Chapter 14

The Murderers’ Breakfast

        Nothing could prepare a Gringo for living in a Brasilian prison.  Or even the city jail.  This facility has three-hundred fifty people where only two-hundred were planned for.  Staffing is skeletal and the management are tied to trying to keep a scuttled ship afloat--- with only tape and glue. They had to bring it from home.  Men huddle their bodies together on the floor in the night so that nobody’s head is pissed on.  There is a bizarre unity and support among the men with no gang ties or rivalries. They pray and look after each other in the most, almost, loving of ways.  Like a band of brothers suffering under the same cruel king.

        The smell is like hot ass, toilet, feet, pits, wind and vomit.  The smells and the tension often induced the latter, especially in the weaker men among them.  Concrete floors --- with no walls except the structural ones around the perimeter.  Within the building’s walls were cells that could only adequately be described as gigantic dog cages filled by men with very little space to move, but they managed.  

        Bare bulbs hummed in their decades-old, extension cord fixtures rigged through the bars atop the cell.  The stench from neighboring cells all blended into one huge, thick, malodorous wet blanket. It required the victim to breathe more deeply of the funk in order to, reluctantly, fill a gasping lung.  After enough time in the cages, some week or more, one became acclimatized to the rankness.

        Overnight, the five men regaled the other prisoners with their stories of the matches they played and elaborated on, and embellished upon, the questions the cellmates asked of them.  They talked through the entire night.  They were thrilled to be in the company of the five celebrities--- their heroes.  When could this happen again in their lifetimes?  This sort of proximity had never even been imagined.  It showed that, no matter who you are anywhere else, you are all equal behind the gates.  Any hierarchy inside the fence was based on who you were, and who you became, while in there. There are half-a-million inmates in the country’s prisons and jails.

        Following the wake-up on the units the next morning, the five men jockeyed for elbow-room in their cage, with which to hold their trays and eat.  Certainly the most famous guests they currently hosted, the five, had a bit of a cadre of guards near them.  The nation’s heroes had to remain safe and whole, even if they would be bonded out this very day.  When they were processed, they were not allowed to keep their personal treasures on them.  It would all be contraband.  Rings, bracelets, chains, watches, clothing--- all of these things could start a battle for possession and theft of the items among the other men.  

        They couldn’t be taken to the prison because it was overrun with inmates.  With the ongoing prison riots, the athletes couldn’t be put at risk in such a violent situation.  Generally, the precincts held the lesser criminal offenders, though, it is unreasonable to think that there weren’t a few murderers in their ranks.  So there was no choice but to drop them in to the local police precinct, at least, for the time being.  

        The league would do what they had to, to effect an early, near immediate, release and as fast as they could.  Bribes, in this case, would be the key.  The dirty powers not only collected the mandated fees and bonds for low-end offenders.  They seized on the opportunity to demand “taxes” on top of it in order to arrange these favors--- if they even followed through on the promises once the money was in their hands.

        Not everyone in Rio was crooked, but of the billions of residents, you could fill fifty shrimp nets to bursting and get an idea of the number of scammers, schemers, murderers and thieves in the mix.  One thing they certainly had in common was this disturbing, toothy grimace of a smile that kind of said “I’m about to fuck you over.  I’m your friend.  If you fuck me--- you’re fucked.  No.  You’re dead.”  Gender was no obstacle to that unspoken dialogue.  It always seemed to work. And the other inmates were just about to watch the results of the filthy, greased wheels of justice in action.

        It was time for breakfast.  The city offices were not even open yet, but these titans were about to get sprung, even as the government slept.  The officer approached the cell, eleven, and said their names aloud.  “Heitor Rios, Ricardo Araujo, Claudio Correia, Nando Alves and Eduardo Pereira? Come to the gate.  The rest of you motherfuckers take ten steps back!”  The men came forward as the inmates attempted to count off ten paces in their cramped quarters.  Some men in the cage hissed and cursed, while the fans whistled and clapped. The passion on both sides was equally expressed.  Brasilian justice was being flaunted without a blindfold of any kind.  No pretense of shame existed.  This was just the way of  Rio de Janeiro (RJ)--- In much of the country actually.  The five stepped through the open gate as the guards, weapons drawn and aimed, made sure the unluckier bastards kept their distance.  Breakfast would have to wait. Each of the five presumed that they were being released!

