Joseph Ernest Martin

Everyone was really excited. It was the night before Joe's 30th birthday and he, Zac and me were chilling in the Kilo restaurant just round the corner discussing plans for our opening night. It was to be a joint celebration.

The sound system had been installed by Elvis and it was sounding sick. The noise could be heard all over the neighbourhood. Everyone was really excited. Everyone was really excited.

Two days previous to this Thursday night, Elvis and Joe had fallen out over the matter of Joe taking his girlfriend upstairs, numerous times, to sleep in hostel without checking her in. This was forbidden by Elvis and to be fair, Joe should have respected this. However, until this time it was a rule that had never been enforced. This disagreement had resulted in Elvis losing his temper and throwing a chair at Joe which broke over his arm. Elvis had aimed it at his head. This may sound extreme but in Elvis' defence Joe had been winding him up profusely over this matter by denying that it had happened, despite Elvis having it on camera. After this disagreement, Joe decided he no longer wanted to involved in the bar, which was understandable; the problem was, Joe had already signed the tenancy agreement and paid part of his non-refundable 3rd share for the lease. Elvis expressed that the only way Joe could be out was to find a new third party to by him out. Subsequently, this created problems for Zac and I, who didn't - and still don't - want a new partner. Joe ended up turning to alcohol for the answer. For the following two days I didn't see Joe without a drink in his hand day or night.

Once night had fallen on this Thursday night, Joe went to Beco do Rato - a samba cafe just round the corner from the Hostel, still in Lapa. It usually gets busy around midnight and I had arranged to meet Joe there. Joe loved that place, he was there every week, without fail.

Me, João and Elvis had arranged to go to a new strip joint around just up the road. When we got there, they let us enter with our beers and it cost 2 Reais to get in. We walked in and it was full of prostitutes. They swarmed us. We each got a complimentary lap dance to the sounds of some grimey funk music, which was amusing; these girls were experts and shaking their Brazilian batties. We soon got bored and fled before being pestered for more drinks.

After this, we piled over to Beco da Rato where Elvis bought himself an X-Tudo burger before shooting off. I bumped into Joe as soon as I got there, although, he took a few seconds to recognise me; this was unusual for Joe. I noticed instantly there was some white residual powder below his right nostril, he'd had been getting on it all night and was extremely drunk by this point, as well as sniffed up. When talking to him, his attention kept turning to his girlfriend, who was talking to some guy. "I'm gonna fucking kill this guy, Nik," he growled.
"Why? What the fuck has he done, mate?" I replied.
"Nothin' really, he's just talking to Leila, I don't like guys talkin' to my girl."
"You're not gonna touch him, Joe. That girl fucking worships you, man. Don't be such I prick, come on let's go over there, I need to talk to you,"
"No wait, first, let's go get a shot of Fogo Paulista," Joe demanded.
"Claro," I nodded, he then grabbed my head and gave a me a big kiss on the cheek.
"I fucking love you, my brother, give me a kiss!" He cried. I laughed at him. "What you can't give your brother a kiss now?" He said.
"Course I can," I shouted, before obliging and following up with a big hug for his approaching birthday.

I led him to the bar where we each downed a huge shot of this vile Goldschlager-like spirit; it burned as it went down almost inducing vomitus. I then grabbed a couple of beers for us and we walked off to a quiet area to discuss plans for his birthday celebration. Along the way, as we waded through the crowds, Joe stopped to chat to a couple of Americans from New York. He was completely hammered by this point and proceeded to insult them both "Wait, you guys aint from Manhattan are ya?" He jeered, with a sick chuckle behind his voice. "So your Jewish asses like tha Yankis?"
"Sure we do," the short, stumpy, mole-like Jew replied.
"Just know, when you die, Joe Martin thought you were an asshole," Joe cackled before giving him a big kiss on the cheek.
"Who the fuck is Joe Martin anyway?" The other Jew tried to retaliate.
"Me motherfucker," Joe shouted.
I excused Joe's rudeness, invited them both to the party then dragged Joe away. He was in a wild mood. As we walked off, I remember him yelling at the top of his voice, no words, just a loud scream which made everyone on the street turn and stare.
"I gotta tell ya somtin," he said.
"I already know. You haven't got the money for tomorrow" I said.
"Yeah but no, err yeah but I fucked you and Zac over as well. I bought all Elvis' stock off him on credit." He continued.
Now, this consisted of a case of Cachaça and various other bottles of spirits. His idea was that this would be his contribution for the party and that Zac and I would provide the beer. "
What about the rest of the lease money, have you got it yet?" I asked.
"That's coming, my mum's sending me that next week, you can speak to he and ask her if you don't believe me" He replied.
"Joe, mate, we're not in school, if you say you got it, you got it, I trust you man, we'll speak about all this tomorrow when you're not off your nut."
"Agreed." He then grabbed me kissed me once again and told me once more how much he loved Zac and I. I reciprocated with a big smacker on his cheek. "likewise." We had one final man-hug before I went home to bed.

