Thin Line

by Anthony Whyte

  I nodded in agreement. They opened the door and placed me in the backseat of the unmarked vehicle. As I sat in the back seat, I could feel the sunshine gleaming from the squad car. I closed my eyes and realized the amount of trouble I was in. I was in over my head, and something about these detectives did not sit right with me. Could I really trust them not to arrest me or tell my mother? Nothing made sense anymore. Why were these officers there anyway? How did they know Stanley? Come to think of it, they never even asked me my name. They did not read me my rights or search me like they do on TV. What was going on? I was at their mercy and they knew it.

  The car finally pulled up to central booking on what seemed the longest ride. I felt dizzy and anxious. Deep down, I was praying hard to make it out of this situation. The detectives found an empty interrogation room. They instructed me to have a seat at the table. The chair was uncomfortable and the room felt cold. I noticed that they switched off the recording device. Anything they were going to ask me would be off the record, not for my protection, but for theirs.

  Detective Gatlin said, “Son, you have no reason to be afraid.”

  The door slammed shut and I could hear my heart beating loudly. I was gasping for air. It felt as if I’d been running. Why would these detectives want to speak with me? I wondered nervously taking a seat on the edge of the hard chair.

  “Shareef, I want to talk to you right now about a matter that’s very important. How did you come to know Mozi family?”

  How did he know my name? Why did this stranger seem to know so much about us? I thought about the question, and didn’t want to say anything that would get me in trouble. I decided to keep all of my answers brief. My mother always told me minors were to never be interviewed without a parent present.

  Their wrinkled brows registered a high level of frustration. There was silence until one of the detectives coughed. The other cleared his throat.

  “I met Lolo at school,” I said before the silence returned.

  “Did you say at school?” the detective asked while still coughing.

  “I think that’s what I heard. You knew her well?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “How well did you know her?”

  “She was my best friend.”

  “Best friends. So I am guessing you know a lot about her and her family?”

  “Not really.”

  “You met her family, her father and his friends, maybe?”

  “No, I only hung with Lolo.”

  “What about Stanley and your mom? We know they ‘hung out’ too, right?”

  “Only Stanley. My mom had nothing to do with anything,” I said, trying to make sure that Mom was not implicated in whatever Stanley had going on.

  “Your family would visit with Lolo’s family. Both families—were they friends?”

  “Stanley was friends with Mozi…” I said, letting my voice trailed. “I think I’ve told you all I know. May I please have some water? I’m really feeling thirsty.”

  “Now son, you’re gonna get all the water you want, but I want my partner to hear exactly what you told me about your dad and Mr. Mozi getting along and being buddies and all.”

  “He’s not my dad. He’s my stepfather. And I told you Mr. ah…”

  “Mozi, keep going…”

  “They became friends and that’s it,” I said, throwing my hands up. “That’s all I know.”

  “Yeah, but did you ever hear about them? Your stepfather and Mr. Mozi going on any kind of trips together?”

  The detective moved a little closer as he questioned me. It made me think back to last night when my mother and stepdad were arguing. She had challenged him about the trips, and now here I was, being interrogated by the police about him.

  “No, I never heard about anything like that.”

  My mother had told me not to lie to the police. But technically, this was not a lie. I mean, what my parents argued about last night was not really meant for my ears.

  “You know son, you can go to jail for telling lies. It’s called perjury. You know how long you could spend behind bars for lying to the police?”

  The detective’s tone changed. He was a little bit annoyed and his voice boomed loud echoing in my ear. The other detective, the one who coughed a lot, sat down and lit a cigarette. He inhaled and that made him coughed some more. The thick smoke that came out of his mouth made me want to cough. He stared at me as he smoked. The other detective ran his hand over his dome, scratched his head and shouted.

  “I could tell you’re lying. You do you know the police can tell when you’re lying, right? I know you know that, son. So do not lie to me. Just tell me the truth and you can go home,” he shouted.

  “Hey partner, take it easy on the kid. Maybe he doesn’t know anything else. Let up, man. Remember your heart problem. You continue like you’re doing and you’ll give yourself a damn heart attack. Maybe, just maybe the kid does not know anything else. He’s told us all he knows. Right, kid?” he coughed as he spoke.

  I glared at his frustrated partner.

  “When am I gonna get out of here?” I asked.

  The detective ignored me. Taking a deep, long drag of his cigarette, he inhaled deep. Then he blew smoke rings at me through a cloud of smoke.

  “Ever tried one of these?” he asked, holding up a cigarette.

  Lolo and I had tried to light up before. We used to imitate the posture of her father’s friends talking with the cigarette dangling from their lips. Lolo would hold her glass with her pinky sticking out the way the adults did theirs.

  “No,” I answered nervously lying.

  “Really…?” He fired back. “You wouldn’t think of lying to the police, would you now?”

