Thin Line Between Death and Dishonor

by Amir Sanchez

  “Thank you, Sha’Ron. His dumb ass lucky he got a brother like you that really loves him.”

  After Sha’Ron got back into the truck, he searched through his cell phone for someone who he could pick up to follow him back there so he could park his brother’s truck up. Suddenly, his attention was distracted by the sound of a blunt object tapping against the window. The tint on the window was dark so he could barely see out of it. All he could see was a silhouette of someone wearing an all-black hoodie and holding a long silver instrument. The assailant then started firing shots straight through the window and side panels of the truck. His upper body was hit with multiple shots before the gunman fled the scene. When Nicki heard the gunshots, she jumped up and ran to the window. From there, she witnessed the assailant running away from the truck. She ran to the phone and dialed 911. In a state of panic, she tried to wake up Leaf while screaming to the operator.

  “Help me, please, Leaf, I think they shot your little brother! Wake up! Operator, there’s been a shooting. Please send help to Overbrook Park Apartments . . . please hurry! Leaf, wake up! They shot Sha’Ron. We need to go out there and check on him!” she screamed.

  Leaf suddenly leaned forward and threw up everything in his stomach. It was as if he instantly sobered up. He stood up and identified his surroundings. Next, he questioned Nicki about the accusations she was making.

  “Nicki, what the fuck is you talking about my brother got shot? I don’t even remember how the fuck I got here. You tripping.”

  “Leaf! Sha’Ron drove you home from the bar. He took your truck, and when he left, somebody shot at him and ran. We need to go outside and help him,” she pleaded. Leaf was confused, but after hearing what Nicki told him, he pulled out his gun and ran out of the apartment. She followed closely behind him. As soon as he got outside, he saw the bullet holes in the windows. The tint prevented them from shattering. When he pulled the door open, he discovered Sha’Ron’s limp body stretched out over the passenger seat, covered in blood.

  “Aw, shit! No, Sha’Ron! No, man! Please don’t die. Fuck! Who did this to you?” he cried. Nicki reacted similarly. The approaching sound of ambulance sirens brought them back to reality. Nicki grabbed the gun from his hand and tucked it in her pants seconds before the ambulance and police turned down the block. The police officer pulled them away from the truck so the paramedics could do their job. When they checked his pulse, they discovered he had a faint heartbeat. Having lost a tremendous amount of blood, if he didn’t receive immediate medical attention, he would surely die.

  “He’s still alive. Let’s get him on the stretcher!” one EMT informed his partner who instantly kicked into action. They carefully removed his body, placed him in the back of the ambulance, and sped off to the hospital. Because the truck was now the scene of the crime, they were not permitted to drive it. Nicki was able to persuade one of the responding officers to drive her and Leaf down to the hospital.

  During the ride, he contacted his mother and informed her about Sha’Ron’s misfortune. She, in turn, contacted Connie, and they all planned to meet up at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital. Once all were gathered in the emergency room, they stormed the information booth, demanding to know Sha’Ron’s condition and whereabouts.

  “I’m sorry, people, but I cannot give out that information. However, I’ve contacted the hospital spokesperson, and she informed me that she will be down to speak to you shortly.”

  As they waited impatiently for her arrival, the questions and suspicions were addressed.

  “Ka’Leaf, what happened? Who did this to my baby boy? Where the fuck were you, Ka’Leaf? I don’t understand how you let could have let this happen. Why? Please, God, don’t take my baby,” Consuela begged the Lord. Connie stood by her side hugging her supportively, while staring at Leaf and his girlfriend with the evilest look she could muster. Consuela started to shiver uncontrollably, urging Connie to take off her sweat jacket and place it over her shoulders.

  When the spokesperson finally arrived, she called them into a small room where grieving and counseling brochures were spread across the table.

  “I assume that you are all family and friends of Sha’Ron Santana.”

  Some replied yes, while others nodded their heads in agreement.

