The Darkest Heart (3 page)

‘OK.' It wouldn't be easy. The people he worked for were not well known for their generosity. Rich people don't stay rich by giving away their land and money, and it would hurt for them to
have to give anything to a man like me. I was nothing. We both knew they wouldn't give me ten thousand dollars but if I went in high I stood a better chance of getting enough to make some choices. With enough money, Daniella and I could get married, get a place of our own or even leave town. Leave the shadow here. And the old man could move away to Imperatriz like he always wanted.

I moved to the door, eager to escape the smell of tobacco and aftershave. The years of sweat and smoke ingrained into the soft walls. I pulled it open and turned to look at Costa sitting behind his desk. ‘You can find me when you have an answer. I'll be around.'

‘Where?'

‘It's a small town,' I said. ‘You'll find me.'

Costa nodded. ‘And let me save you a trip. Your job at Batista's farm is gone. It's all been arranged.'

I stared at him for a moment, angry at how easily he had backed me into this corner; angry at being
owned
by this man. He was no better than the men I had killed, and I would find it as easy to take his life as I had taken theirs, but there would be consequences; he had made that clear. I had more than just myself to think about now, and Costa had used that to his advantage.

‘I'll see you soon, Zico.' He smiled and then looked down at something on his desk, as if I weren't even there.

I slammed the door and made my way down the stairs and out into the sunlight.

Outside, I stopped and leaned against the wall beside the door. I took a deep breath of warm air and watched a pickup pass on the road, tailgate rattling.

I closed my eyes and, for a moment, I was somewhere else. I wasn't on the street in Piratinga, standing outside Costa's office. I was nineteen years old again, hiding in Father Tomás's room at the back of the church, listening to the pounding on the door, the boys looking for me the day I left the
favela.
Somewhere further up the hillside, in a small house occupied only by boys and drugs
and guns, a body lay stiff and dead, and right here, right outside, right now, the others had come looking for me.

Father Tomás's footsteps were soft on the concrete floor of his small, empty church where no one came any more. I pictured him walking the length of the room, his robe rough and old around his thin ankles, his hands together, his back straight, his hair grey against his black skin. I heard him draw back the bolt, the sharp words of the boys outside, the sudden and familiar sound of gunfire defiling this place of worship forgotten by people with a terrible emptiness inside them.

Wherever I went, whatever I tried to do, that shadow always slipped over me. And here it was again, smiling its wicked smile, a knowing glint twinkling in its dark eyes as it welcomed me back.

4

I went straight to the grocery store, hoping to see Daniella, but her mother was outside, in the plastic seat, waiting for customers. She was sitting under the awning, out of the sun, her thighs splayed out over the seat of the chair, her forearms flattened across the armrest.

‘Zico,' she said, looking me up and down. ‘You keeping out of trouble?'

‘Always, Doña Eliana.' I gave her my best smile. ‘How are you? Business good?'

She sagged and made a noise like escaping air. ‘Ah, you know how it is. Why aren't you at work?'

‘Is Daniella inside?'

‘She's busy. Working hard. You shouldn't disturb her.'

‘I won't be long.'

‘And why aren't you at work? You ...'

I missed the end of her sentence and went into the shop, allowing my eyes to adjust from the brightness outside. It was cooler in here, where it was dark and the air was being turned by a couple of floor-standing fans with red ribbons tied to the cages. Everything smelled of dry and fresh goods.

The shop wasn't much, just a square room with three or four aisles of shelves filled with tins and bags and tubes and packaging. Near the entrance, there were sacks of rice and beans and, at the back, by the counter, there was a fridge with Coke and a couple of brands of beer. There were cigarettes in a rack, and jars of sweet things for the children. Even a small section for hooks and lines and folding knives that could be used to cut and gut a fish.

Antonio was there – the man who lived in the room above mine at Juliana's. He was older than me, maybe in his late forties. The muscles in his arms and neck were tight and sinewy and his features were lined with experience. Dark skinned and grey haired, he moved as if life had been hard on him. He had drifted into town a few weeks ago, taken the room at Juliana's and started working a few days at one of the
fazendas
, rounding up cattle from the back of a borrowed horse. Today must have been a rare day off. Or maybe he'd lost his job and was getting ready to move on.

