I'm going to tell you a story now. I will leave out names in some cases because, quite frankly, I don't feel like it's my business.
A few weeks ago, Kenia and I went down to the lake and had some drinks with her brother and some of his good friends. One of his friends, his best friend, was a very good guy, a very funny guy, and he sat next to me while we drank. Now, Kenia and I had already put down a liter of beer while waiting for everybody and initially I declined to drink more, but this guy, with a big grin, convinced me to keep going. I don't like to have bad manners when I travel, so I got my second wind and we all proceeded to put down more beer. We laughed and talked about life in Brazil, everyone displayed whatever they knew in English, and we snacked on a plate of sliced filet mignon and potato fries. It was a good time. I remember at one point the friend told me that I should relax when I am in Brazil and he patted me on the back. He had a very kind touch and good spirit. I remember he wore a pink shirt. At the end of the night, Kenia and I were a bit drunk, so this guy took the keys for her car and drove us home. We all laughed as he sped down the main road at 2 in the morning. When we parted ways, I told him I would see him later and I was certain we would have more good times to come. It was a fun night with good people.
The other night, October 1st, I saw him again... Fashion week is going on here in Lagoa Santa and Kenia's brother is a model in the show. His friend told him that he would finish at school, go home to shower, then head over to meet all of us at the event. A little before 9pm, he reached his neighborhood in Belo Horizonte, but his car broke down. He got out to push it down the street, just a few feet from his apartment. A man on a motorcycle drove up to him and pulled out a gun. When he saw the gun, he took off running and made it to the front gate of his apartment before the guy on the motorcycle shot him three times in the back. He fell to the ground and bled to death on the sidewalk.
It was about 11:30pm when news finally reached us at the fashion show. I couldn't figure out what was happening, but I knew it was bad. Everyone was crying. Kenia, her brother, and all their friends at the show carpooled over to the friend's apartment as fast as possible, everyone in a frantic state of disbelief. The rain started to pour as we got closer to BH and soon it was like a monsoon. Lighting illuminated the night sky overhead.
When we reached the scene, the Military Police had already taped off the crime scene and everyone in the neighborhood stood close bye under the awning of the local store. Neighbors in the surrounding buildings held their faces against the steel grates of their windows to observe the scene. We got out of the car and everyone headed inside the apartment to grieve with the family. I remained outside on the street, standing in the rain. Five feet in front of me, covered in black tarp held down by pieces of wood, was his body. Soon, the family and friends came out, all crying to God and holding out their arms towards his body. Everyone emotionally destroyed. More lighting overhead.
Soon, the detectives showed up, all laughing and going about their business with a certain aloofness. I was a little upset, but then I realized I was in Brazil, and these cops see plenty of dead people all the time. They have to stay disconnected, otherwise they will lose it out here. They took the tarp off him and the crowd gathered close. Some friends and family looked at him and cried more, others had to go inside. A child cried in the background.
It looked like he had fallen right when he was hit and had died shortly thereafter. He was on his stomach, both hands under his chest, face down in the concrete. One bullet towards the bottom right side of the spine, another one over towards the left lung, and another, up high, towards the center left that probably went through his heart. No exit wounds in the front so probably they were hollow-points that stayed inside and rolled around a bit. The cops took out his wallet and recorded his personal information. Then they stripped off his blood soaked shirt, revealing the three gaping bullet holes. They took some photos, then turned him over and stretched his arms out. When they flipped him over, I think I may have been the only person other than the police, who watched the whole thing. His face was covered in blood and it looked liked a torrent of it had spilled from his mouth. Under his body was an enormous pool of blood and I could smell it. His eyes were closed and he looked very peaceful. They cleaned off his face with his own t-shirt, took some photos, then threw his shirt down on his body. Then they took off their gloves and threw those on his body too. Then they left.
A few minutes later, the ambulance showed up and they took his body away. One of his friends cried frantically as he knelt on the sidewalk in the rain, trying to wipe away the bloodstain that will now remain at their front door until nature erases it. Some military police remained to talk to the news team that had arrived at the scene.
No one saw anything except one woman, but what did she see? A man on a motorcycle, in the dark. Hopeless. There was no CSI-type expert there who started trying to look for answers immediatley... No rapid motion of response by the police. There was a tone of utter hopelessness to the whole thing. Just another dead person here. The police appeared to show up only to record the incident, not to solve it.
He was 22 years Old. No one knows why this happened. He had no problems. His sister was also shot some time ago and thrown in a lake. His father does not want to live anymore. His 18 year old girlfriend does not know what to do. His 6 month old child does not understand what has happened. This will always be how I remember October 1st. Welcome to Brazil.
I know now that want to make a good honest living and a lot of money to go with it. I don't want to talk to any idiots who might bring me trouble, I don't want to know any drug dealers or criminals, I don't want any of that. I've known a quite a few bad people and I don't want to know anymore. I want a good life, free of all those fools. I want to take all the people I love and I want to put them in a big, fabulous place, with big walls, free and far from all this kind of stuff, and if anybody tries to bring this kind of stuff to the people I love, I will fuck them up. Never again do I want to see anyone I know lying face down in their own blood, in front of where they live, shot in the back by some asshole.