  “I’ve been informed that the doctor is on his way down to give you all a full report on Mr. Santana’s status.”

  “Is he okay? Please tell me he’s going to be all right,” Consuela pleaded with the nurse.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know his status, ma’am.”

  The moment the doctor walked through the door, all hope and prayers were denied. The doctor’s facial expressions said it all. He appeared sad and disappointed. Informing families that their loved ones were dead was very difficult, but it was his job.

  “I’m very sorry, but his vitals were far too low for me to revive him. He didn’t make it.”

  Consuela let out a scream so loud that it could be heard throughout the hospital. The news was too disturbing for her, and she passed out right there on the floor. Everyone present cried their hearts out for Sha’Ron. This was the most painful loss they’d ever experienced. From that day forward, things were never to be the same again. It was as though when Sha’Ron died, he took bits and pieces of everyone’s soul along with him.

  The following morning in the Federal Detention Center, the block officer woke Gus up and informed him that the jail chaplain sent for him. Confused about why the chaplain wanted to meet with him, he questioned the officer to make sure that it wasn’t a mistake.

  “You sure he sent for Gustavo Santana?”

  “I’m positive. Now put your uniform on and report to the officer station.” After being escorted to the chaplain’s office, he was offered a seat and a glass of water.

  “Mr. Santana. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but unfortunately, your cousin Sha’Ron Santana was murdered in his car last night. May the Lord have mercy on his soul and your loved ones. I will lead you in prayer if you wish. Do you think that will help you deal with this?” asked the chaplain.

  Gus didn’t respond. His face went blank, and his skin complexion grew pale. It was as if his heart stopped beating, and he lost the ability to comprehend. The initial shock delayed his ability to come to terms with reality. He stood up and left the office. He was escorted back to the block where he went straight to his cell and lay in his bunk. He buried his face in the pillow and mourned his cousin’s death. When Kalid walked in and noticed him crying, he tried to comfort him.

  “I seen the news this morning, and I assume the Santana kid was related to you. It seems as if Allah is putting trials and tribulations in your life like never before. I’m not sure if you realize it, but you’re in a fucked-up situation with these feds. They give a nigga a million years like it ain’t shit. You got to take the time to weigh out your options and do what’s best for you and your family,” he advised. This was his first attempt to test the waters. When he had contacted his agents earlier that morning, they informed him that if he got Gus to talk and reveal anything about his case or cooperate, he would be given an additional time reduction at sentencing.

  Had Gus been on point, he would have recognized Kalid’s angle. But since he was experiencing grief and hardship due to the events taking place in his life, he was extremely gullible. He listened closely to every word that was said. He didn’t comment on what he suspected Kalid was recommending. Instead, he just prayed that he would be granted a bail at his hearing scheduled for the next day.

  The news of Sha’Ron’s death was a shock for Black. What was even more surprising was the fact that Colt had somehow made a mix-up, and killed the wrong Santana brother. Over the years, he’d been reliable in his field of work and always demonstrated professionalism. Black couldn’t understand what went wrong, and he demanded an explanation. Mysteriously, Colt had not reached out to him. Usually after doing a hit for him, he would confirm that the job was a success, but Black was still waiting.r />
  Meanwhile, Black was also waiting for word on where the funeral services were going to be held. He had every intention of attending.

  From Hopeful to Hopelessness

  The following day, Gus was led to the courtroom by U.S. Marshals. He was seated beside his attorney, Ryan McMonagle, who quickly briefed him on what he planned to argue.

  “Gus, I know you are losing your mind over in that damn rat trap. I’ve been informed of your losses, and my deepest condolences go out to you and your family. I’m going to do everything in my power to get you bail, but it’s not going to be easy. This prosecutor, Joe Khann, is tough as nails, plus he is being backed by an asshole with a lot of pull around here. They are all back there staring at you like you’re fresh meat.”

  “Just do your best to get me out of here, please, man. I need to get back to my family,” Gus pleaded.

