JOHNNY GONE DOWN

by Bajaj, Karan

  And this chapter would be less interesting, I vowed to myself as I entered our bedroom, which had been converted into a quasi-operating room a few hours before her Caesarean.

  ‘…you just connect it like this and, maneiro, you can monitor every sound, every image within five hundred yards.’ Marco was sitting at Lara’s bedside, explaining the uses of a bulky contraption made up of a monitor and a tangle of wires.

  I felt a deep sense of contentment. Despite his disapproval of our relationship, Marco had never mentioned his doubts to Lara. Instead, he had accepted her, welcomed her, and cared for her without a grudge.

  Lara, heavily sedated, was trying to pay attention, but kept drifting off to sleep between his enthusiastic words.

  ‘An electronic baby monitor smuggled directly from California,’ he said, looking up as I entered. ‘It’s not even in the US market yet.’

  ‘What better way to induct the baby into our world than with a newly smuggled device to monitor its first movements?’ I said sarcastically.

  ‘It’s very useful,’ said Lara loyally.

  ‘Ignore him,’ said Marco to her. ‘He goes through a Buddhist phase whenever he is under stress. He will snap out of it as soon as the baby is born.’

  He turned to me. ‘Good you are here. I was about to head out.’

  ‘Stay,’ I said. ‘In a few hours, you will be a real godfather.’

  ‘Pele is playing an exhibition match in Maracana today. I can’t miss that,’ he said.

  ‘You would choose football over me?’ I said mockingly.

  ‘You’ve already scored, and a model, no less.’ He smiled as he got up from his chair. ‘Now it’s time to watch Pele score.’

  He gave me a quick, embarrassed hug.

  ‘Good luck,’ he said quietly. ‘I will be by my phone.’

  I nodded.

  ‘He loves you more than I do, I think,’ Lara said after he left.

  I shrugged.

  ‘He has been hovering around me all these months as though it were his own child. No, much more. He grew up in a favela where children are born every minute and no one even cares.’

  ‘He is a good man,’ I said. ‘The best kind there is.’

  ‘This is more than that.’

  ‘We’ve been through a lot together.’

  She looked at me as her eyelids started to close. ‘What kind of man can inspire such loyalty?’ she said. ‘How did you come into my life when…’

  ‘Ssshh…’ I placed my finger to her lips. ‘Rest now.’

  She closed her eyes.

  The doctors and nurses came into the room. ‘We should be ready to start in a few minutes. Do you want to stay inside?’

  I nodded. ‘If it’s not a distraction,’ I said and sat by the bed.

  Lara drifted into sleep and the doctors got busy when suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot being fired at a distance made me sit up.

  My heart sank. Not now, I thought, not when everything seemed to have settled down for once.

  The doctors continued, oblivious. Our penthouse faced a busy street and it required ears attuned to such sounds to recognize them.

  I tensed as I held Lara’s sweaty hand, praying it was a stray shot and unconnected to me.

  A volley of shots ripped through the air in quick succession. The doctors looked at each other, then at me, demanding an explanation. They probably knew my background. Lara awoke with a start.

  ‘Sleep,’ I said, brushing my hand across her forehead. ‘It must be the gang celebrating early.’

  Her face relaxed.

  ‘I will go and stop them,’ I said softly as she drifted off again.

  I gave a reassuring glance to the doctors and rushed out of the room. I had lived on the edge since Lara and I had been together, knowing something like this would happen.

  But not now, please.

  Glock in hand, I dashed through the apartment into the stately lobby of the luxury condominium. We shared it with respectable lawyers, bankers and actors, and it was unlikely that any of them could be the target of the Comando Vermelho. Marco stood alone in the large lobby, gun in hand, ears cocked, intently watching the glass doors. The concierge was cowering in fear as he stood flattened against the wall on the far side. I saw nothing unusual in front of the building, nor did I hear any more shots.

  ‘Get out by the fire exit and take a taxi to Ary Franco,’ he said without turning around. ‘I will look after her.’

