Sorry, The Only Power Left Is Alteration.

Rio de Janiero: Cantagalo–Pavão–Pavãozinho: Fifteen Years Previous

 

An old radio played Naquela Mesa on loop. It was her father’s favorite song, but she never understood why he played it so much. Sometimes he played the radio, but when he really needed to concentrate, the cassette went in and it became Naquela Mesa nonstop. Janelle knew the song by heart.

Disc brakes sat piles in the corner of a dusty garage. Bins stacked full of pipes looked ready to spill across the floor. Scrap metal frame parts from various bikes piled in the other corner. A shelf held spare engines and transmissions while seats hung on the wall. Leather for reupholstery formed a pile under the table along with the dusty cardboard boxes filled with packing foam.

The better tires were stacked inside the garage along the sliding corrugated tin door. They had a sink that worked next to the shelf that held the oils, coolants, and other fluids. A big plastic barrel held waste oil from countless oil changes.

A caged bulb swayed listlessly from an extension cord.

Janelle sat cross-legged on a stacked sheets of cardboard and watched as a rugged man took apart an old C100 super club. He removed the front wheel with a wrench set among other tools. The bike remained coated in dried mud, no seat, engine covered in crusty oil streaks, tires rotten, and exhaust pipe rusted through.

She pointed, “What are those?”

“Wires for the battery housing, battery is missing as expected. I’ll see if I can get it working. We’re going to clean the parts that can still be used and keep the frame. Engine is clogged up. I'll show you how to connect the ignition wires later.”

A loud knock pounded a half-rotted wood door. Janelle got to her knees and looked over the pile of rust and mud that used to be a functional bike. She picked up a rag and polished the frame until she found a bit of blue paint.

“Hey, Renato, working late tonight, you must be swimming in the cash,” came the voice of a man with a metal bat. Renato stepped back into the garage against his shoves while his daughter watched, “Especially since you don’t pay any rent.”

Renato picked up a pipe that stuck out from the scrap crates.

“I don’t owe you people nothing, this is my property. I inherited it from my father who inherited it from his father. You don’t have no claim here.”

“I got a written document from the government establishing our ownership of this property. You can go to the city office and check yourself if you want.”

Renato affected a laugh, “Nice joke.”

“You owe us for rent and utilities, one years’ worth. You’ve been warned countless times brother. Now pay up.”

“I don’t have that kind of money. Can’t we come up with some sort of arrangement?”

Footsteps. Alana descended from the flat built above the garage with a baby in her arms peeked into the garage from the stairway, “Renato, what’s happening? Should I get some snacks for our guests?”

The third man spit on the floor, “Let’s talk outside. I don’t want to do this in front of his family.”

Renato clutched the pipe tightly. He looked to his wife, then to his daughter, “It’s nothing. I’m going to sort out a misunderstanding with them. Stay inside.”

“Papa?” Janelle asked, standing up.

The four men went outside. The sound of a pipe clanging against a metal baseball bat rang clearly as Janelle was held in place by her shoulder. Her mother forbid her to move. The sound of the hollow pipe clanging against the corrugated garage door followed grunts. Flesh struck flesh with asofter sound. The garage door reverberated loudly as a body slammed against it. Laughing followed.

"You have one last month old man, pay your debts, or this will get complicated."

They walked away. The night became silent except for a pained groan.

Janelle pushed past her mother. The moist night air suffocated her as she swallowed gnats. Renato laid flat on the ground. A laceration opened his forehead. His smashed nose pushed his blody face in. Janelle pushed herself against him.

“Papa!”

He put a gentle hand on her head and ran his fingers through her hair. Alana peeked outside with the baby in her arms, “You should just pay them. We can’t have this. We have a family to protect.”

“Papa, you can fight. You are strong. Why didn’t you show them? I’ve seen you beat four bigger men. Why did you let them do this to you?”

He continued to pat her hair, “My beautiful baby girl, you’ll understand soon enough. Be patient and choose your fights. The iron gets struck when it’s hot. Then we take two eyes for an eye.”

 

-----

 

by the time a month passed after the incident at the garage, the three men who assaulted her father had all met with unfortunate accidents. One was taken out by a falling brick, the other a gun shot wound to the chest, and the third had walked out of a bar and collapsed dead. The beatdown her father had taken had many witnesses, so it had only been natural for rumors to spread.

Janelle met Paulo in the narrow alleys on her way to a gated brick building that served as a local school. He went to grab her, but she took hold of his upper arm, pulled him down and rolled him so that his back hit the dirt. He huffed in shock.

“Did your father teach you that?”

“I learned that one myself.”

Paulo pushed himself up. “Those guys that beat him up all suffered a revenge. Did your father put a curse on them?”

Janelle made two fists and huffed proudly, “My father doesn’t need no curse. He taught me how to fight. He told me himself that he was going to make them pay.”

