Thin Line

by Anthony Whyte

  “Shareef,” mother said with tears in her eyes. “Are you feeling any better?”

  I was about to answer when another officer approached us.

  “We’ll have round the clock guards at two different hotels. You and your family will occupy one and a team of decoys, the other,” he said when he reached us.

  A group of detectives quickly escorted my mother and me to a waiting car. Four detectives stood guard while mother and I got inside. The car settled into second place in a convoy of three cars. The questions followed.

  “I heard your boy had a hard time back there. Does he need a doctor?” the sergeant asked.

  “Under the circumstances, Sergeant, I would say that’s a good idea,” My mother answered hugging me.

  “So kid I heard you were there when those, ah, killers came in?”

  I had my eyes fixed on the traffic slipping by. Lights flashing and the loud siren announced our arrival. It was overwhelming to me. Pedestrians on the sidewalk stopped to stare at us. I could hear the detective still jawing.

  “Is he alright? He doesn’t look too well.”

  My mother looked down on me. She could feel my sweaty palm inside her hand. I was nervous but I was getting strength from her.

  CHAPTER 15

  They walked around us. Our escorts were constantly checking behind and in front, signal here and there. Their every move seemed precise and planned. In no time, we had changed clothes and walked into the elevator dressed in clown costumes. We walked into the hotel room and I came face to face with my stepfather. He looked ragged and disheveled like he had aged twice since the last time I saw him.

  “Hey, Shareef,” he jumped from the bed and greeted. We hugged briefly. Then he embraced mother. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” he said somberly.

  “It’s not your fault,” mother said hugging him. “Why haven’t you shaven?”

  “Apparently, someone ordered a twenty-four hour suicide watch on me. I was complaining about not letting me go with too much. Everything that comes in has to be thoroughly checked.”

  “Now who would do something like that? I mean I can’t imagine,” mother said. She was deep in thoughts when the doorbell rang. It was the doctor. He came carrying a bag and frowned when he glanced at me. It was the same therapist who had examined me previously.

  “Oh my,” he said walking over to where I stood very nervous. “It’s, ah, Shareef.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Go ahead and remove your shirt, I’ll make some checks. What you witnessed was brutal, I know. Try to relax for now,” he said.

  I cooperated with his examinations. In the end, he offered medication.

  “This will help him sleep,” he explained, handing my mother a bottle of pills. She examined it carefully, then looked at my stepfather and finally at me.

  “Are you sure this will not have any serious side effects?” she asked.

  “Minimal,” he said packing his bags. “You may put your shirt back on,” he instructed as he headed to the door. “I’ll see you in my office at ten in the morning.”

  He was almost out the door, when mother caught up to him and said.

  “Doctor, we’ve got to be in court tomorrow.”

  “As far as I know, only one parent will be needed in court tomorrow. The other person who is free can bring the child to my office at ten o’clock in the morning. Good night, Officer.”

  My mother slammed the door and walked over to where my stepfather and I were.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “Shareef had seen him a couple days ago, and he wants to do a follow-up tomorrow. He wants to run more tests.”

  “What kind of tests?” My stepfather asked.

  “He feels that Shareef is internalizing what’s going on around him and that’s causing him to exhibit an intense fear of the police. The upset stomach is another reaction from the fear. The therapist said that Shareef told him that a cop from my precinct was one of the killers. The therapist thinks Shareef is transferring all bad things to men in uniform all because he was arrested and was scared by the officers. I really don’t know what else to do…” her voice trailed.

  “Honey, I had no idea. With the situation with me, and now your mother being—”

  “Please, do not bring that up. I can’t bear this. I’ve got to bury my…”

  My stepfather shushed her and my mother cried in his arms. I walked over and hugged her. Teary-eyed she looked down at me.

  “Are you sure the men who came knocking on grandma’s door were police officers, Shareef?” she asked.

  I stared at her as I thought about the question for a beat too long.

  “Shareef, tell me, the men who murdered your grandma, your aunt and cousin were police?” my stepfather asked with a hint of disbelief on his tongue.

  “Don’t badger the boy. That’s what he saw,” my mother countered.

  “Is that what happened, Shareef? Tell me what happened,” my stepfather ordered. I remained quiet.

  “Stanley, please do not put my son through that again.”

  “Hell, I’m married to you. That makes him my son too.”

  “Yes, even so, that doesn’t make it open season.”

  “Just what’re you trying to say here?”

  “You best be thinking what you’re going to be telling that grand jury tomorrow morning. I’ll come and see for myself as soon as the therapist is through examining Shareef,” my mother said.

  My stepfather backed off from his questions. I felt somewhat better for the moment.

  “Shareef, it’s bedtime,” mother said.

  I did not take long to fall asleep, but not before thinking about seeing the therapist in the morning.

  I awoke the next morning and was surprised by my surroundings. Yawning while surveying, I saw my stepfather sitting on the sofa. He was dressed, drinking coffee and watching the news. The segment showed everything that happened the night before at my grandmother’s apartment. The reporter called it a massacre. Waking up to the bad news only served to alarm me further. I started to scrutinize the people around me.

