City of God

by Paulo Lins

  ‘It was Tiny, it was Tiny!’ shouted Antunes, his middle brother.

  ‘But …?’

  ‘He came looking for you saying he was going to kill you! When he tried to force his way in, dad stabbed him and he did this!’ his mother explained.

  He clutched his grandfather’s body, kissed his face and whispered something in his ear. He shook him slowly thinking he might come back, or that he wasn’t dead, then checked his pulse, got up, looked at his mother leaning against his sister, grunted an incomprehensible monosyllable and went inside.

  A group of people from the Assembly of God Church was praying. Wide-eyed, he couldn’t decide whether to stay inside or outside. His grandfather’s body bleeding at the gate, his younger siblings leaning against the wall. Outside, more and more people arrived, an old woman lit candles around the body and covered it with a white sheet, which quickly became soaked in blood. Grandpa Nel’s blood. His grandmother was telling family members that God knew what he was doing. The dog lying near the body, a few plates of half-eaten food on the table, his grandfather’s half-drunk mug of water. He paced through the house, the backyard, went back inside, went to the gate. He retraced his steps with his hands on his head. At first his steps were slow, then he quickened his pace, going faster, faster, now running in the tiny space. Someone tried to put their arms around him and was shoved away. He ran back to the body again, his hands and chest clenched, and let out a long cry – rather, a mixture between a cry and a roar. He blacked out.

  Bad news travels much faster in favelas, and not only does it travel, but it grows: by midday the locals were already talking about the rape, for there is always someone – no one ever knows who – who sees it and spreads the word. Word got around that Tiny had also raped Knockout. In an attempt to get in with Tiny, one guy – who didn’t even know Knockout – told Tiny in no uncertain terms that Knockout was going around saying he was going to kill him. Everyone looked up to Tiny’s friends, and even more importantly, Tiny didn’t give them a hard time, which is why the guy did him this false favour.

  When he heard the story, Tiny laughed his quick, shrill little laugh. He’d kill Knockout so that what had happened to Sparrow wouldn’t happen to him. At eight o’clock on the dot, he clapped his hands at Knockout’s gate. His mother went to the gate saying her son wasn’t at home.

  ‘Send ’im out here, otherwise I’m comin’ in to kill ’im inside!’ he shouted, pointing his gun.

  When Knockout’s grandfather heard the threat, he grabbed the knife on the table and concealed it, then, with his mouth full, hurried to the gate and tried to talk to Tiny, who kept repeating:

  ‘If he won’t come out, I’ll kill ’im inside.’

  The grandfather considered himself the head of the family and wasn’t prepared to let someone wreak havoc in his house for anything in the world. He stepped back and told the gangster to enter. As Tiny walked through the gate, he launched a single jab at his stomach. Tiny’s reflex was to protect himself with his arm, and the knife sunk halfway into it. At almost the same instant, Tiny unloaded his 9 mm into the old man’s chest.

  The nursing assistant assigned to treat Tiny told him that only a doctor could confirm whether he’d get the movement in his left hand back; she said it was a shame he hadn’t gone to the doctor immediately, because there was a chance that if he underwent surgery he’d soon get back the movement in his fingers.

  Tiny said it was better to live with a disability than run the risk of being arrested in a hospital.

  ‘Go to a private clinic,’ his friends argued.

  ‘It’s all the same shit! I’m not goin’!’

  At the wake, the few friends standing around Knockout said he’d be better off leaving the favela, as Tiny was dangerous. Knockout said he wouldn’t be able to leave that fast. Someone suggested he build a shack as quickly as possible in Salgueiro, where he’d been born, because his plan of trying to get himself fired might take ages, and Tiny would have time to do more harm. He could go straight to Salgueiro from the funeral, get some planks of wood, buy some zinc roof sheeting and build a shack where he could put his family, then find a way to buy a house. It was decided; he’d take his family to Salgueiro, where they had a few relatives who could put them up until he was able to build a decent shack.

  His family accepted the idea of going to Salgueiro. They’d stop off home just to pick up their personal belongings. They were given a lift to Main Square, and tried to keep to the main streets. They avoided the alleys, where no-goods hung around. Knockout was the first to turn into their lane and again he saw a handful of people at his gate. This time there was no body on the ground, but even if there had been, it couldn’t be a member of his family, as they were all together. He quickened his step and saw his house pockmarked with bullets of every imaginable calibre, the windows splintered, his dog riddled with holes.

