[ WP ] - Tell a story through a phone conversation twice : the first time , the reader can only hear one side of the conversation , and the second time , the reader can hear both sides .

`` Come on, *pirralho*. I need you to help me load some shit into my truck. There's forty reales in it for you.'' 
 
 I jumped at the chance. Not only was forty reales enough for two trips to the movie theater *with* popcorn, candy, and soda. More important, it was Winston asking me. Winston. 
 
 Everyone knew Winston was one of the hardest, baddest motherfucking hoods in the favela. He used to live about ten minutes walk away, before he moved to the big house. When I was seven he was fifteen, and I used to watch him play futbol with my brother and the older boys in the pitch behind the run-down church. In the favela, you idolize three kinds of people. Futbolistas, rappers, and hoods. 
 
 I knew Winston was a hood. Everyone who lived in the big house was a hood, or a hood's girlfriend. Word was they ran with Marcos Aurelio, one of the biggest bangers in Rio. That might've just been a rumor, though. A real hood never told you who he ran with. 
 
 So when Winston asked me to help him load some shit into his truck, I knew I had to say yes. Maybe he was going to take me to the big house. Maybe this would even be my chance? The bangers employed kids as young as ten as runners and bag boys, and I was thirteen. I still had n't shot a gun, but I could learn quick. 
 
 The car ride over was quiet. Winston was silent, and I did n't know what to say. We listened to some American rap music on the radio as his truck bounced and rumbled down the dirt roads. I asked him what we were moving. 
 
 `` Just some stuff. Do n't ask questions, kid.'' 
 
 Of course not. I should have known that. 
 
 Five minutes later we drove right by the turn to the big house, and my heart sank. I knew the turn because my brother had gone over once or twice. My brother was not a hood, but he was friends with a few of them. They only invited him to the big house once or twice a year, he said. I'd never even seen it from the outside. 
 
 My disappointment grew when we turned into a large scrapyard, about twenty minutes out from the favela. What could we possibly be picking up here? 
 
 `` Get out the car, kid.'' Winston killed the ignition. `` And wait here. I have to make a call.'' 
 
 He flicked his lighter and lit up a cigarette, then walked off as he dialed a number on his phone. My heart picked up again. Maybe we were making a pickup! This was certainly an isolated enough spot. If he was bringing me on a pickup, then for sure he wanted to take me on. 
 
 `` *Oi*, it's me. I'm here with Gustavo's brother.'' I watched him pace, stopping to take long drags of the cigarette. What a badass Winston was. My brother was tough, but he was no hood, not like Winston. 
 
 `` No way, boss. I ’ m not stupid. ” 
 
 I wondered where he was hiding his gun. I knew he was carrying one. 
 
 “ I know. *Filha da puta*, ” he cursed loudly. If I cursed like that, my mother would knock my teeth out. I guess I ’ d have to learn to curse like a man, if I was gon na be a hood. 
 
 “ Yeah, I know boss. ” The cigarette was almost halfway gone, he was dragging it so hard. “ Now I ’ m here with the kid. So we just wait for him to come out of hiding, right? ” 
 
 *Oh, shit! * This was a pickup. I couldn ’ t believe it. They must ’ ve been planning to bring me in for a long time. I was one of the tallest kids in my year. Were they watching me play futbol? Seeing how fast I could run? I felt like I was a hundred feet tall. 
 
 “ Okay, then what? ” 
 
 Maybe I ’ d ask Winston for a cigarette after he hung up the phone. My first one. My brother never let me have any of his. 
 
 I watched him stand there, listening intently, eyes narrow and face betraying nothing. He took a long drag, then threw the butt into the dirt and stepped on it. There was a long silence. 
 
 “... Got it, boss. ” He hung up his phone and put it away. 
 
 He reached behind his back and pulled out his gun. He aimed it at me. 
 
 I thought I was going to piss myself. 
 
 “ Get the fuck out of here, kid. ” 
 
 I stood there petrified. The blood drained from my face. I couldn ’ t move. I felt like my feet were held down by cement. 
 
 “ Run, kid. Right now. You have cousins in Sao Paolo, don ’ t you? Use those forty reales I gave you on a bus ticket. Get the fuck out. ” 
 
 I put my back against the truck and just stood there, staring at him. The barrell of the gun looked like an endless pit. 
 
 “ Right *now*! Or do you wan na get fucking shot? ” 
 
 Next thing I knew I was running down a dirt road. The gun, the scrapyard, the truck, Winston ’ s face, gone, like it had all been a dream. I ran all the way to the bus station. 
 
 -- 
 I found Gustavo ’ s little brother drinking coca cola behind his house. His parents were out. Thank God. They would never have let him come with me. `` Come on, *pirralho*. I need you to help me load some shit into my truck. There's forty reales in it for you.'' 
 
 I drove him to the scrapyard Marcos Aurelio had said. I didn ’ t say much on the way. I had a feeling this had something to do with Gustavo, that prick. 
 
 When we got there, I lit up a cigarette and called up Marcos Aurelio. I felt bad about the cigarette. I only smoked them when I was nervous. I told my mom I was gon na quit. “ *Oi*. It ’ s me. I ’ m here with the kid. ” 
 
 His deep voice came in covered in static. These disposable phones were a piece of shit. “ Have you said anything to him about his brother? ” 
 
 “ No way, boss. I ’ m not stupid. ” 
 
 “ Good. ” Marcos Aurelio had this way of talking that made my blood freeze in my veins. “ Gustavo sold us out. He went to the police, collected his bounty, and dropped off the face of the earth. Four of our guys got busted on his tip. ” 
 
 “ I know. *Filha da puta*. ” 
 
 “ You know we can ’ t let betrayal like this slide, Winston. ” 
 
 “ Yeah, I know boss. ” This was where my nerves started flying. *I knew it. * He wanted to use the kid as bait, to lure out his brother. I didn ’ t like where this was going. “ Now I ’ m here with the kid. So we just wait for him to come out of hiding, right? ” 
 
 “ Not quite. ” 
 
 Relieved, I allowed myself a breath. “ Then what? ” 
 
 “ Gustavo ran out on his family. There ’ s no guarantee he ’ ll take the bait. So we ’ re gon na send a message. ” 
 
 *Oh, you cold son of a bitch. * 
 
 “ Kill the kid. Even if traitors get away, people have to know we always get them back. ” 
 
 My heart started racing, my blood boiling with hate. I took a long drag of the cigarette and let it fill my lungs, holding it for a long time. Joining this shit had been a mistake. Ever since moving to the big house, I couldn ’ t look myself in the mirror. I stepped on the butt. “... Got it, boss. ” 
 
 Very carefully, I pulled out my gun and stared the teenage boy in the eyes. I had to make sure this kid never came back to Rio de Janeiro again. 
 
 “ Get the fuck out of here, kid. ” 
 
 He went white, and backed up slowly till he hit my truck. He looked so young, scared out of his mind like this. 
 
 “ Run, kid. Right now. You have cousins in Sao Paolo, don ’ t you? Use those forty reales I gave you on a bus ticket. Get the fuck out *right now*! Or do you wan na get fucking shot? ” 
 
 He started running. He always did run fast. Marcos Aurelio would have probably tried to recruit him eventually, if his brother hadn ’ t gone to the police. 
 
 I would have to tell his parents to run away too. Then I ’ d have to figure out about running away myself. 