  My mother had an intense look of disgust on her face. My stepfather seemed like he was cramping. I was reminded that the horrific incident last night was not a nightmare. It had really happened. My grandmother, cousin and aunt had been executed right in front of my eyes.

  I continued to watch the television and noticed that the news reporter had left out my name but talked about an eyewitness. There was no mention of killers wearing police uniforms. I guessed no one believed me.

  “Shareef, get to the bathroom and get dressed.”

  “Okay mom.”

  “Are the make-up people from the feds on their way yet?” she asked my stepfather.

  “It’s the feds, so they don’t say when they’re coming, they just show up. But I think that they’ll be here any minute, sweetheart,” he said.

  The mood was tense and I could see the worried look on my mother’s face when I came out of the bathroom. Two people dressed in lab coats flanked my stepfather. They must be makeup, I thought. The whole scene reminded me of a bad thriller. What was going to happen next? After my grandmother’s killing, who knew?

  The police were preparing for the worst. They sent a four-man escort team for my stepfather. Later two officers returned to escort us using another exit.

  Morning traffic was light as we headed downstairs and to the cars. Two officers followed the car. Our driver was a police officer and I immediately felt nauseous.

  “Motion sickness,” my mother said.

  I held my head out the window and barfed. We went directly into the therapist office. Mother sat outside and I went inside with him.

  “Good morning, Shareef. How’re you feeling?” he asked in a chirpy voice.

  I wanted to tell him about the nightmare I was living, but I knew that might get me officially classified as cuckoo.

  “Good morning, doctor,” I answered.

  “Okay, Shareef, I want y
ou to talk freely about everything you’re feeling…” his words drifted through the air.

  Mentally, I crawled back under the sink, holding my breath and thinking that there was something creepy about this man. At the end of the session, he would prescribe more medication. I did everything to block out the maniac sitting across from me.

  Later we walked out together. He was beaming after the session.

  “I think we’ve made great progress,” he announced when my mother walked over.

  “I’m glad. Really, I’m happy. Doctor, can we wrap this up? I’d like to get over to the court. You know, traffic.”

  “Yes, sure, we’re going to increase his meds and see how he does. Then from there we’ll lower the concentration.”

  “Okay, but why are you increasing the dosage?”

  “I’m afraid that’s the only way we can help your son. He has a chemical imbalance and what the concentrated form does is balance him out so to speak,” he said, and slapped me on the back.

  His slight shove, propelled me forward and I found myself hugging my mother. She had a sympathetic smile.

  “Shareef has been through a lot. Thank you doctor for all your help,” my mother said as we readied to leave.

  “You’re most welcome and here’s another bottle. Please make sure you give him as directed. Any questions, you’ve got my number.”

  Mother grabbed the bottle and put it in her purse. She hauled me to the elevator and we boarded. She was dialing on her cell phone when we got off. Downstairs, we waited for the escort to bring the car around.

  “I don’t like coming to that doctor, he bugs me out,” I said as I watched the car slowly moving closer and closer.

  Mother was still on the phone. She turned, looked at me and said, “What did you say, Shareef?”

  I was preoccupied with the approaching car. I grabbed at mother and pointed.

  “Mommy, look. That’s not the same car!” I screamed.

  She looked just in time to see the car windows coming down and gunshots erupting.

  “Get down!” Mother shouted, pushing me to the ground and diving on top of me.

  She pushed me behind another car as gunshots were fired at us. Safely concealed behind an automobile, my mother pulled out her gun and returned fire. I felt adrenaline rushing through me as shells flew.

  “Stay down, Shareef!” she ordered.

  On her hands and knees, she scurried to the front of the car and got a jump on the bad guys. Mother let loose with a barrage of gunfire. Then there was silence. She gave me the thumbs up signal, crept close to the other car and started a body count.

  “They’re all dead,” she said into her phone, returning to where I was. “Okay, I’ll stay here until you send a team out here. Make it quick I wanted to be in court.”

  Mother then closed the cell phone and hurried to where I was. She wasn’t smiling when she asked, “Are you alright, Shareef?”

  I was completely overwhelmed by the way my mother had handled herself. It was a revealing performance. I felt a rush of excitement. I had to hug her.

  “I’m alright,” I said, breathing hard. I had just witnessed something shocking but spectacular. “I guess this is one of the times that you’ve got to fight back.”

  CHAPTER 16

  All of a sudden it happened. With my mother still on her cell phone, there were police all over the place. In a matter of minutes, I went from elation to nausea. Mother seemed content giving statements and speaking with the officers. I cuddled next to her and only felt better when she turned to me and said.

  “Let’s go.”

  We walked with a group of officers to a car and sped off. Lights and sirens blared as we made our way to the courthouse.

  “I can’t believe me and my son’s lives were in danger because we happened to stop at a Dunkin Donuts. That’s a joke,” my mother complained.

  Detectives were in cars in front and behind us. Our driver was a detective. I felt that crawling in my stomach and tried to watch the road. We arrived at the courthouse and the same four detectives signaled for us to walk in. Inside, I sat nervously next to mother and waited.