  “No, I wouldn’t lie to the police,” I answered.

  He stared at me expecting me to crack. I didn’t know anything, I kept saying to myself.

  “I know a friend of your mother’s,” the detective said. He inhaled then crushed the cigarette with his shoes before he continued. “This friend told me about how you tried to smoke before. It was about two months ago. Your mother caught you. This friend came to me, and told me your mother was really hot under the collar when she caught you smoking with a neighbor’s kid. Now who could that have been?” the detective asked.

  I closed my eyes. He knew he had caught me in a lie. My mouth felt dry as a desert and I was sick to my stomach. Looking around the room, I saw the other detective moving in closer. I sudeenly felt the urge to tell the truth. There was a long pause as I squirmed uneasily in my seat. My head was down and I stared at wood of the desk, not daring to look up at either of them. I could tell that they were both staring at me like I was the lowest form of criminal.

  “Well, well. What do we have here? Are you insinuating that this kid is a liar, and has just perjured himself, detective? Let’s lock him up. Are you gonna play ball or not?”

  I ignored the question. I refused to cooperate.

  “Shareef, you can come clean and avoid going to jail by simply telling us truthfully all you know about Mr. Mozi and your stepdad’s relationship. And remember do not lie to us. Okay son?”

  Finally, I raised my gaze from the desk and slowly looked at them both. I didn’t know where to begin. I felt like I had committed a crime. But I didn’t know what it was. Was telling lies a crime? These detectives thought it was, and at this moment, it was their game. I looked around at the room, then back to their faces.

  “Come on, boy, let us know what you know. My partner already proved you’re a liar. I’ll have no problem locking you and your whole family up.”

  The mean detective was shouting. I wished I wasn’t born. I refused to cry. My real father had told me never to cry no matter how loud anyone shouted at me.

  “He wants to know what jail is like. Let him be.”

  I heard the detective’s voice seeping through my thoughts.

  “Now you can help her by telling us all you know.”

  “I’m thirsty. May I have somet
hing to drink, please?” I asked, trying to stall for an answer. These detectives were never going to let up on the questions. The detectives glance at each other. “It is not a trick question. I’m really thirsty now,” I said.

  The good detective nodded and the bad detective left the room. The door slammed before either of us spoke.

  “You’re a smart kid, Shareef. And we’re not going to harm you, my partner has a hot temper. Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you. But you’re going to have to share everything you know with us.”

  The door opened and the officer walked back in. He handed me a can of Coke, and pulled the detective who was talking to me away and whispered to him. I sipped the soda, and watched nervously as they huddled in a corner away from me. I could overhear them speaking in hushed tones, and assumed they were discussing what I had told them.

  Whatever the discussion was about, I really didn’t know, all I know was they kept glancing over at me, scrutinizing me. Then the good detective walked back to me with a worried expression on his face. He shook his head and immediately lit a cigarette. Then pointed at me.

  “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you, Shareef?”

  The detective appeared angry. I was confused and scared. I nodded and felt my stomach churning.

  “I am telling the truth. It was just my stepfather. He was the only one going on trips with Mr. Mozi. My mother never went on any of those trips. She didn’t know anything about it. She only visited them at home sometimes. We’d go visit the Mozis sometimes.”

  “Shareef, you can come clean and avoid going to jail by simply telling us truthfully all you know about Mr. Mozi and your stepdad’s relationship. And remember do not lie to us, okay?”

  “Now Shareef, you’re gonna tell us the truth before my partner bursts a vein or wind up dying of a heart attack. He doesn’t believe anything about patience.”

  My eyes wandered from the top of the desk to the expectant faces of the two detectives impatiently waiting for my answer. Even though I had eavesdropped on my parents’ conversation last night and knew what they had been arguing about, I didn’t say anything to the detectives. My unwillingness to part with information made them both agitated.

  “Christ, maybe he doesn’t understand what this means,” the mean detective said. The other looked at him as if he wanted him not to.

  “C’mon give him a break. Can’t you see he’s trying to remember all the right things? He does not want to lie to the police.”

  Walking over to me, the detective and asked, “Do you want a drink, kid?

  I slowly shook my head then I said, “I want to go home.”

  Both detectives stared at me as if I had just cursed at their mothers.

  “We’re getting nowhere with this kid. He obviously doesn’t want to talk to us. I don’t care. Throw his ass in jail,” the mean cop ordered.

  Then he strode toward the desk, and banged his fist on its top, leaving me shaking.

  “No, you’re wrong. I think he wants to help us solve this thing by telling us all he knows. He doesn’t want to see his mother in handcuffs and going to jail. Do you, Shareef?” the good detective asked.

  “All you gotta do is cooperate with us. We’re the good guys. Remember? Those friends of your mother and father, I mean stepfather are the bad guys. And they’re the ones who caused your friend to be killed. Are you listening to me?” the detective asked.

