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least adapted to the new society were the gangsters. The only ones who integrated were those who had been lodged at Mario Filho Stadium as a result of the floods. This was the case with Squirt, Hellraiser and Hammer, and guys who had done time together.
    No
favela
had its entire population transferred to the estate. The random distribution of people between City of God, Vila Kennedy and Santa Aliança, the two other council estates built in Rio’s East Zone to take in the flood victims, tore apart families and old friendships. Many refused to move to City of God as they thought it too isolated. But the inhabitants of Ilha das Dragas and Parque Proletário da Gávea flocked to The Flats, where they adjusted more easily.
    On Saturdays there were dances at the club, where the gangsters, dope smokers, sluts and cool guys hung out. The bands played songs by Jorge Ben, Lincoln Olivetti, Wilson Simonal and others. The club directors managed the best football team in Jacarepaguá, made beef stew and
feijoada
on Sundays for members, and organised excursions, competitions and indoor football tournaments. The directors prepared dozens of bottles ofcaipirinha, nylon-knickers and jaguar-milk. They bought beer and snacks to sell during the dance, the most important social event around, although most residents did not attend because they didn’t think good things went on there.
    One Saturday, Hellraiser arrived at the dance in a rush, looking for Hammer. He wanted to tell him some good news. Squirt had got lucky in a robbery down Anil way. He’d landed two gold chains, a pair of wedding rings, a .38-calibre revolver, three pairs of Lee jeans and a leather jacket. Hellraiser went into the dance without paying, searched the entire dance floor, the bar, and the washroom, but was unable to find his friend. He thought it odd. Cleide had seen him there. He was already leaving when he bumped into Niftyfeet:
    â€˜How’s it goin’, Niftyfeet? Seen Hammer around?’
    â€˜He went home ’cos the pigs’re here. There’s a Detective Beelzebub around askin’ everyone if they know you, man. They’ve already been Out Front, Up Top, Down Below, they’ve been here … It’s this business of holdin’ up trucks in the area.’
    â€˜Are they in a car or a van?’
    â€˜A van.’
    â€˜How many?’
    â€˜Three, I reckon.’
    Hellraiser scratched his head, visibly worried about the police. He thought about getting out of there, but doubted the cops would return to the club. He decided to relax and said:
    â€˜Let’s go wet the whistle!’
    â€˜Real men don’t wet the whistle, they have a drink!’ joked Niftyfeet. They were heading towards the club bar when Detective Beelzebub came in with two other police officers, dragging a sobbing Cleide. Hellraiser ran to the middle of thedance floor, bumped into couples dancing to the sound of the group Copa Sete, and knocked over chairs and tables. Beelzebub let go of Cleide and went after him. Niftyfeet strolled towards him, gave him a shove to slow him down, then apologised, saying it had been an accident, but Beelzebub tried to cuff him. Niftyfeet dodged him without much effort. The other police officers got involved in the fight, but Niftyfeet delivered a stingray-tail kick to Detective Carlão, a sweep to Officer Baldie and a half-moon to Beelzebub, then left, not in any great hurry, crossed the bridge over the right branch of the river, turned into an alley and disappeared downhill.
    â€˜Got more than you reckoned for?’ shouted Lúcia Maracanã, laughing, to rile the detective even more.
    Hellraiser ran into the women’s washroom, climbed onto a toilet seat, scaled the low wall separating the cubicles, punched a hole in the asbestos ceiling and left the club. From the roof he saw Cleide making a beeline for the top of the hill. He followed Hammer’s wife. They ran past the church, reached the