  “Are you all right?” she asked me.

  I nodded, but knew I wasn’t. I was trying desperately to be brave. Back there in the streets, my mother had shown so much bravery; I just couldn’t be weak. All around us there were officers in uniform walking back and forth. Detectives seemed to swarm like the cavalry. Some stopped to speak with mother, while others just stared. I was petrified, and just sat quietly. One of the officers walked over briskly. He gave mother a friendly hug.

  “Hey Ramirez, how are you?” my mother greeted the man.

  “Hi Rita, I came as soon as heard you were in here.”

  “I’m happy to see you. Oh, you remember my son, Shareef.”

  “Shareef, nice to meet you.”

  “Hi,” I said, trying not to be seen.

  He was wearing sunglasses and pulled them down to wave at me. I could see the ring. I could see right through him.

  “Shareef, you remember my partner, Officer Ramirez.”

  “Ah, you know you can call me Charlie,” the officer smiled and waved. “I’m really sorry about your family. that must’ve been really horrible. I didn’t know about anything until a couple hours ago.”

  “Right, you were out on vacation.”

  “It must be going rough, huh?”

  “I’m getting by. I guess I’ll feel different Friday at the funeral.”

  “That’s two days from now. I’m there.”

  “Thanks Ramirez.”

  “C’mon, we’re partners, right?” They hugged.

  “You’re still a sweetheart.”

  “So, what’s going on…” they both started asking the same question at the same time.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “How did your family enjoy Disneyworld?”

  “It was beautiful. Everyone had fun.”

  “What were you about to say, Ramirez?”

  “Oh, um, how was it going with the grand jury?” the officer asked.

  “They’re still taking depositions. I don’t think he’s testified yet. I came too late to see before he went inside.”

  “You are always on time.”

  “I guess it had to do with a certain hit.”

  “Yeah, really—what’re you talking about?”

  “Boy, you’ve been really out on vacation, huh?

  “Rita, you know…”

  “Save it. I thought you knew what happened.”

  “I arrived this morning at LaGuardia, went home and came right here.”

  “Earlier this morning after I took Shareef for his appointment a car came around and took potshots at me and my son.”

  “Are you serious? I didn’t hear anything about it.”

  “It happened about an hour ago in broad daylight.”

  “Really…? No one said anything to me,” Ramirez said. He was wide-eyed with surprise.

  “Yes, you were still in vacation mode. You were out the loop.”

  “All right, you don’t have to rub it in.”

  “I’m saying that when you’re on these vacations of yours…”

  “C’mon, Rita something goes on with my partner, I wouldn’t take it lightly. Especially an attempt on her life. Tell me how many were there?”

  “It was the driver and one other. I shot them both.”

  “That’ll show them who they can’t mess with.”

  “I think whoever was trying to kill us—it’s more than likely the same people who killed the Mozis. You know… my neighbors and their daughter?”

  “Yeah, I remember the incident. They were gunned down in their driveway, right?”

  “Those killers haven’t been caught.”

  “I know a friend who’s working on it. He told me they’ve got nothing except motive, shells and the bodies.” Ramirez was glancing around as she spoke.

  “Everything started happening after Mozi was set to testify.” />
  “Yes, the killers are probably the same ones who killed… Mom, Lila and Tito.” My mother looked away.

  “That makes sense. The news made it seem as if it was some type of accident. Now they’re coming after you and Shareef.”

  “It doesn’t add up to anything but hits. My mother’s place was not ransacked. Nothing was stolen.”

  “I get your drift. As soon as they found out your husband was gonna cooperate they targeted your family also.”

  “It’s more like the minute he was scheduled to testify to the grand jury. That same evening, the hit was made at my mother’s. The attempt to kill me and my son this morning and all the other hits are related.”

  “There’s no mention of that in the papers.”

  “The newspaper made it appear like the killers were looking for another apartment. My mother wasn’t involved. She doesn’t owe anyone anything. Why was she targeted? Whoever did it is trying to prevent my husband from testifying. They know we’re his immediate family. So they’re coming after us to get to him.”

  “Hmm, you can never believe the newspapers, can you?” Ramirez said, scratching his head. “It’s sensationalism. Their theory just distorts the facts. It’s an advantage to the bad guys. They could hide under the reporter’s error.”

  “The fact is no one knew about him cooperating. No one, that is except the prosecutors and detectives,” Mother said.

  “Hmm… You knew?” Ramirez asked, looking intensely at Mother.

  “Yeah, but I certainly wasn’t going to run out and tell anyone. Not even my own mother. To make matters worse, Shareef—the only eyewitness to any of the murders—said the killers were wearing police uniforms. Now, you know they called the doctor uh…the therapist who’s been seeing my son.”

  “I know. What happened?”

  “They are trying to dismiss it,” mother said. Her voice sounded annoyed.

  “Based on what?” Ramirez asked, looking confused.

  “The lead detective is alleging my son’s mental capacity is in question and he doubts whether it was worth the manpower…” Mother’s voice trailed.