  ‘Hey, can you lend us your pistol?’

  ‘What you talkin’ ‘bout, kid? Forget it! You’re a good guy, nice and friendly … One day that Tiny’ll get himself killed or wind up in the slammer. Go spend some time away from the favela …’

  ‘You gonna lend it to me or not?’

  ‘C’mon pal, you’re in with the cops down at headquarters. Go have a word with one of them and they’ll round the guy up in no time …’

  ‘Look, man, he could show up at my place any minute! The guy’s a maniac! He’s got it in for me … if I leave, he might even come after me! I haven’t done a thing and the guy wants to kill me. I’ve gotta defend myself … If you’re not gonna lend it to me, hurry up and say so, ’cos I haven’t got time! My family’s there and no one knows what to do!’

  ‘Listen to me, man …’

  ‘So you’re not gonna lend it to me, are ya? Thanks for nothin’. I’m off …’ he said.

  ‘Hold on, hold on … You’re fuckin’ nuts! I’ll lend you this shit so you can defend yourself, but be careful what you get yourself into, OK?’

  Knockout handled the .45 with the skill he’d acquired during his time in the Parachute Regiment. He loaded it, put two extra clips in his jacket pocket, and thanked his friend. Images of the rape, his grandfather covered in blood and his house riddled with bullets flashed through his mind as he headed down Middle Street.

  His friends realised what was going on when they saw the bulge of the gun.

  ‘Where’re you off to?’

  ‘I’m gonna kill that bastard!’

  ‘You can’t go alone, man! The guy’s a killer! Forget it! This isn’t your thing. You’re a good-looking guy, you got everythin’ goin’ for you, don’t get mixed up with gangsters, man …’

  Knockout didn’t listen. When his mother heard he was going looking for trouble, she ran after him and tried to stop him. Knockout was unbudging; he left her and carried on. He walked Middle Street from end to end, went through Block Thirteen, took Miracle Street, crossed Edgar Werneck Avenue, strode down two alleys, and slowed down when he neared the third. He took the gun from his waistband, cocked it and turned into the alley that ran past Building Seven, where Tiny usually hung out. He saw his enemy and three other gangsters, took aim and fired again and again.

  Tiny laughed his quick, shrill little laugh, returned fire and took shelter. Two of his men also fired, then followed Tiny, but the third tried to exchange fire out in the open and received a fatal bullet to the forehead.

  Knockout walked over to the body and shot it three more times in the chest. He then stood with his left foot on the head, his right on the belly and shouted:

  ‘This one’s the first! Whoever follows that bastard’ll come to the same end as this guy!’

  Knockout’s deed made Tiny freeze for a few seconds. He stopped laughing and wove his way between the buildings. Knockout reloaded his gun, then ran. He caught sight of a gang member behind a post, went after him and ruthlessly blasted his head open. Bicky, Beep-Beep, Tiny, Slick and Israel appeared at the end of a building. Knockout let the bullets fly, walking towards them withou
t dodging the return fire. Fearing their enemy’s determination, the gangsters retreated and took cover. Knockout combed The Flats until he gave up the attack.

  It was the first time someone had fired at Tiny in the favela, killed two of his men and forced him to hide. Things were quiet at The Flats for the rest of the day.

  ‘Tiny just went past with more than twenty men … all packin’ shooters … He asked your assistant how much your den was sellin’ a day. He said he was gonna take your den again …’ lied Ana, Carrots’ wife, to her husband and two of his friends.

  Ana lied in keeping with her sixth sense, because she believed that sooner or later Tiny really was going to take her husband’s den. She made up the story so he’d get prepared.

  ‘If he tries to get smart with me, he’s gonna get a faceful of lead this time!’ said Carrots.

  ‘Knockout’s got them freaked out, hasn’t he?’ said Ana.

  Tiny’s gang patrolled the alleys Up Top and fired shots into the air. Furious and in a cold sweat, Tiny shouted that he was the one in charge there. Knockout surprised the gang from a rooftop.

