JOHNNY GONE DOWN (19 page)

His last comment hit home. He was right. I was trying to make up for lost time, aspiring for a semblance of the stability I’d known in my childhood, making a desperate attempt to live the life I was supposed to lead. I didn’t know if I was in love. I didn’t even know what love meant. But I felt at peace when I was with her. Wasn’t that enough?

‘Anyway, do what you have to, men,’ he said finally, with a sigh. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Not that you are waiting for my permission.’

I shook my head. ‘I am not, but it’s nice to have it anyway. You’re right. I don’t know if I am in love, but I do know that she is a good woman. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. I can feel it in my bones.’

And everything
was
fine. Perhaps it was because Lara and I were two middle-aged, lonely people desperately seeking companionship, perhaps we’d both lost too much to fight over toilet seats and dirty dishes, or maybe we really were soulmates, but we settled into a comfortable, easy companionship. The wedding came and went. It meant nothing; at best, an affirmation of societal rules in lives that had never known rules before; at worst, a desperate attempt to
inure one to the vagaries of the other’s nature. We fought as often and as hard as two strong-willed people who had spent too much time alone would, but we never held on to our resentment for long as we deeply valued what we had built. Soon, even that surreal feeling of living someone else’s life which I had woken up with for years, came to pass. All I felt was a quiet bliss.
This
was my life. My choices had led me here; nothing else mattered. I was in Brazil now, married to a beautiful woman I loved and who loved me back unconditionally; I was running a thriving business as an insignificant but not entirely unproductive cog of the human wheel, staking his own small claim to happiness. And I wanted nothing more; not now, not ever.

For all my joy though, I don’t think I fell completely, selflessly in love until Lara became pregnant after two years. If any doubts held me back until then -residual guilt at thumbing my nose at the Buddha’s teachings or thoughts of overcompensating for my arm - I lost them completely at the sight of her tender, tired face aglow with the anticipation of our baby. We were about to become parents, we would have a child who would never know pain, and though at thirty-nine I wouldn’t exactly be a young father, we had as much life ahead of us as we had left behind.

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 health 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.