        Alves tried to speak and was asked, politely, to remain silent in the presence of the caged men.  The five walked in a line through the tiny corridors of the building that was far too old, and too small, for its current capacity.  Some men offered rounds of applause. Others rolled their eyes in disgust.  A few inmates were unable to stop the tears of contempt, jealousy and hopelessness from shooting from their eyes onto the dirty floor on the other side of their bars.  All understood that, despite all the in-cell Kumbayah and “brotherhood”, this was a blatant act of privilege being the un-equalizer. Everyone knew that nobody they knew could ever be able to get a favor like this done for them.  Mainly the ones that were in tears were grieving over not seeing their wives, boyfriends, children or burying a loved one.  

        Justice was, indeed, blind.  She was entirely blind to the suffering and individual circumstances of these human beings.  She turned her eye away from the travesty that money and balls could buy.  The five were escorted to a large, white, spotless room with a rectangular table and eight dark blue, cushion-less, plastic chairs with metal legs.  They sat.  They waited and they wondered.

        The precinct commander entered the room caught a whiff and cursed!  “Fuck!” he said.  “Sorry guys, I hate to say it, but you stink.”  He slithered behind the men to reach the jalousie windows on the opposite wall.  Even with the early morning, burning humidity, he felt it welcome to open the slats, humidity be damned.

        “We’re waiting for your lawyer to get here.  She has some news for you.”

        “She”, questioned Rios, snarkily.

        “Some people, very high up, hand-picked her for this case.  I don’t think she’s ever lost.  I’d say you’re lucky, and I hear her body can make a jury do things!  Sorry you won’t get to freshen up for her”, the commander said as he laughed.

        “Where the fuck is this bitch”, belted Rios so loudly that he barely heard the door open.

        “This bitch is right here and right on time, and you haven’t even seen a bitch yet, Senhor Rios!”  She poured herself around the end of the table to an empty chair, pulled out a tiny perfume atomizer filled with a very inexpensive scent that was so cheap that you could smell the water in it!  She sprayed her right index finger and rubbed it back and forth over her upper lip as matter-of-factly as a coroner next to corpse.  Why waste the good stuff on dirt bags she reasoned.  She wasted no time in laying it all out for the five.

        This, senhores, is Counselor Taiz Veloso Gonçalves!” said the Precinct Commander, who wanted nothing more than to beg a finger of her perfume for his own sake.

        “Gentlemen?  Scratch that… boys?  You’re in a shit pile that you cannot even imagine!  There is no way that you can escape the charges.  You are all going to do hard time.  Good thing for you is that the maximum time you can be incarcerated in Brasil is thirty years, unless you’ve committed a crime like treason for which the penalty could be death in a military court.  The constitution also says that “crimes against humanity” is a death offense.  So I will be checking to see if a murder of this type remains a common crime or qualifies for the greater charge.  

        They hired me, because, if there is the tiniest possibility that you could get off, they know I’ll find it.  My three rules:  don’t touch me--- for any reason…Ever.  Second: I am your lawyer.  What I am not, is your jerk-off fantasy, your girlfriend or your fantasy wife.  I know who you are and how much you all earn and what you have.  I’m not impressed.  My job is to try to save your asses, and under unimaginable pressure from the Futebol league.  They know you’ve basically got no chance and that I am your only hope.  That acknowledged, you all make me want to puke.  But that makes no difference to me.  Pouco me importa!”

        “You done?” the hunchback bullied.

        “You’ll know when I’m done, Rios.  There are only two ways this can go.  Either we’re all going to get along--- or your adversarial, ill-advised dick measuring--- well---I’d recommend we get along.”

        “Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch!?”

