Thin Line

by Anthony Whyte

  ESSENCE BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  ANTHONY WHYTE

  THIN

  LINE

  A CHILD’S EYES NEVER LIE

  TEENLIT

  Ages 12 Up

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or organizations, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  © 2013 Augustus Publishing, Inc.

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1935883289

  Novel by Anthony Whyte

  Edited by Parijat Deasai

  Creative Direction & Design by Jason Claiborne

  Cover Illustration by Marthalicia Matarrita

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For further information contact Augustus Publishing

  Augustus Publishing paperback June 2013

  www.augustuspublishing.com

  Dedicated to the Lion of Inwood…

  Will Alicea

  Your bravery astounds even me

  My brother

  Your kindness guides me

  Will Teez

  Your memory lives on forever

  always

  RIP

  You’ll never be forgotten…

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  It takes a village to raise a child… That being said, I’d like to thank all who’ve helped to put this book together. Tracy Sherrod for planting the idea, my niece, Yolanda Palmer for the expert rewrite, Professor Menaukha Case @Empire State College for the cuts… Parijat Desai Editor, Amicus Editing for edits. Marthalicia Matarrita for her painting skills, Shulamy Casado, great work... Jason Claiborne for orchestrating… Congratulations to Lebron James on being the MVP in winning his first championship with the Miami Heat. To all the readers who requested a book their children could read… A Thin Line... No cursing!

  PROLOGUE

  It was seven in the morning when two black unmarked cars rolled to a stop outside the most pristine house on the quiet, tony block. The fog of the fall proved thick enough to hide the moving figures in the shadows. Five immaculately dressed men jumped out of the cars clothed in dark suits, and equipped with automatic weapons by their sides. With precise discipline, the men quickly moved into the shield of darkness and settled into hidden positions waiting for their cue.

  7:15 a.m. Lolo and her father walked out of their front door, as they usually did on her school days. The black Mercedes Benz with diplomatic tags was already purring. Steve Mozi always started the car with his remote control so the interior of the car would be warm and welcoming, and he did no different on this cool, misty spring morning. Lolo and her father rushed to the inviting car while unknown to them, danger lurked. Lolo turned to wave good-bye to her mother who was waving at her to come back inside.

  “Lolo, you forgot your lunch,” Mrs. Mozi shouted.

  Yatzi Mozi came running behind them to greet her daughter with a turkey and cheese sandwich prepared with motherly love. Suddenly she recognized the cold stares on the strange men’s faces. Her mouth opened but Mrs. Mozi’s shriek didn’t come fast enough. The chilling whistle of silencers from guns aimed at her only daughter and husband killed her sound. Bullets flew and Mrs. Mozi realized too late what was taking place.

  “Oh God, Lolo, Steve, look out…!” She shrieked in fear.

  Her cry came way too late. Yatzi Mozi ran out of the mansion toward her husband and daughter, and she too became part of the melee. The assassins continued their charge at the unsuspecting family members, tactically gunning all of them down.

  It was a twenty after seven. Eleven-year-old Lolo, her father Steve Mozi, and her mother, Yatzi, were caught in the shooting gallery without any cover or concealment. In a savage onslaught of lead, the family was brutally murdered.

  Three of the men quickly checked the dead bodies. One grabbed the attaché case Steve Mozi had been carrying. Racing back to the cars, they jumped in and quickly slammed the doors. Tires screeched as the two cars peeled off, alerting the attention of a neighbor. At twenty five after seven, the disturbed neighbor notified the police.

  7:45 a.m. Mrs. Rita Sanchez, a young Puerto Rican woman, was hurrying out of her front door, followed by her son Shareef. This mother-and-child pair lived in a beautiful house on a block located in the Riverdale section of the Bronx. They lived at the end of the block. Though only six huge houses away from the Mozi home, they were completely unaware of what had taken place there twenty-five minutes earlier.

  “C’mon, Shareef, you’ve got to hurry—it’s already seven forty-five. You’re going to be late for school if you don’t move livelier,” Rita said to her eleven-year-old son, following slowly behind her.

  “Okay mom,” Shareef grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

  “You were up late again, weren’t you?”

  “I went to sleep after the game…”

  “Just as I thought. You were up watching basketball and did not get enough sleep.”

  “But it was the playoffs, mom.”

  “And so what? Well, you’re going to stay awake, and don’t even let me hear that you were sleeping in class.”

  “Okay mom,” Shareef yawned.

  “That’s what you get for staying up all night and watching basketball. I told you to go to sleep early, boy.”

  “I…ah was in bed…and I…” Shareef said, fumbling for an answer.

  “Sure you were. Get in the car and fasten your seatbelt, Shareef,” she said.

  By the time she guided the Volvo out of her driveway, Shareef’s eyes were already closed. As Rita Sanchez drove by the home of the wealthiest family in the neighborhood, she saw the yellow tape draped around the front of the home, and the police cars and detectives moving about. The area was cordoned off and was now officially a crime scene.