  One of his bullets grazed Beep-Beep, he killed another of Tiny’s men and then disappeared from the view of the other gangsters who surrounded the building, dumbfounded.

  ‘You’re fucked, playboy! You’re gonna die!’ shouted Tiny.

  Knockout reappeared out of nowhere in front of some of Tiny’s men and fired without trying to dodge their bullets, causing his enemies to beat a quick retreat. When they arrived at The Flats they were surprised by Knockout over near Building Seven. Without a word, he fired, hit another of Tiny’s men in the head, and again made the rest run for it.

  Two days passed without any shooting. Tiny couldn’t believe what was happening. That playboy had more balls than he’d thought. He bitterly regretted not having taken him out on the day of the rape, and stayed locked away in his flat with Slick and Night Owl, snorting cocaine. All they talked about was the new enemy.

  Knockout spent those two days awake, combing the alleys Up Top. Many people cheered him on and women who didn’t even know him, having heard of his good looks and bravery, hung around on street corners hoping to see him. At around eleven o’clock in the morning, Carrots approached him. He was standing on a street corner, explaining the reasons for his revolt to a small group of acquaintances.

  ‘I wanna have a word with you.’

  Knockout nodded and Carrots went on:

  ‘My name’s Carrots. I heard about your run-in with that bastard, you know. I don’t like him. We’ve had loads of misunder standin’s, me and him, and it’s like this: if you want ammo, you got it, if you want guns, you got ’em, and if you want me to go with you to kill that bastard, I’ll be there, OK man? You know there’s no negotiatin’ with him now! You’ve gotta get rid of ’im and everyone that hangs around ‘im, right? You can’t muck around with him.’

  Carrots’ lingo sounded strange to Knockout, but he answered:

  ‘I want the guns and ammo, but I prefer to go alone.’

  ‘I know you’ve got the balls, man, but he’s never alone. There’s always a shitload of pawns hangin’ around … If you like, we can get organised over at the den … Then we can take Teresa’s den, which is actually his, know what I’m sayin’?’

  ‘I’m not interested in dens. I’m not a criminal. I’ve got a score to settle with Tiny himself …’

  ‘Fine, fine, but if you try to take ’im on by yourself, you’re gonna bite the dust!’

  The small group stood there listening to the conversation. Among them were gangsters Tiny had beaten up and the relatives of gangsters he’d killed. Everyone there knew that Carrots was trying to team up with Knockout. Maybe they could help take Tiny out; they had more than enough reasons. Little by little, they chimed in.

  ‘Hey man, I once did this huge house and got a shitload of stuff, right? But I had the bad luck of runnin’ into Tiny and he took the lot … him and Slick,’ said Seagull.

  ‘He killed my brother,’ lamented Mousetrap.

  ‘One day he grabbed me like this, took me down to The Flats and made me wash the whole gang’s jocks … he ordered guys to take their jocks off just for me to wash,’ said Rascal.

  Knockout was silent.

  ‘C’mon, man! Let’s team up!!’ urged Carrots.

  ‘Once we were hangin’ around on the corner playin’ cards, right? He held up the game, took the money, thumped everyone in the face and walked off laughin’,’ said Mousetrap.

  ‘I mean, come on, that gang’s completely worthless. When he tells one of ’em to do somethin’, they do it just to get in his good books. A bunch of arse-lickers … I’ve got ten shooters!’ stated Carrots.

  ‘Got any pistols?’ asked Knockout.

  ‘No, but I can get some.’

  ‘We can hold up a gun shop …’

  ‘I’m not a criminal! I’m not stealin’ a thing!’ replied Knockout.

  ‘You didn’t used to be, man, but now you are and your enemy ain’t gonna rest ‘til he’s killed ya. He raped your girl, killed your granddad, filled your house with bullets and you’ve already taken down four, right? If you’re not a criminal, take your family and get out of here, or he’ll kill the lot of you,’ said Carrots testily, then went quiet and pretended to leave.

  ‘Hang on, hang on. Look, I just wanna kill Tiny. I’m not gonna steal or do hold-ups and I’m not interested in anyone’s den!’

  ‘If that’s how you want it, that’s how it’s gonna be, but the den’s mine and that’s how it’s gonna stay. Alright?’ said Carrots, looking at the others.