He was coming away from the counter with a plastic bag full of beer cans and acknowledged me with a nod of the head. ‘Oi, Zico.'

‘You having a party?' I asked, pointing at the cans of beer. They were already sweating in the bag so I could see the brand label through the plastic. Skol.

‘Just a few to get me through the day.' He raised the bag a touch and showed me an almost toothless smile.

I clapped him on the shoulder and told him to take it easy, but when he moved out of the way, I saw who else was in the store.

Wilson.

As soon as I laid eyes on him, I felt my rage come to life, like a snake that had been sleeping inside me. My stomach went cold and my heart thumped and a surge of adrenalin flooded my muscles so they trembled in anticipation. It had been different when I had seen him waiting outside my place this morning. He had come for me, then, but now he was here, standing at the counter, talking to Daniella, while Costa's threats were still fresh in my mind.

‘What are you doing here?' I could hardly disguise the tension in my voice.

‘Hm?' Wilson turned around and leaned back against the counter. ‘Oh. It's you.'

‘What are you doing here?' I asked again, but I knew he was here to remind me who was in control.

Wilson shrugged and lifted a hand to show me a packet of cigarettes. ‘I was running low.'

‘Well, you got what you want, now get out.'

‘Zico?' Daniella asked. ‘What's going on? You can't—'

‘Outside.' I tried to stay calm.

Wilson gave me a lazy smile and tucked the cigarettes into his pocket. ‘On second thoughts, maybe there were some other things I needed.' He started to turn back to the counter.

‘No.' I reached out and grabbed his wrist. ‘I think you have everything.'

Wilson tore free of my grasp and stood straight. He moved towards me so his nose was no more than a hand's breadth from mine.

‘Don't touch me.' His rancid breath washed over me, and flecks of his spit peppered my face. I could feel the heat coming off him and smell the stale sweat on his shirt.

‘Everything all right, Zico?' Antonio had stopped in the doorway and turned to watch what was happening. ‘You need some help?'

Wilson raised a hand and placed it on my chest, fingers spread. ‘Out of my way.'

Allowing him to push me back, I watched him saunter along the aisle, knowing there was nothing I could do. Nothing.

When he reached the door, Wilson shoved past Antonio and stalked out into the sunlight.

‘You OK, Zico?' Antonio looked back at me.

‘Who
is
that?' Daniella asked. ‘What was that all about?'

‘No one. It doesn't matter.' But I couldn't just stand by. I had to do something.

My head was filled with a vision of the last time I had seen my sister Sofia. I saw her dull eyes and her twisted expression of pain and anger and fear. It couldn't happen again. I would not allow it to happen again.

‘I'll be back in a minute.'

Daniella called after me as I left the store, Antonio too, but I didn't hear the words. There was only one thing on my mind now.

The sun was blinding when I moved from the darkness inside, and I lifted a hand to shade my eyes as I scanned the street for Wilson. He was only a few metres away, strolling along the street, opening the packet of cigarettes. He had dropped the wrapping
into the red dirt, and was putting a cigarette between his lips as he passed the narrow alley between Rui's café and Josalino's hardware store.

I jogged to catch up with him, my flip-flops slapping the soles of my feet and kicking up dust behind me. It wasn't quiet, but I didn't care if he heard me. He was too arrogant to think I would follow him; too sure that I was under their control.

A couple of paces behind him, Wilson heard my approach and turned in surprise, but he was too late to stop me. I shoved him hard towards the alley and followed him in, hitting him once in the kidneys and then pushing him up against the wall.

I gripped my left hand around his throat and slipped the knife from the back of my waistband, pressing the tip into the soft flesh beneath his chin. ‘If you go anywhere near her I'll—'

‘No one's going near her.'

I turned to see Luis standing just inside the mouth of the alley.

‘Not yet, anyway,' he said. His pistol was in his hand, but he hadn't felt the need to raise it.

‘Where the hell did
you
come from?' I spoke through gritted teeth.