  What had gone wrong? Rita wondered, slowing to rubberneck at the commotion in the peaceful neighborhood. She knew the immigrant family—consisting of mother, who was an immigration lawyer, and father, a diplomat at the U.N. Shareef and their daughter not only attended the same school, but they were also best friends. Her face was flushed with concern as she slowed. The crime scene was too much for the curious Rita Sanchez. Her son dozed while she got out the car and curiously consulted with an officer on the scene.

  “Good morning—what’s wrong?” she asked, showing her badge.

  “Triple murder…” he answered, glancing at her badge momentarily and nodding.

  “Oh my…” Rita exhaled, as the body bags were zipped. “I didn’t hear a thing out of the normal.”

  “It looks like a pretty well-organized hit. The killers must have used silencers. Did you know the family?”

  “My son goes to the same school as their daughter. Was she…?”

  “They got everyone. She won’t be attending school—hey do me a favor, when you get to the school…”

  “Okay, I’ll be glad to help in anyway I can.”

  “Maybe you can give the principal my card,” he said, handing a business card to Rita.


  “Oh my gosh! Speaking of school! My son is gonna be late.”

  “Is that him sleeping in the car? Please don’t mention this to anyone just yet.”

  “Yes, just as well. Lolo was his good friend. I don’t want him to know about this right now. Oh God, this is soo horrible!” Rita exclaimed in grief.

  With her arms hugging her fall jacket, Rita Sanchez had a gnawing feeling in her stomach. On shaky legs, she walked back, staring at Shareef fast asleep in the waiting car.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Night Before

  “This cannot be happening!” I exclaimed.

  Here I was dressed in my lucky, throwback jersey cheering on my favorite team, the Cavaliers. The name of the team captain, James, embroidered in big letters across the back and his number 23 plastered across the center. I was stunned as the final eastern conference playoff game came to an end.

  “No! I can’t believe it. They really lost. I have been defeated. I just knew we would win the championship,” I uttered under my breath.

  I stared at the television like the game had not ended. Maybe I was expecting the score to change, but it didn’t. I shook my head, still not believing that the Cavs were booted from the playoffs.

  My cell phone already began to ring. I didn’t even have to check the caller ID. My best friend, Lolo, was ready to talk me out of my misery. Right then I was quite irritable and cranky and really didn’t feel like talking to my antagonist, but I answered.

  “Hello Lolo,” I said, plopping down hard on my bed with my elbows resting on soft pillows.

  James, the Cavaliers, I already felt it coming, and knew I shouldn’t have picked up her call, but Lolo can really be persistent. She probably would have just kept on calling until I answered. Then she’d chewed me out for ignoring her. My television was still on, and in the break during the post-game interview. I listened to Lolo’s ideas about solving world hunger. Who cares about world hunger? My team lost! My world’s shattered, and tomorrow I’ll have to face the jeers from my classmates.

  The sports channel replayed footage of the game for an agonizing eternity while Lolo chatted my head off with ideas for saving the human race. Sports reporters anxiously awaited answers. James, still looking regal, tried to answer the reporters’ questions as humbly as possible.

  “…We’ll take the L as a learning experience. Next time we’re in the play-offs we won’t be new, and this loss will prepare us for the future…”

  I just couldn’t watch anymore, so I turned the television off, brooding. My favorite team along with my favorite player was officially done for the season. Worst of all, I had bragged to everyone at school that the Cavs was about to win their first NBA title. How was I supposed to know their center would go down with an injury?

  “This team is a good team but tonight our opponent was better and we’ll have to regroup and be ready next year,” James continued. “This loss really hurts…

  I looked at the television still shaking my head in disbelief, and heard Lolo said, “It’s your loss, Shareef.” She spoke quietly in her proper way of speaking. “I’m going to be famous one day, but not from playing any sports. I’ll be famous for helping others less fortunate,” she explained.

  I listened uninterested knowing her folks had loads of money. Lolo’s father was a high-priced lawyer and advisor to diplomats. Her mother worked for the same law firm in immigration. She made a lot of money representing foreign consumers and businesses. Lolo and her mother along with an assortment of relatives lived in the largest house on the block. She could afford to talk about helping others.

  On any given day there would be six or seven Mercedes Benzes competing for parking in the three-car garage. There was a constant stream of foreign dignitaries stopping by for well-orchestrated dinners and cocktails. Lolo had explained the various diplomatic license plates to me. Her parents were international citizens and Lolo could think on a universal level. Meanwhile, my family was considered working class.

  My stepfather Stanley McCoy-Sanchez was a schoolteacher and my mother Rita Sanchez was a police officer. There was one car in the garage and my parents complained about having to work all the time to pay their bills. Stanley’s father died leaving him the modest house in that exclusive neighborhood, which we could have never afforded ourselves. Lolo was really my only friend so I usually tried to entertain her, but tonight I am just not in the mood. She kept on yakking, but I knew that this was her way of cheering me up.

