in a faraway neighbourhood to safeguard the future of the girl who had been the greatest love of Tiny's life. She had been the only
decent girl to get close to him of her own accord; the others were all sluts he'd met in the night, who only went out with gangsters. He went around observing women and for a long time he didn't have sex with a slut.

Respectable girls, who didn't hang around at night, didn't steal, didn't spend the weekend holed up in a bar, who worked and studied, attracted him. Unfortunately, as well as being a gangster, he was ugly, short and chubby, with a thick neck and a large head. The new car he'd bought, the gold chains he wore, the fashionable clothes – none of this caught their attention. He didn't tell anyone of his torment, but instead took it out on small-time criminals and started raping the women he had the hots for.

Sparrow had died more than a year earlier. Whenever he got the chance, Tiny roughed up someone from Up Top to avenge his friend's death. He hadn't liked that crowd from Up Top from the start, but he began to hate them after Sparrow died. He thought they were all Butucatu's mates. Whenever he heard that someone from Up Top had stolen in the
favela
, he went and caught the thief and made him wash dishes and clothes and clean his or a friend's house; some he killed, others he beat with a chain. He let them know he was a mean bastard.

He tried to find out who in the neighbourhood had a telephone, so he could rough up the bastard who'd called the police when his gang had surrounded Ferrite's house. Ferrite was a military policeman, and Butucatu had taken cover there after killing Sparrow. They'd been about to break into the house to kill Butucatu when three police cars arrived, forcing the gang to take off.

At the request of Sparrow's family, Tiny decided to allow Ferrite to continue living Up Top. He promised himself, however, that he'd send him off to rot in hell if he ever crossed paths with him.

One Sunday, he went out with Russian Mouse, Bicky and Beep-Beep for a saunter Up Top. He lied, telling them a customer had seen Potbelly in the
favela
two days in a row. His real objective was to see a woman he was enchanted with. The green-eyed blonde – with her firm arse, small breasts, long hair and beautiful face – had never looked at him, not even that day he'd surreptitiously followed her for several blocks, watching her body, imagining himself holding her and giving it to her.

He and his friends walked around Up Top, but the blonde was nowhere to be seen. He decided to have a beer at Noel's Bar, where he stayed until 10 p.m. He smoked a joint, drank beer and whisky, and chewed on some crackling. Russian Mouse and Beep-Beep took off for the dance well before he and Bicky left the bar.

Bicky suggested they head back along Front Street, saying it would be all clear at that hour. They wouldn't have as far to walk. Tiny refused, still hoping to find the blonde, because what if she looked at him and fell in love? There was no harm in dreaming it might happen. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought.

Middle Street was deserted, except for a tall man standing outside the Bonfim. They could tell he wasn't a no-good from his demeanour. Tiny put his gun in his waistband and ordered Bicky to do the same, so that if he ran into the blonde he'd look like a normal guy.

He passed close to the man; he was tall and black with an athletic build, wavy hair and blue eyes. The man's good looks made him angry, the anger of the ugly, but he didn't let on to his friend. He lowered his head, took a few more steps, and when he lifted his head he saw the blonde coming in his direction, dressed in black.

‘Hey gorgeous!' he murmured.

‘Go look at yourself in the mirror!'

Without looking back, the blonde walked over to the man on the corner and gave him a hug and a kiss. Bicky was startled by the expression on his friend's face as he watched the scene, frozen and unblinking, as the blonde walked away with the guy. Tiny took off running towards the couple, and Bicky, without understanding exactly what was going on, followed his friend, who pointed his gun at them and took them to a quiet place. Bicky got the man in a stranglehold, while Tiny tore the woman's clothes off. The man tried to free himself. Tiny fired a bullet that grazed his foot and said if he had to fire again he'd blow his head off.

Then Bicky pressed the barrel of his automatic to the guy's head, while his friend undressed. Tiny ordered the woman to lie down, then spread her legs and tried to penetrate her. She slapped him across the face, and was punched several times in the arm. Tiny got up and spat on the head of his dick, because the blonde's cunt just wouldn't get wet. He grabbed her arm and forced her up against the wall with her back to him. He lifted up her left leg and managed to enter her slowly, with some difficulty, from behind. Again the man put up a struggle and got thumped with the butt of Bicky's pistol. The woman begged her boyfriend to keep quiet.

‘C'mon, move, move your hips …'

Although she was crying, she moved her hips. Her boyfriend closed his eyes. Bored of that position, Tiny made the blonde lie on the ground, lay on top of her and gave it to her hard. Stopping from time to time so he wouldn't come, he sucked her breasts roughly, sucked her lips and tongue, then ordered her on to all fours. He went around to her face and said:

‘Suck it, suck it!'

Then he went behind her again and rammed his thick penis into her anus.

Tiny sighed with happiness; he was happy to be the protagonist of that act, not only because he was giving it to the blonde, but because he was making the man suffer. It was his revenge for being short, squat and ugly. When he'd come, he looked at the blonde's boyfriend. He considered killing him, but if he killed him he wouldn't suffer much, and what was the point in only a little suffering? On the spur of the moment, he went back to the blonde, gave her a kiss, got dressed and left.

They clapped their hands at the gate of the nearest house. Luckily, the house belonged to an acquaintance of the man, although they hadn't known it until then. Ashamed, he told the acquaintance everything that had happened while he found some clothes for his girlfriend, treated their injuries, and made them each a cup of hot coffee.

He took his girlfriend home and wandered through the streets with his eyes on the ground, waiting for his family to go to bed.

José worked as a bus conductor, taught karate at the Eighteenth Military Police Battalion headquarters, was finishing secondary school at night in a state college on Seca Square and played football every Saturday afternoon – the only time he was ever around people his own age, because he wasn't really the chummy sort. He kept to himself to avoid hassles. As he was considered very handsome in the
favela
, he was always surrounded by women, and had even been nicknamed Knockout.

He slowly turned the key in the door and tiptoed across the living room so as not to wake his younger brothers, who slept there. Thirst. He went to the bathroom, positioned his mouth under the tap and turned it on.

‘Honey?' called his mother, making sure her son was home so she could sleep in peace.

‘It's me.'

He was unable to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling as he usually did, so great was the pain he felt in his neck. He barely blinked. Wandering through the streets, he'd felt hatred and shame. Lying there in bed, these two feelings gathered new momentum. Tiny's penis moving in and out of his darling's vagina, the very woman he'd chosen to be his bride, whom he was dying to have sex with, but they were holding out until they were married. That bastard had deflowered his beloved like a bulldozer. He remembered his girlfriend thrashing about, trying to break free from her rapist, him punching her in the face, thumping her across the back to make her shut up, the blood trickling out of her vagina.