At about 4am my phone rang and woke me up. It was Elvis. "Nik, hi, sorry, were you asleep?" He said calmly.
"That's alright, whatsup?" I retorted, in a weary slumber.
"Are you with Joe? He asked.
"No man I'm at home in bed, why?"
Well, Joe was shot in the belly by an off duty cop and I just wanted to check whether you were with him."
"What the fuck, are you serious? Where is he?" My eyes opened.
"He's in the hospital, mate." Elvis continued calmly.
"Fuck, what the fuck happened?" I shouted.
"I don't know exactly," he said. I thanked him for calling but wasn't sure this was real, I soon fell back asleep not knowing if I was dreaming.

At 8:00am my phone rang again, this time it was Alan on the phone. Alan is 23, Brazilian and from Petropolis, he works as a kind of handyman for Elvis. Alan told me again that Joe was in the hospital and I told him to wait 15 minutes for me.

When I arrived at the hostel I asked where Zac was. I then asked what had happened and this is what I was told:

Elouis and Cassandra, two friends of ours who used to stay at Samba Villa had been drinking just round the corner, when some kid snatched Elouis' bag and ran down the road. A random guy off the street had then accosted the kid and pinned him up against the wall. Joe meanwhile, was walking past cheering about reaching 30. He walked up to Elouis and Cassandra, who told him to be quiet and updated him on the situation. Joe had continued drinking and sniffing since I left him, 3 or so hours earlier. He must have been fucked up by this point. He was not happy with the events and ran down to the man and the thief. He then pushed the man off the thief before planting a headbutt on the thief's face. The thief dropped the bag and ran away. "Why did you do that?" The man shouted at Joe, in English.
Joe replied something in Portuguese along the lines of "No one steals around here, especially from my people."
The man was not happy with his answer and pulled out a pistol aiming it at Joe's bare chest. "What are you gonna do now?" The man shouted, again in English.
"What are you gonna do? Shoot me? Go ahead, everyone is watching!" He challenged.
"The man then shot twice at the ground in an attempt warn Joe off.
This didn't seem to faze Joe, who apparently replied "Shoot me then, come on you haven't got the balls."
Holding his hands out in either side of him seeming to imitate Jesus on the cross and clutching a beer in one, and a fag in the other. The man then shot twice in the air and the arguing continued, now in Portuguese. The man then shot twice more missing the first but hitting with the second shot. This was not an attempt to incapacitate Joe, no, the bullet hit Joe in the abdomen not a leg or a foot. Just try and imagine what that lump of metal flying at hundreds of miles per hour would do to a stomach full of vital organs. Joe fell to the floor clutching his belly as João, Leone, Allan and Elouis watched in terror. The man was calm and casually walked off to stand on the corner. The Policia Milita soon arrived and paid no attention to Joe. They spoke almost casually to the gunman before another unmarked car turned up. The gunman got in the car with a PM and people started screaming "murderer," and throwing rocks at the car.
The car sharply reversed straight into the crowd causing them to disperse. The car then stopped and the man got out again. Meanwhile Joe sat crying in on the side of the road. Leila, Joe's girlfriend soon arrived pm the scene and sat next to Joe crying. About 30 minutes passed before the Ambulance finally arrived. They put Joe in the back and another 20 passed before they finally shot off. They took Joe to some lame hospital just 10 minutes around the corner. Leone apparently went with the PM's to check that he was detained.

I called Zac's mobile and told him what I knew. He at first didn't believe me but eventually said he'd be there in 5 minutes. When he arrived we left immediately and jumped in a cab. It only took 10 fucking minutes to get there, 10 fucking minutes.

When we arrived at the hospital, they would only let one person in Allan went. Zac and I sat outside waiting. In my mind, Joe was sitting with a bandage wrapped around his chest sitting up in bed.
I had planned to call him a prick and say "What the fuck have you done this time, ya nutta?"
Allan came out, his eyes were wide and he looked shaken; I will never forget his words "Cara morreu" or "dude died."
Me, Zac and Allan went back into the hospital and Allan led us to waiting room where we found Leila and Joãn sitting in tears. I couldn't cry. I just felt numb and confused. Everyone else was in tears and I just sat there in a bewildered daze. Eventually, I took Leila out and sat holding her tight while she cried and cried. I tried to comfort her and told her I would be here for her.

Joe died at approximately 4am, during surgery. It was his 30th birthday.

Joseph Ernest Martin

25th May 1977 - 25th May 2007

Died for his people - Morreu para a gente

RIP