        “Senhor Rios… That isn’t getting along!  I’m the bitch who is your best chance to walk away from this blood bath you’re drowning in with as short a sentence as possible.  I’m the bitch that knows that--- now that this story of your collective stupidity has gone viral, no matter what the league wants or thinks, you will do time--- even if only symbolic.  I’m the bitch that isn’t even slightly afraid of you.  And I’m the bitch who can get up right now and go have papaya and guava smoothie on the beach.  You idiots want to mess this up and mess with me? You’ll hate yourselves in the morning.

        “As I was about to say, you make me want to puke!  But that doesn’t matter.  My job is to do my best to save your asses.  Don’t look for an invitation to Easter dinner when it’s over.  I’m just here to do my job.  And I’ll do it--- until you piss me off--- Rios.

        “I’ve seen the video.  I watched it over breakfast and reviewed the case notes.  The notes have been shared with the federation, because you are a member-team.  Nothing could be done about it.  It’s in the bylaws.  ‘Any criminal behavior of any federation member shall be fully disclosed to this body…’ This is going to be the worst fight of your lives.  I certainly hope you still think it was funny, and worth it, to kill that boy.”

        “Faggot”, Rios flung.

        “Boy.  Human being. Gay guy.  You’re big, Rios.  But not that big.  Someone in prison will end up calling you that name soon.  Haven’t you got it yet?  Celebrities cannot talk that way about controversial people and issues publicly.”

        Now, about this video… you are all clearly identifiable.  There is no doubt that it is you on the drive.  Your voices are clear too.”

        “I just want to know where the video came from!” demanded Nando Alves angrily.

        “They won’t say, to protect the source.  Not a word. It’s my job to ask all the bullshit tactics like running the video in the lab for authenticity.  I would normally run it for P.O.V. angles, that’s “point of view”---Where it was shot from and all that.  I would run P.O.V., if I there was any chance you were all innocent.  I’m not going to do it.  You’re obviously the assailants, captured on video, in situ.  There is no point to do it.  It will just make the prosecution and the judge pissed off for the delay when the evidence is already too damning.  

        “I’ll get a report on authenticity from an impartial lab, as the law requires, but, even then, it will only prove that the video is real and what is caught on it is too.  It is the only discovery the Prosecution needs.  Had there been no video, I could have argued mistaken identity.  You’re caught.  You five beat, mutilated and murdered the victim. You messed this kid up and took his life.  On video!  The authenticity report will be conclusive and not in your favor.  There is no way that anyone could tell a judge, or any person looking at a banana, that they are really seeing a kiwi fruit.  It isn’t going to happen.  It won’t work.”

        “Well, what about the league?  The fans?  You see how they are defending us out there” Alves continued.

        “Mr. Alves.  The fans are standing up for you because they have not seen the evidence.  They are reacting emotionally to the incarceration of their heroes.  The league?  They don’t want the drama… not any more than they already have to deal with.  If this video leaks, which it will in Rio, you guys are done. Cristo O Redemptor couldn’t change that, even if he climbed down the mountain and knocked on the judge’s door himself.  It really is an open and shut case, but I’m going to pull some case law and see if anything like this has ever happened!  I wouldn’t count on fans, your mothers or anyone else for that matter.

        “You guys are going to prison.  It is good news for you that the polls are no longer showing a clear majority in favor of death penalty in Brasil.  It’s too close to call now.  If the video hits the media or social media, you might unintentionally bring the topic to a vote and end up actually getting the death penalty.  Once it goes viral, the world will be calling for your heads.

        You haven’t even seen the video that everyone is speaking of--- Until now.  This version has been altered to destroy the angle of the shooter’s position… in case anyone had the bright idea of fucking with, or hunting down, the witness.

        “I think it is very important that you see what it is, that has put you here.  You were all drunk.  Do you even remember what you did?  Do you remember the victim asking you all “why”?  Let me refresh your memories.  Commander, I need you to step outside please”, she said as she stood and plugged her notebook into the monitor in the interrogation room.  