  Wordlessly, I rushed down the back stairs and hailed a taxi to the Ary Franco prison on the outskirts of Rio.

  A quiet calm descended over me on my way to the jail as I tried to piece together what had transpired. The Comando Vermelho had come for me. They had chosen this time deliberately, knowing I would be at home because of Lara’s delivery. I wasn’t surprised. Marco had warned me again and again that they would attack, and I had chosen to ignore him. But this wasn’t the time for regrets. There would be plenty of time for that later because life, as I knew it, was ending today. Marco was sending me to prison because it was a safe haven, at least for the time being, and he probably knew the guards there. I knew the drill. False charges would be concocted so I could spend time there while he negotiated desperately with the Comando Vermelho for my life. But it wasn’t money they were after. There was enough money flowing in the system to keep everyone happy. What would they want in return? Would I ever see Lara again? Would she be safe? The last time I had felt this surging sense of hopelessness was in Phnom Penh. But I had been alone then, and falling had been simpler.

  The prison security guard was expecting me. He came out as soon as he saw the taxi pull up in front of the imposing iron gates.

  ‘Donos,’ he said as I got out of the car. ‘It’s an honour.’

  ‘I’m not a Donos,’ I told him.

  He stared at me disbelievingly.

  Similar greetings were exchanged when I went inside.

  ‘You will be safe here, Donos,’ said the jail warden as he escorted me to my cell. ‘We will arrange for you to stay as long as you like.’

  I walked with him through the long, dark corridors. The prison was six floors high, filled with tiny six-by-six cells, each one packed with half-naked prisoners. Angry screams disturbed the air, chewed food and rotten pieces of fruit were flung through the bars, and mould grew on the stained walls. I felt a creeping sense of unease, like I hadn’t felt in years, only now it was tinged with panic. What was I doing in a prison thousands of miles from where I grew up as the son of a law-enforcing officer? I just wanted a simple life with my wife and child - what was I doing here?

  ‘You can pick any cell you like, Donos,’ said the warden.

  There wasn’t much to choose from. There were convicts stretched out on hammocks strung from the walls of every cell because the floors were filled to capacity.

  ‘I’ll take this one,’ I said, pointing at the first cell to my right. It was filled to the brim like every other cell but had enough space to give me a little standing room to think - which was all I wanted.

  The warden entered the cell, with me trailing behind him.

  Immediately, five people jumped down from the hammocks and joined fifteen others on the floor.

  I wondered if they would attack me. My years of training, first in Thailand, then in Rio, convinced me that I could take three, maybe four of them, but not twenty. I crouched to defend myself.

  Instead, the warden asked them to get out of the cell.

  Without a whimper of protest, they walked out, staring resentfully at me. I lowered my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t have to pay for the privilege later.

  Alone in my cell, I waited for word to come. I willed myself not to allow my regrets to overwhelm me, concentrating instead on thoughts of Lara and the baby. The Buddha had taught me about the aatma, the universal soul, the life-force that runs through every being, concentrating on which connects you to a supreme energy. After years of ignoring his wisdom, I focused on the energy, imploring it for Lara’s he
alth and safety.

  ‘Donos Marco is here,’ said a voice.

  I broke out of my trance and looked up at the jailer.

  Quietly, I followed him outside the cell, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. We walked through the corridors once again. A bloody brawl was in progress in one of the cells. Arms, legs and fists - two men slugging it out in a no-holds-barred encounter, fifteen people around them, watching and clapping.

  The jailer ignored them.

  ‘It’s an everyday affair here,’ he said, following my glance. ‘I’ll come back to stop them once I have escorted you to the Donos.’

  By which time one or both of them would be dead, I thought. Life came cheap in Rio, especially in a prison cell. I averted my eyes, feeling no anger, no pity, no sorrow at their fate. I had turned into an animal.

  ‘How is she?’ I asked him as soon as the jailer had left us alone.

