Crimes of August: A Novel

Two

[21] two The front pages of the newspapers carried headlines about the death of the industrialist Gomes Aguiar. The police, according to Commissioner Ramos, had a clue to the“robbery” that couldn’t be revealed in order not to hinder the investigation. Several photos of Gomes Aguiar and one of Alberto Mattos, with the caption“Inspector leads the investigation.” The inspector arrived at the precinct at 8:30 a.m. He wanted to get there early to be able to go by the lockup before the deposition by Luciana GomesAguiar,but he had been delayed by helping a guy push a black Citroën stalled in the street. He told the guy to get behind the wheel and by himself pushed the Citroën down a long stretch of road, in the middle of traffic, but the engine wouldn’t catch.The car was pushed to the curb and Mattos,along with the driver,tinkered with the motor,but all he succeeded in doing was to get grease on his hands and his shirt collar. Inspector Maia, who was scheduled to relieve Mattos, had no problem with Mattos going to the lockup on days when he was on duty.Maia detested going to the cells.“I don’t like the smell,” he would say. The prisoners’ breakfast had also been delayed, and the jailer was beginning to distribute the first aluminum mugs of coffee, along with bread. The prisoners were chatting loudly; some were laughing. People get used to everything, Mattos thought. “Sir,sir,what about my injection?”said a swindler known as Fuinha,trying to stick his face between the bars. [22] “Didn’t I give you one yesterday?” “Yes,sir,but I didn’t get well.Wanna see? If I squeeze it,a little drop comes out.” Fuinha started to unbutton the fly of his pants. “I don’t need to see anything,” Mattos said. The inspector told the guard to bring the metal box with the syringe and needles, the bottle of alcohol, the two small containers of penicillin, one in powdered form, one in liquid, that he normally brought to his shift. Whenever he called a doctor to give an injection to a prisoner with gonorrhea, no one would show up. The guard brought the materials, placing them on a small table in the corridor. Mattos took the metal holder from the box, filled it with water until it covered the syringe and the needles, rested the box against the holder placed on the lid, poured alcohol into the lid,lit the alcohol,and waited for the water to boil.He stuck the needle into the rubber stopper of the liquid-filled vial, drew up the liquid, removed the needle, stuck it into the other vial, forced the liquid out of the syringe, picked up the syringe, leaving the needle stuck in the stopper, shook the small vial to mix the powder and liquid, inserted the needle into the glass end of the syringe,and aspirated the liquid.From the lockup,Fuinha watched these deliberate preparations.He stuck a naked arm outside,closing his eyes when the needle punctured his skin. “Anyone else sick in there?” Mattos asked. “Me, sir.”A prisoner approached the bars. “That guy don’t have nothing, sir. He’s a con artist,”said Odorico, the boss of the lockup, a husky man with a crimson heart tattoo on his forearm that read“Mother,”sentenced to over three hundred years for robbery and murder. “Let me decide that,” said the inspector. Odorico shut up. Obeying an order from Mattos was not a humiliation. The confidence man was a fat guy,a repeat offender,sentenced to five years for fraud. “What are you feeling?” “A pain in the chest. It’s very stuffy in here.” He coughed twice. “It really is unbearable,” said Mattos.“You shouldn’t be here, none of you should be here. But there’s nothing I can do.”The world didn’t want to know about those outlaws, they could go fuck themselves one on top of the other like filthy worms.The police existed to hide that rottenness from the delicate eyes and noses of decent people. [23] “Wouldn’t it be good for a doctor to examine me?” Shrewd, the swindler. Maybe the doctor could be fooled. The police infirmary was much more comfortable than the lockup. “Don’t try and bullshit the inspector,” threatened...