        She turned and looked at the men as they sat at the table with no joy in their eyes.  She pursed her lips incredulously and moved her head “No” in barely perceptible movements.  She took a deep breath, exhaling it through her nose, as she used the cursor pad to click play.  She turned the volume up loud. She knew that the general population inmates were far enough away to not hear it over the din in their section of hell.  She was already working on their defense.  With great purpose, she repositioned the monitor directly facing the men.  She then took three steps to her left stood back against the slatted windows with a lean, crossing her ankles, as she teetered on her stilettos.

        The video started with the sounds of breaking glass, running feet, the fall, the body blows which resounded like beating a huge plastic garbage barrel with a baseball bat.  They could hear the kicks that broke the ribs, the commands, the pleas, their own laughter and the gunshot.  Then another--- and then, finally, the last.  For the murderers it felt as if they were there all over again!   By the end, she got what she wanted… and one thing she already knew.  Correia vomited by the end. The other men sat gape-mouthed--- all of them with tears either welling up or pouring from their eyes. Not Senhor Rios.  Throughout the replay, he sat proudly indicating the force of the attack by punctuating the unpitying strikes with movements of his head, like a fan watching two fighters in the ring.  

        This was no boxing ring. This was the floor of the coliseum, as the lions were set loose upon the prisoner.  That ruthless fuck was energized, and remorseless, from start to finish.  This is what she wanted.  The maximum penalty could be as many as thirty years.  The scale ranged from six to twenty-five, generally.  Rios was a lost cause in her eyes.  He was the instigator and the ring leader.  She would do her job and attempt to get his sentence reduced.  She wouldn’t work that hard at it though.  As for the others, she could detect, and would report, their pained and contrite reaction to the video.  She would speak of the vomiting, the tears and the wailing in horror at what they watched themselves do.  

        For them, because they had visible remorse, she would seek the lowest sentence possible.  Her rationale was that with Rios in prison, he would, either, reform or he would harden.  She really didn’t care which. Her job was to attempt to defend him against an indefensible killing.  With the others out sooner, she reckoned, the team’s impact would not be endless, and likely, would put the men back on the pitch again.  She knew this partiality would end her career.  

        Whether her plan was found out, or not, though, she would leave her profession.  She was fed up defending scum like this Rios.  She was done and now had nothing to lose.  As the murder video ended she grabbed a box of paper towels off the window sill and lobbed it heavily on to the table before the stunned and paralyzed men.  She locked her computer with her thumbprint scan, closed the cover and slid it into her burgundy leather messenger bag.

         “And that little movie is the reason there will be no bail.  No cushy treatment.  No conjugal visits.  No one night stands… until you begin to crave what you most despised.  You’ve been remanded to state custody until your instruction session before the Judge.  If he finds you reasonably detained and with probable cause, he or she will set a trial date.  Until then, you will be right here until your session in three days.

        “Look guys.  I’m going to my office and scour the law history to see if there is precedent in a case like yours.  I really am sorry to have to bring this news, but I will always break it to you plain.  I’ll be in touch.  Commander?! I’m out!”  The door lock jingled with key action and the door opened inward greeting her with a wall of inmate odor.  

        She turned to face the men, looking at each one.  Most were a wreck.  At the end of the table, she saw Rios’ fist presenting her the finger as he stood, grabbed his crotch, and squeezed his junk at her three dismissive times while rocking his pelvis.  She laughed almost derisively, closed her eyes, with a smile of incredulity on her face and let out an audible nasal breath as she turned to leave.  

        The Commander stepped aside as she passed and again as five armed guards entered to return the five to their cell. In addition to the singing and yelling of the other inmates, Alves could hear the metered clicking of her heels on the corridor as she returned to the freedom that he would not see again for a very long time.  

        He slammed his fists down on the table, clutched handfuls of hair near his temples and broke down into a crying jag.  He didn’t wail.  The only sounds were his inhaling, sniffing and a, barely audible, growling of agony, fear, shame and anger.          

        His body shook so violently, that one could hear the scraping of the small metal discs at the end of the chair legs as the skidded under his distraught weight. The men were then returned to their cell. This time, the walk was endless and harrowing, filled with anguish for four of the five.

They were greeted by howls of laughter and applause, when the prisoners saw that the five had not been freed after all.