  “Oh Lolo, don’t try to make me feel better,” I said, sulking.

  “I know you feel bad about Lebron James, but I think next season will be better…”

  “Aw, get off it, Lolo. You’re only trying to make me feel better.”

  “Well, isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? What would make you happy?” she asked.

  I took a minute thinking of the right comeback. Finally, I thought of a clever answer.

  “Okay, if you really want to know what will make me happy, you could take me to see the new Batman movie on Saturday.”

  “I don’t think I can do that. Saturday is when this stupid police officer usually brings his daughter over here while he and my father play pool in the den. But Sunday I am definitely free…” Lolo answered.

  “I have to go on Saturday…”

  “What’s the big deal about Saturday, Shareef?”

  “’Cause I’m going to see my grandmother on Sunday, that’s why. Now please, Lolo. I really gotta get some sleep before my mom starts yelling at me again.”

  “Oh Shareef, you’re such a sleepyhead…”

  “I’m not…”

  “You’re so too…”

  “I’m only this way because the Cavs ah…”

  “Fact remains you’re a sleepyhead. How many times have I had to wake you up in class? I swear at times you are just asking for trouble. You know Ms. Brown already has it in for you…” Lolo said, interrupting.

  “She only has it in for me because my parents can’t afford to treat her to big Christmas ski trips and tours of Martha’s Vineyard.”

  “That may be true. Privilege is definitely the way to her heart, but you should not make yourself an easy target either.”

  “Goodnight, Lolo. This sleepyhead wants to go to bed,” I said, interrupting. I didn’t want to have to face the inevitable teasing and jeering that tomorrow’s day at school would bring any earlier than I had to.

  “Shareef, remember it’s only a game. There are more important things in life than basketball.”

  “You could be right, Lolo. But right now basketball is the most important thing in my life.”

  “What about world hunger and children dying of diseases in Africa, Thailand, South America?”

  “Lolo, it’s not time yet for me to think about things like that. That’s adult stuff.”

  “You’ve got to start somewhere, someday.”

  “We’ll start that when we go to college. And I’m a long way off from that. Thank God,” I said sleepily.

  “Shareef, you promise? Say you promise,” Lolo was persistent.

  “Okay, I promise we’ll do something that will help stop world hunger,” I said reluctantly.

  “Oh, we could start a wonderful organization that will benefit all of humankind. Of course we are going to need money. We could throw a party and invite all the richest people to donate money and…” Lolo said excitedly.

  “Lolo, Lolo, please can we talk about this at school tomorrow?”

  “Of course. You’ll see this is something great. I’m gonna get on the computer and start contacting different organizations for grants and…”

  “Ah, okay. Maybe we could start planning tomorrow.”

  “Okay alright, sleepyhead. Don’t be late for school tomorrow. You’ll see all the work I’ve already done and…”

  “Lolo, tomorrow I’ll see you.”

  “Okay, I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Together I know we can really make a difference, Shareef.”

  “Fine, we’
ll continue this tomorrow. Lolo, I’ve got to get some sleep already.”

  I finally put the phone down. Why did I rush her off the phone? It’s not like I can sleep anyway. I could call her back, but she would just talk me to death anyway. I closed my eyes and was as still as I could, trying to quiet the thoughts swirling through my head. I looked at the clock it was already five in the morning. I had just acquired the unattainable. Then before I knew it, the alarm sounded. It felt like I never slept at all. Red-eyed and tired, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror nodding off, as I got dressed for school.

  “Hurry up, Shareef. You haven’t eaten your breakfast yet.”

  “Okay, mommy. I’ll be there in one second.”

  “That’s all the time you’ll have if you don’t come down right now, Shareef.”

  From the time at the breakfast table to leaving the house, all I kept thinking about was the loss. I had to attend school. My classmates were not going to let me live this down. I had showed off in front of them and picked the wrong team to win the championships.

  “C’mon, Shareef, buckle up,” my mother said, and waved at my stepfather leaving for work. “Have a great day, Stanley.”

  I nodded politely at him, but was preoccupied with thinking of how challenging the sixth grade was, especially in a new school. I had gone to war against half the school, and now my team was out.

  “Have a nice day, Shareef.”

  Mother’s voice snatched me out of my thoughts, and into the reality of facing jeers from my classmates.

  “Hey you lil’ squirt,” the school bully, Bobby McNeil yelled at me in the lunchroom.

  He was taller, stronger and bigger than everyone at school. He was really good at everything athletic, as well as fighting, picking on others, and running his mouth. And today, his sights were set on me. He never paid attention in class and couldn’t wait for lunch to start clowning.

  “Hey you, chump. Stop ignoring me. You’re acting like you didn’t hear. What happened to Lebron James and that team of—lo-o-o-sers? Losers!”

  He was shouting, and now everyone noticed. His voice echoed louder as they laughed. He had called my favorite team losers but I did not want beef with this guy. He could beat anyone in the school easily and had proved that on many occasions.