“Really,” Paulo said, wide eyed, “I just remembered something. I have to get it. See you at school later, maybe, if I decide to come back today.”

Paulo waved as he ran off through the narrow street. His dirty sneakers splashed a muddy puddle.

 

-----

 

School had been boring. She’d endured an entire day of sitting on the floor with a letter book and a number book. The entire time she thought of home and the feijoada that her mother began preparing this morning. Her father had bought some parts for that old bike from some salvage yards. They’d soon start on putting it together.

As she approached her home. She noticed the crowds had stopped. They were staring upwards. She ran forward to an open space and tried to stare through the backs of gawkers. The body of a man swayed above them. An extension cord wrapped his neck as he swayed listlessly from electric wires with a caged light bulb burning next to his face. Renato's face had become bloated and purple in the heat. The left cheek burned against the light. A cardboard sign hung over his chest.

 

Um grande pedaço de merda

 

-----

 

In that garage he always worked

And he always told me what it means to live better

In that garage he told stories

That today in my memory I keep and know by heart

In that garage he gathered people

And he happily fixed their broken machines

 

And there was so much shine in your eyes

More than your daughter

I became your fan

 

I didn't know it hurt so much

A pile of scraps, a barrel of oil, and a collection of tools

If I knew how much life hurts

How this painful loss hurts like this

Now there is but one bike left in that garage

And today, no one talks about you, anymore

 

-----

Fifteen Years Later

 

There had never been an investigation. The police had never showed up. No evidence had been gathered. A rival syndicate had disposed of the body. Her mother had arranged with them for protection. They had even covered her father’s funeral expenses.

Reasonable rent allowed them to continue living at the garage. Janelle quit school and became a set of eyes for her new landlord, eventually becoming a body guard. She spent her free time in the garage, learning to repair bikes on her own from her father’s greasy manuals. She’d gotten strong, her legs and arms muscular. Nobody messed with her.

Outside, not far from home, she sat on the seat of the old blue c100 Wonda bike and smoked a cigarette as a bunch of rats scurried across the broken cement path. The night air sat still as clouds floated past the moon. Lightning thundered in the distance while flashes brightened the sky. Smoking here helped her avoid a scolding from her mother.

“I know who killed Renato.”

The soft gentle voice sounded like a nun from a convent. When Janelle looked, a robed woman with closed eyes in a nun’s frock with a high habit stood in the middle of the alley. She had ivory skin that rivaled the lightning flashes in paleness. Blind holy woman or not, Janelle didn’t hesitate to pull out a knife at the mention of her father’s name. It found itself perilously close to the blind holy woman’s throat.

“What would you know about my father’s murder?”

The nun smiled, eyes remaining closed, “I’m a seer. I know things.”

“Tell me what you know!”

“Paulo is coming. He will take you directly to the man who murdered Renato. He works for them. But if you learn the truth, misfortune will befall you. Don’t go home tonight.”

The nun vanished. An apparition! A spirit! Janelle had never believed in anything superstitious, but she believed now. The knife went back in her belt. And as if on cue, Paulo waved to her as she finished her cigarette while calming down.

“Janelle, hey!” he called, “There is somebody really important at your garage. They want some work done on a custom model. I know it’s late, but I’m talking huge important. Good money too! I wouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Janelle stared through him. That day. It all made sense now. He ratted them out to his bosses. Her bragging had sealed her father’s fate. The garage wasn’t far, she could walk her bike the rest of the way.

The lightbulb swung from the center of the garage as she stepped inside with Paulo behind her. A short man in a suit stood in the center of the garage. She’d never seen him before in her life, yet white hot rage boiled over.

“Janelle what!?”

The knife came out as she rushed toward the suited man. The tip of the blade sliced skin and slid off the collar bone. She raised the blade again. A gunshot blasted from behind. The bullet struck her spine. Knife clattered against the dirty cement floor. Blood ran down from her back toward a French drain as the suited man stepped back out of her way. She fell face first.

“I'm bleeding! Did you bring me here to have her kill me? Is that what this is!?”

Paulo holstered his beretta, “No sir, I had no idea she’d do that! She’s usually cool! You asked to come here yourself. I had nothing to do with that! I mean, maybe she mistook you for somebody else? I swear sir, I don't know nothing about this!”

The man kicked her body, “Little piece of crap. Nobody else is home. Let’s go. I need to get this taken care of and you and I are going to have a big talk.”

They left with Janelle on the garage floor bleeding out. The nun appeared; eyes remaining closed. She whispered an inaudible blessing as Janelle struggle to look up.

“When I go to hell, I want to be able to kill, again and again. I want to kill them endlessly, forever. In hell.”

The nun’s eyes opened. The red glow overpowered the light bulb above them.

“Your blessing has been granted. Come play a game with me.”

The old cassette player clicked on one last time. The tape began spinning with the final words of the song. But the lyrics were a little different.

She's missing from that garage

And missing her is hurting me