A few weeks ago, Kenia and I went down to the lake and had some drinks with her brother and some of his good friends. One of his friends, his best friend, was a very good guy, a very funny guy, and he sat next to me while we drank. Now, Kenia and I had already put down a liter of beer while waiting for everybody and initially I declined to drink more, but this guy, with a big grin, convinced me to keep going. I don't like to have bad manners when I travel, so I got my second wind and we all proceeded to put down more beer. We laughed and talked about life in Brazil, everyone displayed whatever they knew in English, and we snacked on a plate of sliced filet mignon and potato fries. It was a good time. I remember at one point the friend told me that I should relax when I am in Brazil and he patted me on the back. He had a very kind touch and good spirit. I remember he wore a pink shirt. At the end of the night, Kenia and I were a bit drunk, so this guy took the keys for her car and drove us home. We all laughed as he sped down the main road at 2 in the morning. When we parted ways, I told him I would see him later and I was certain we would have more good times to come. It was a fun night with good people.
The other night, October 1st, I saw him again... Fashion week is going on here in Lagoa Santa and Kenia's brother is a model in the show. His friend told him that he would finish at school, go home to shower, then head over to meet all of us at the event. A little before 9pm, he reached his neighborhood in Belo Horizonte, but his car broke down. He got out to push it down the street, just a few feet from his apartment. A man on a motorcycle drove up to him and pulled out a gun. When he saw the gun, he took off running and made it to the front gate of his apartment before the guy on the motorcycle shot him three times in the back. He fell to the ground and bled to death on the sidewalk.
It was about 11:30pm when news finally reached us at the fashion show. I couldn't figure out what was happening, but I knew it was bad. Everyone was crying. Kenia, her brother, and all their friends at the show carpooled over to the friend's apartment as fast as possible, everyone in a frantic state of disbelief. The rain started to pour as we got closer to BH and soon it was like a monsoon. Lighting illuminated the night sky overhead.
When we reached the scene, the Military Police had already taped off the crime scene and everyone in the neighborhood stood close bye under the awning of the local store. Neighbors in the surrounding buildings held their faces against the steel grates of their windows to observe the scene. We got out of the car and everyone headed inside the apartment to grieve with the family. I remained outside on the street, standing in the rain. Five feet in front of me, covered in black tarp held down by pieces of wood, was his body. Soon, the family and friends came out, all crying to God and holding out their arms towards his body. Everyone emotionally destroyed. More lighting overhead.
Soon, the detectives showed up, all laughing and going about their business with a certain aloofness. I was a little upset, but then I realized I was in Brazil, and these cops see plenty of dead people all the time. They have to stay disconnected, otherwise they will lose it out here. They took the tarp off him and the crowd gathered close. Some friends and family looked at him and cried more, others had to go inside. A child cried in the background.
It looked like he had fallen right when he was hit and had died shortly thereafter. He was on his stomach, both hands under his chest, face down in the concrete. One bullet towards the bottom right side of the spine, another one over towards the left lung, and another, up high, towards the center left that probably went through his heart. No exit wounds in the front so probably they were hollow-points that stayed inside and rolled around a bit. The cops took out his wallet and recorded his personal information. Then they stripped off his blood soaked shirt, revealing the three gaping bullet holes. They took some photos, then turned him over and stretched his arms out. When they flipped him over, I think I may have been the only person other than the police, who watched the whole thing. His face was covered in blood and it looked liked a torrent of it had spilled from his mouth. Under his body was an enormous pool of blood and I could smell it. His eyes were closed and he looked very peaceful. They cleaned off his face with his own t-shirt, took some photos, then threw his shirt down on his body. Then they took off their gloves and threw those on his body too. Then they left.
A few minutes later, the ambulance showed up and they took his body away. One of his friends cried frantically as he knelt on the sidewalk in the rain, trying to wipe away the bloodstain that will now remain at their front door until nature erases it. Some military police remained to talk to the news team that had arrived at the scene.
No one saw anything except one woman, but what did she see? A man on a motorcycle, in the dark. Hopeless. There was no CSI-type expert there who started trying to look for answers immediatley... No rapid motion of response by the police. There was a tone of utter hopelessness to the whole thing. Just another dead person here. The police appeared to show up only to record the incident, not to solve it.
He was 22 years Old. No one knows why this happened. He had no problems. His sister was also shot some time ago and thrown in a lake. His father does not want to live anymore. His 18 year old girlfriend does not know what to do. His 6 month old child does not understand what has happened. This will always be how I remember October 1st. Welcome to Brazil.
I know now that want to make a good honest living and a lot of money to go with it. I don't want to talk to any idiots who might bring me trouble, I don't want to know any drug dealers or criminals, I don't want any of that. I've known a quite a few bad people and I don't want to know anymore. I want a good life, free of all those fools. I want to take all the people I love and I want to put them in a big, fabulous place, with big walls, free and far from all this kind of stuff, and if anybody tries to bring this kind of stuff to the people I love, I will fuck them up. Never again do I want to see anyone I know lying face down in their own blood, in front of where they live, shot in the back by some asshole.
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