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over, or the shit’ll hit the fan!’
    â€˜What’s up Hellraiser? What’s up Pelé? What’s the problem?’
    At the sound of Niftyfeet’s voice, Hellraiser lowered his gun and Pelé followed suit.
    â€˜Just as well you lot haven’t crossed paths before. I knew sparks’d fly. Let’s head over there for a drink,’ said Niftyfeet.
    Up Top, Squirt was having a shootout with Boss of Us All. The policeman refused to give up trying to catch or kill Squirt. He had already loaded his two revolvers several times and swore when Squirt returned fire. No one was hit. Squirt took a man’s car, drove down Main Street and headed for Freguesia, where he dumped it. He returned to the estate through the bush to meet up with Hellraiser and the others.
    â€˜Niftyfeet! Shit, man! I haven’t seen you for fuckin’ ages.’
    â€˜Yeah, man … It’s been years. You been getting up to no good, man?’
    â€˜So was it you that did the truck?’
    â€˜No. It was them guys over there.’
    â€˜Fuck! You know I almost got done ’cos of you guys.’
    â€˜â€™Cos of us how come?’
    â€˜If you hadn’t done the suckers, the cops wouldn’t’ve been there. You should’ve warned us …’
    â€˜Did you warn us yesterday?’
    â€˜Course not! We didn’t even know you …’
    â€˜Right, man … You’re full of shit, you know that?’
    â€˜Full of shit, my arse! If you say one more thing …’
    â€˜Hey, cool it,’ interrupted Niftyfeet. ‘No one’s guilty of nothin’and let’s cut this squabblin’, right? If you wanna stand around squabblin’ for nothin’, it’s the cops that’s gonna get lucky. There’s enough for everyone … I don’t want my friends feudin’, and I’m tellin’ you – you gotta be friends. If you start this business of feudin’, soon the area’ll be crawlin’ with pigs. I’ve already told you: I don’t want anyone feudin’!’ said Niftyfeet, with the authority of one who knew his order would be accepted. Everyone respected him; no one would ever oppose the Salgueiro Samba School’s best dancer. No one ever raised their voice to the best-known rogue in Rio’s
favelas
. Even Big, the most dangerous gangster in the city of Rio de Janeiro, respected him. They’d bow to any request Niftyfeet made. They stayed there, drinking beer. By mid afternoon they were acting like close friends, playing pool and heads-or-tails, and improvising sambas:
    Up on the hill,
Where the playin’ is hard,
Drinkin’ beer,
Smokin’ weed,
Playin’ rounds of cards.
    Families from several of Rio’s
favelas
arrived at the new council estate. The chance to own their own home and finally establish themselves was an enticement, but the distance and poor living conditions on offer led many to reconsider. While on the one hand workers had to wake before dawn and walk two miles to catch the bus at Freguesia Square, on the other, every child who arrived was guaranteed to fall in love with the place: if it wasn’t the guava trees, it was the avocado trees; if it wasn’t the Eucalypt Grove, it was the haunted mansions; if it wasn’t the pond, it was the lake; if it wasn’t the river, it was the big lake; if it wasn’t the swamp, it was the sea at Barra da Tijuca.
    Those who knew the estate well could walk from one end to the other without having to take the main streets. Squirt and Hellraiser liked to flash their guns at the police on patrol, then head into the alleys firing shots into the air. The police gave chase, but, unfamiliar with the twists and turns of the labyrinth, they got lost. When this happened they would often shoot at one another. The gangsters would double back and fire from another alley, making the police dizzy. They only did this when Boss of Us All wasn’t