  After two hours of back-and-forth arguments, the prosecution reaped the victory. He was able to convince the judge that Gus was a danger to the community, a flight risk, and likely to continue criminal activities if he was free. The prosecution didn’t give specifics, but they did mention to the judge that very serious charges were in the process of being filed. As partial victory for the defense, the judge rescheduled another bail hearing in thirty days. He warned the prosecutor that if serious charges weren’t filed, he would consider setting bail.

  All of Gus’s hopes were thrown out the window. His beliefs and strength were at an all-time low. The disappointment and failure were evident in his expression. Ryan noticed the weakness being exposed and quickly tried to gather him together before the feds smelled it on him.

  “You keep your head up in there, Gus. I’ll keep fighting to the very end, but you have to stay strong. If anybody other than me should try to contact you, refuse it and contact me immediately.” Ryan’s voice was loud enough for the agents in the back of the courtroom to hear it. After the hearing, Gus was taken to the holding cells where inmates are held until the marshal transported them back to the jail.

  Sha’Ron’s janasa (Muslim funeral) was to be held at Sister Carra Muhmad’s Masjid in West Philly. Before the funeral, his body had to be properly cleansed. This was carried out by Leaf and a few brothers from the masjid who volunteered to assist. When the sheet was removed from his brother’s body, not only was he brought back to reality that his baby brother was really gone, but to witness the actual wounds he was inflicted with replaced his heart with an icebox. The sad thing was, there was nothing he could do to help or bring him back. He was gone forever. The fact that everyone was placing the blame on him put him in an awkward position. They washed him off with black soap while praying over his body. He was then wrapped up in a shroud and placed in a box.

  The following day, close to five hundred people showed up to pay their final respects. Sha’Ron was deeply loved by many, and in his memory, a river of tears filled the ranks of the masjid. No one’s cries were louder than his mother’s. She screamed as if she was in agonizing pain. When people tried to comfort her, she just pushed them away. During the final prayer, Leaf happened to look over to his side and notice that Black prayed directly next to him. At that moment, he was overcome with several bad vibes. A voice in his head was telling him to pull his gun off of his waist and blow the nigga’s head off. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that he didn’t want to put any more hardship on his mother. After the prayer was completed, Black walked over to Consuela and gave his condolences.

  She spat dead in his face and turned her back on him. He stood there in disbelief, wiping the spit from his face. Leaf witnessed the whole incident and made a mental note to question his mother on what was said to make her respond the way she did.

  After the burial was complete, everyone went their separate ways except for Connie. She stood at her nephew’s grave, praying and talking to him as if he could hear and respond. When she finally left, she headed over to Nicki’s apartment. She wanted to know exactly what she heard and saw the night her nephew was killed.

  Consuela had always been the quiet one out of the two sisters, but she was not as naïve as people painted her out to be. Unknown to most, she had a dark side as well. Over the years, she had learned to contain it, but now she had all the reason in the world to bring it out. She was almost certain that Black was responsible for her son’s death. It was how he got down.

  She’d been getting a bad vibe from Black lately, and when he came up to her at the funeral, her mother’s intuition told her he knew more than he was letting on. No one besides him would have the courage to shed Santana blood, knowing what the repercussions would be. Since he was shot while sitting in his brother’s car gave her reason to believe that the bullets were meant for Leaf, but mistaken identity took place, which led to her baby being killed. When he tried to send his condolences after the service, the nigga couldn’t even look her in the eyes, which gave her even more reason to suspect Black. She had knowledge of who his hit man was and planned to get the ultimate vengeance on everyone who participated in her son’s demise. She just needed to get her facts straight and line up all her ducks in a row.

  * * *

  Immediately following Gus’s hearing, federal agents and prosecutors held a meeting to discuss the progress made and where the investigation needed to go before the rest of the suspects were indicted. Amy led the discussion.