‘Lucky for both of you, I just got back from running an errand for Costa. Someone told me Wilson had come to the store and I saw you push him in here and ... well, here I am.'

‘Keep away from her,' I said.

‘Whatever it is Costa wants from you, his orders are clear,' Luis told me. ‘Your girlfriend is safe, but the moment he gives the word ...'He drew his finger across his throat. ‘And you know what? She's a pretty girl. Whoever gets the job will probably have some fun. But if you press that knife any harder, I'll shoot you dead right here, right now, then go round to the shop and find Daniella. That's her name, right? Daniella?'

‘Costa wouldn't be too happy about that,' I said.

Luis shrugged. ‘Then we're stuck, aren't we? We can't hurt you; you can't hurt us. So what are we—'

He stopped mid-sentence as Antonio grabbed him from behind. One hand came around to slap against Luis's forehead and tip his
head back, then another came from the other side to put a blade to his exposed throat.

‘Drop the pistol.' Antonio put his mouth close to Luis's ear and spoke in a quiet whisper.

Luis didn't attempt to struggle. He remained perfectly still except for the movement required to open his fingers and drop his pistol into the dust. It landed with a dull thump and Antonio kicked it towards me.

‘What do you want me to do with him?' Antonio asked.

Luis swallowed hard, his Adam's apple rising and falling against the taut skin of his throat. When it moved, it came close to the gleaming blade of Antonio's knife.

‘Let him go.' I kicked the pistol further along the alley so it was out of reach.

‘You sure?' Antonio asked.

I'm sure.' I nodded. ‘Just go, Antonio, you don't need to be part of this.'

Antonio hesitated, turning to look at Luis, their faces close together. Then he nodded to me, withdrew his knife and moved away.

Luis turned to stare at him.

He didn't speak. He just stared.

‘I'll be all right,' I told Antonio. ‘You can go. I'll see you later.' I still had the knife at Wilson's throat, my knuckles white as I gripped the handle.

‘Come with me,' Antonio said. ‘We'll leave together.'

I stayed as I was for a moment, then released Wilson and stepped back. I stared at him, seeing the face of the first person I had ever killed. I had another glimpse of Sofia as I last saw her, and I knew that both Luis and Wilson deserved my blade just like the others had deserved it.

‘You should go now,' Luis said.

I turned slowly and pushed past him, heading out of the alley, swallowing the rage brought on by my helplessness.

‘Oh, and I went to Batista's this morning,' he said as I stepped out into the street. ‘Lost you your job, but I probably did you a
favour. If it weren't for me, you'd be shovelling shit on the pig farm right about now.'

‘But instead, you're in a different kind of shit.' Wilson laughed at his own joke. ‘You
and
your girlfriend, eh?'

I left without another word.

Antonio collected his plastic bag of beer cans and walked alongside me as we returned to the store, asking, ‘Do you want me to hang around a while? I can—'

‘I'm fine,' I told him. ‘Thanks for helping but you need to stay away from those men.'

‘I can handle myself,' he said.

‘I reckon you can. Thanks for your help.'

‘Anytime.' He shrugged and grinned, showing me the gaps in his teeth. ‘Hey. You want to come drink a beer?' He lifted the bag to show me the cans perspiring against the plastic.

‘Sure. I'll meet you back at Juliana's. There's something I need to do first.'

‘I can wait.'

‘No, you go on. I'll catch you up in a while.'

‘My place?' he said, starting to move away.

‘Your place,' I agreed.

As I watched him go, swinging the bag, my mind was filled with a dust storm of cruel images and thoughts fighting for attention. I kept seeing my sister Sofia, cold and violated, but I didn't want to remember her like that. Not like
that.
So I tried to picture the day we had sat on the hillside and watched the sea. The day we talked about what we would do if we could get onto one of the ships and sail away to find somewhere better. It was
always
about finding somewhere better. Something better. Even now, that's what I wanted. It's what had brought me to Piratinga in the first place, and now maybe Costa's money would give it to me. I just had to hold my nerve, do what he wanted, and then everything would be different.