  ‘They are fine,’ said Marco, red with exhaustion. ‘It’s a boy covered in blood and goo, uglier than you are, but as healthy as any newborn baby ever born in Brazil.’

  A colossal weight lifted off my shoulders. Despite the mess I was in, I had never felt happier.

  ‘Will she be safe?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘The enforcer has word not to harm the wife and child unless they are witness to…’ He stopped.

  ‘…my execution,’ I completed the sentence for him. I sighed. ‘Give it to me,’ I said. ‘Spare me nothing.’

  ‘It’s not the Comando Vermelho, at least not directly. Griselda Blanco, La Madrina, the Godmother - you know who I am talking about. She’s called the Black Widow because she killed all three of her husbands. It’s she who has taken out a hit on you. She runs a big Colombian cartel which controls most of the cocaine supply in South America.’

  ‘But why me?’ I asked. ‘I’m not even in the business any more.’

  I didn’t need to ask the question and Marco didn’t insult me with an ‘I told you so’. He had warned me about this two years ago. I was an outsider who had overstepped his limits, first by running a business, and then by marrying Lara. I had taunted them, scoffed at their disorganization, laughed at their powerlessness. This had to happen sooner or later. If not Griselda Blanco, it would have been Pablo Escobar, or Jorge Vazquez, or Carolos Lehder. I had known I was a marked man, yet I had chosen to ignore the threat, endangering not only myself, but also Marco and Lara - and now my son.

  ‘Will they come after you too?’ I asked.

  ‘Unlikely,’ he said. ‘That would start a full-fledged gang war in which no one wins. You, on the other hand, are an outsider, so no one cares.’

  I sighed with relief, glad I hadn’t sucked him into it.

  ‘That was the bad news,’ he said. ‘Now, I have some good news. I spoke to Pablo, one of her front men. He says that the Black Widow may agree to a jail sentence of ten years instead of killing you. She’s got nothing personal against you. All the cartel wants to do is send out the message that an outsider can’t enter the system.’

  So, this was the best I could hope for. Stay in jail for ten years and watch Lara lose the best years of our son’s life, waiting and pining, begging and pleading, building hope only to see it crash. Ten years was a long time to be suspended without an anchor. And then? Suppose the Godmother changed her mind once I was out? My family would be destroyed. No, this wasn’t even an option.

  ‘Can’t we pay them off?’ I asked. ‘As much as they want - twenty, maybe thirty million dollars.’

  Marco shook his head. ‘I tried. They don’t even want to talk money. I think you should agree to jail, at least for now. Meanwhile, I will keep working on them and try to get you out sooner.’

  ‘What are my chances?’

  ‘Slim,’ he replied honestly. ‘I can’t even hit back at her because she is lodged comfortably in a prison in Chicago. We have no connections there and it’s going to take a while to build some. Besides, her people will come back with a vengeance… and you can’t afford that now.’

  He was big enough not to remind me that I had been forewarned about the dangers of having a family. I had wanted to recreate the stability of my childhood so badly that I had forgotten to consider the impact of all the wrong choices I had made in between. How could I have been so selfish?

  ‘You have to decide quickly if you want to spend ten years here,’ he said evenly. ‘She will start filling this jail with her men soon and make the decision for us if we don’t give her our answer.’

  We sat quietly for a while.

  ‘I have another option in mind,’ I said finally.

  I told him what I wanted. ‘Just do this one last thing for me,’ I said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ He sighed.

  I nodded.

  I called Lara from the jailer’s office after Marco had left to make the arrangements.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ruing the inability of words to express what I felt.

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘How does he look?’

  ‘He doesn’t look like much yet. But your worry was unfounded: both his arms are intact.’

  ‘I’ve ruined everything.’

  ‘You made my life better than I ever thought it could be,’ she said.

  ‘I could be in jail for ten years, maybe fifteen,’ I said, willing her to say that she couldn’t wait, that she would have to move on.

  ‘I was alone for thirty-six years before I met you. What’s another ten?’

  ‘Listen, please…’ I began and stopped.