  ‘It’s all yours!’ said Knockout.

  ‘If you gimme a shooter, I’ll come help you take ’im out!’ said eight-year-old Steak-and-Chips, who’d been beaten up by Tiny.

  ‘Take ’im out, my arse! You need to stop stealin’ and go to school … You’re just a kid!’ said Knockout.

  ‘Look man, I smoke, I snort, I bin beggin’ since I was a baby, I’ve washed car windows, shined shoes, killed, stolen … I’m not a kid. I’m a man!’

  Tiny was still thinking about Knockout. For the first time, he knew fear. The bastard fired without dodging return fire. He was a good shot and worse: he wasn’t afraid of him. He had to be got rid of fast, he decided with Bicky and Slick over a beer at the shops at exactly the same time that Knockout, Carrots and the other gang members were talking Up Top.

  Tiny suddenly thought of Carrots. Carrots could kill Knockout on the sly, because Knockout probably knew who everyone in Tiny’s gang was by now, but he wouldn’t suspect Carrots because he lived Up Top.

  ‘Hey, Sidney, come here!’ he said as soon as he’d decided how to kill his enemy. Of course Carrots would do him this favour to get in his good books. He was sure his childhood friend was afraid of him.

  Sidney walked over.

  ‘Go tell Carrots he’s gotta kill Knockout, otherwise I’ll get the guys and go take his den. Go on, off you go. If he don’t like the idea, tell ’im to come see me.’

  ‘Now you’re talkin’!’ exclaimed Bicky.

  Sidney sped off on his bike, took the road along the river’s edge to the first street after the big bridge, wove through another three alleys and reached the square in Block Fifteen, where Carrots was telling his assistant to get the rest of the guns to give his new partners. He heard Sidney’s whistle. Carrots looked up and Sidney waved. He walked over, listened to Tiny’s message, and said:

  ‘OK, but it’s gotta be now! I’ve been wantin’ to take ’im out. There, there he is. Come with me so he won’t think it’s a set-up.’

  Sidney began to pedal. Carrots walked beside him.

  ‘You tooled up?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Don’t touch it. Let me kill ‘im. You only get involved if someone decides to side with ‘im. Don’t let on.’

  They went slowly.

  ‘You shot at me too!’ said Knockout when he set eyes on Sidney.

  Suddenly, Carrots press
ed the barrel of his revolver to Sidney’s head.

  ‘Tell ‘im, what was the message your boyfriend sent you to give me!?’

  ‘W-w-what …!?’

  ‘W-w-what my arse, kid! Spit it out or you’re dead!’ said Carrots, frisking the errand boy’s waistband until he found his revolver.

  ‘He told you to kill ‘im, otherwise he was gonna take your den.’

  Knockout shook his head and said:

  ‘Get out of this life, kid. You’re young, don’t get caught up in that maniac’s game. I don’t know what you’ve got in that head of yours!’

  ‘Arse-lickin’ – that’s what!’ said Carrots and fired a bullet that grazed Sidney’s backside. Then he added: ‘Go tell your boyfriend that Carrots and Knockout are the bosses Up Top now! Fuckin’ cunt!’

  Grey, grey all the way from the Recreio Range to Gávea Rock, from Barra da Tijuca to the Grajaú Range. Heavy, still, dark grey clouds hung in the sky over the favela. It was going to rain hard. The river would surely burst its banks, flooding the houses along its margins. The people who had moved there because of the 1966 floods foresaw a catastrophe, with the waters destroying everything, bringing snakes and alligators with mouths full of teeth. Lying on the sofa near his living-room window, Tiny ran his tongue along the barrel of his revolver and watched the raindrops splatter against the glass. Now the rain was sheeting down; it looked as if someone had thrown an enormous bucket of water at his window.

  Sitting there alone, he saw Knockout’s blue eyes staring straight into his with every bullet that left his pistol, with every step he took, unafraid of getting shot. Dangerous. He’d got himself a dangerous enemy, and to top it all the bastard was a looker. He’d never seen a good-looking gangster in the streets or films. And now, since the guys were getting together Up Top, he’d best work on consolidating his friendships. He decided he wasn’t going to take any more money from Slick’s den, and he’d give Bicky and Russian Mouse each a den, to strengthen their loyalty.