  “Throughout our investigations, we have been able to gather a significant amount of evidence and intelligence on mainly all suspects of interest. Our informant and his recording devices have been our most essential resource. The suspects could be heard on numerous recordings discussing their roles in the drug trade, shootings, money laundering, and even murders. Just recently, our informant was able to plant a recording device in the home of our prime suspect, in which we believe we overheard him ordering the murder of Ka’Leaf Santana. We believe that Sha’Ron Santana was not the intended target. He just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. I personally feel that this investigation is at its final stages, and we should get our informant off of the street and round the suspects up,” she voiced.

  “Thank you, Amy. I agree with you 100 percent. However, I would like to delay this at least one more week. Reason being, I want to pick up a little more conversation from Mr. Campbell and also give another informant we have on the inside an opportunity to encourage Gustavo Santana to cooperate or talk. I want this case to be solid, and I strongly believe that either of our resources will assure that within another week,” he argued.

  “One more week it is then, Joe. Now, I have to figure out a way to get our informant away from the suspects long enough to brief him on the issues. I’ll figure something out. Until then, let’s get our asses back out there and conclude this investigation!” yelled Adam, giving the agents the motivation they needed to work hard, and hopefully bring the matter to closure.

  Rat Bastard!

  Black had just finished taking his frustrations out during rough sex with Chyna, when the housekeeper, Ms. Rosa, urgently knocked on the door. She had been his housekeeper for the past seven years and had never interrupted him while he was in his bedroom, especially while he was entertaining his wife. Black realized that it had to be an emergency, so he slid on shorts and stepped into the hallway to address the issue.

  “Rosa, what the hell is going on? You come banging on the door like a damn madwoman.”

  “No . . . no . . . Mr. Black, you do not understand. I find something very suspicious. You must come now,” she demanded with her Spanish accent, while grabbing his hand to lead him downstairs to the living room. She placed her index finger to her lips and lifted the pillow up. She pointed to the device that she had come across while doing her weekly cleaning. Black stared at it in disbelief while a hundred thoughts ran through his mind. He was all too familiar with these devices. Before his first indictment dropped, he used to have a retired private investigator come to his house and sweep it for bugs on a weekly basis. He deeply regretted abandonin
g that practice. He had put his guard down and grown too comfortable. Now his empire was in great danger. He knew exactly who was responsible for the device finding its way under the pillows of his couch. His thoughts went back to the other day, when he and Gus had stepped out back. When they returned, Jihad was acting quite nervous. Now it was clear why. How the fuck was I so blind? I let this little rat motherfucka jeopardize my whole empire. I’m slipping. I got to fix this shit before it’s too late, he reasoned with himself.

  Payback’s a Bitch, Literally!

  As Colt was exiting his home, he was met by the murderous eyes and the barrel of a gun held by Consuela Santana. She backed him up into the house. Her demands were very clear and simple.

  “Keep your hands above your motherfuckin’ head! If you even blink hard, I’ma blow your brains out! You understand me?” she stated, clearly in control of the situation. When she reached for his waist, he attempted to smack the gun from her hand. She quickly stepped back and fired a shot into his chest. He hit the ground, wailing with excruciating pain. She stood over him and pressed her foot forcefully against his bullet wound. He started to choke and scream in submission.

  “Now, you got one time only to tell me the truth. Did Black order the death of my child?” Knowing what he was accused of and the extent of his injuries, he knew that the only thing he had coming was death. He had no plans of making it easy on himself or giving her peace of mind, so he began taunting her.

  “Bitch, fuck you and your dead-ass son! I hope I see the little bastard in hell so I can tell him how much of a whore you are. Fuck you.” His words were chilling and suicidal. Consuela stared him straight in the eye and fired several shots into his head. As far as she was concerned, he had basically admitted that Black had indeed told him to kill her son. At this point, Consuela heard what she wanted to hear, and she was choosing to interpret things however she wanted to. She was looking for any reason to justify her carrying out her intentions with no mercy.