  Nothing I said would make a difference; we were past the stage of rationality. If I wanted her to go on with her life, I had to get out of it. She was beautiful, she was accomplished, we had taught each other to love; she would live without me, be happier perhaps.

  ‘I need to go now,’ I said, blinking away the tears.

  I returned to my cell as night descended. The lone light bulb outside was switched off and the corridor was plunged in darkness. Occasional sobs and whimpers swept through the prison compound, the policeman on duty clanked his heels against the concrete floor, rats scurried past. I stared at the wall and waited.

  I’d known that it was a house of cards, yet I had tempted fate, scorned it, tried to live a life I wasn’t meant to live. There were so many alternate turns I could have taken. We could have left for the US after marriage; between us, we had enough money to never have to work another day in our lives. We could have chosen to go back to the monastery and worked for a cause greater than ourselves. We could have returned to India, or even done volunteer work in Cambodia. Instead, I had tried rashly to make up for lost time and destroyed more than one life in the process. I claimed that money and fame meant nothing to me, but wasn’t that the real reason I had stuck on in Rio despite the risks? Could I deny that I felt a tiny stab of pleasure when we were written about in the newspapers or when we evaded the flashbulbs of media cameras while returning from a late night movie? Hadn’t I started to take these incidents as proof that my life finally mattered, that it had some significance? Hubris follows pride. I had tried to be bigger than myself and the gods had struck a blow once again. Only, this time, I hadn’t fallen alone.

  How could things have unravelled so quickly?

  At midnight, the door to my cell opened.

  ‘Marco?’ I whispered.

  ‘It’s me, Donos,’ said the jailer. ‘Donos Marco has sent me to fetch you.’

  Could I trust him, I wondered, then laughed silently in the darkness. What were my options?

  I followed him quietly as we walked through the corridors, barely glancing at the whimpering prisoners in the overcrowded cells. When we reached his office, he went to his desk and took out a revolver from the topmost drawer.

  Instinctively, I reached for mine, forgetting it had been checked in.

  But he made no move to shoot me. Slowly, deliberately, he fitted a silencer on top of the gun and handed it to me.

  ‘Shoot me, Donos.’

  I had a sudden
flash of clarity and silently applauded Marco for his meticulous planning, despite the short notice.

  ‘Where?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘One above the calf in my left leg, and graze the other through my right arm. Let me turn the other way so it seems like I was caught unawares. Donos Marco tells me you are the best shot he has ever seen.’

  I nodded and walked a few steps back.

  My hands were steady as I shot him twice. He crumpled to the floor and I was relieved to see just a light trickle of blood by his side. I had fired accurately.

  I went up to him. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

  He gave me a thumbs up. ‘I will press the alarm two hours from now. Remember to shoot the padlock on your way out.’

  Marco and Alex were waiting for me outside in an unmarked car.

  ‘He was good,’ I said as Alex began to speed away.

  ‘A million reals, plus he gets to keep his job and become some kind of a hero - that kind of money brings out a lot of good in people,’ said Marco. He paused. ‘Are you sure about this? We can still turn back.’

  I nodded. ‘I’d rather have stayed in jail but I know Lara. She won’t let go and ten years is too long to waste on someone. And who can guarantee their safety when I’m out after ten years?’

  ‘Just lie low for a while. I will find a way out of this,’ he said.

  ‘What does she know?’ I asked.

  ‘Lara will know what the papers report tomorrow - that you made a violent escape from prison and deserted her like a coward.’

  I grimaced.

  ‘This is your passport,’ he said.

  I flipped through the American passport with my smiling face on the first page.

  ‘I found a guy with the name Nick. Thought you’d appreciate the touch.’

  Nick Bolton. A registered plumber from Minnesota. I practised saying the name a few times, trying to get the American twang right.

  ‘Is he dead?’ I asked.

  Marco nodded. ‘Not dead in the US, though. He had come to fuck in the carnival, but got fucked instead. A sad story you don’t want to hear.’