  I nodded and felt an uneasy feeling creeping up from the pit of my stomach. It remained stuck in my throat, and made speaking impossible. I was feeling faint until I heard the detective’s voice.

  “She should not have died,” he continued.

  It was uncomfortable thinking of Lolo dying. We were good friends, and if I could do something to help the situation I would. I heard the detective’s voice seeping through my thoughts.

  “Now you can help her by simply telling us all you know.”

  His voice was reassuring, but it was what the detective wasn’t saying that caused me to break down and cry. I started thinking about my mother in handcuffs and all because of something that my stepfather did.

  My teeth chattered and my body shook nervously. I couldn’t continue.

  “Don’t be scared,” the detective said, handing me a cigarette. I declined. “Ha, ha,” he laughed. “You don’t have to be shy around us, Shareef. Shareef, we’ll let you go, but you’ve got to cooperate with us.” The detective stared menacingly at me and his faced reddened as he hurled threats. “There are all kinds of mean guys in the joint who can’t wait to tear you a new—”

  “All right. Let’s take it easy on the kid,”

  We were in the office. As I sat at the desk, I nervously glanced over the photos while the two detectives waited for an answer.

  Suddenly the door was flung opened, and things got crazy up in there. My dad stood at the entrance with his fists clenched. I read LOVE and HATE tattooed on his fists.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he shouted. “I know my rights, and my son ain’t supposed to be here. He’s only eleven and questioning him without his parents being here is illegal. I’m gonna call the DA, the mayor, the newspapers. Everybody is gonna hear about this. Heads gonna roll. Let me see some badges. Because when I’m through suing—”

  “Who are you supposed to be, mister? Who gave you permission to interfere in official police business?”

  “What? What? How dare you arrest my son, treating him like he’s some sort of common criminal? Y’all in here illegally questioning him and all. No way, that’s right. He’s a minor! And y’all know that ain’t right.”

  “You got some ID on you?” one of the detectives calmly asked.

  He moved menacingly closer to my father. There was a lot of tension in the air. My dad wasn’t giving an inch. Something had to give. I could sense that it was going to happen way before it did, but I felt paralyzed. I couldn’t do anything except closed my eyes. My father attempted to look at the detective’s badge, and as soon as he did, the detective signaled to the officers, who were already in position behind my dad, to take him down.

  He had been standing with his back to the entrance and did not see the sea of blue uniforms behind him. In no time, they had him in cuffs and led him away with his wrists bleeding. The detective slammed the door.

  “How the hell—how did he get in here? I thought there was a lieutenant at the desk?”

  “There was an officer at the desk. I’ll go check out what caused the breakdown.”

  Detective Smith walked out, leaving me with the mean Detective Brown. My blood chilled when he looked at me. He seemed to want to end my life right then and there. Fear ran through me and I looked away, not wanting to hold eye contact with the scary detective.

  “Now your father’s temper has put you in a bind. You saw him attack me. Now he’s going to be charged with resisting arrest, obstruction of justice, as well as assaulting a police officer. But you can start helping not only yourself but also that stupid father of yours.”

  The detective stared at me. I sat more nervous than before and all that kept flashing through my mind was how quickly my father was taken out and how bloody he was. They had beaten him down. The detective must have read my mind because he immediately shouted at me.

  “Hey kid, don’t ignore me! Now your father is an adult. He knows he cannot bloody well behave in that manner at a police precinct. He will go to jail. The question is, do you want to save him?”

  “I do. I don’t want him to go to jail,” I said, shuddering and pleading for my father’s freedom. “He was just angry, that’s all.”

  He whispered something to the other detective, and they walked out together. I was too tired to care and closed my eyes. It was about an hour before they returned. Smith walked over and shook my shoulder. I was startled and jumped. He was fingering a folder filled with photos.

  The thought of what happened to my dad made my weary bones rattle so loud I couldn’t hear either detective as they huddled. Whe
re did they put dad? I wondered. Did they arrest him? I kept thinking of how long would the torture last, I felt trapped and had to do something that would get my father and me out of this place.

  “You can help us find her killer or killers by looking at this folder.”

  I glanced at the folder without opening it, thinking this was all about obtaining information on the Mozi family. I had lost my best friend to some of the men who were at her father’s party. I turned to the first page of the folder, and saw that some of the faces looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure anymore.

  The detectives checked their watches and carefully observed my reaction. I purposely pointed to each face I remembered seeing at parties thrown at the Mozis’. After I fingered about eight faces, the detectives nodded and smiled.

  “Now that’s much better. All you gotta do now is tell us about your mother’s and—uh—your stepdad’s involvement, and I’d say we’re making unbelievable progress. Wouldn’t you agree with that, Detective Smith?”

  “I’d say you’re right. But…”

  “Why is there a ‘but’ detective?”

  “How can we trust what he’s saying? The boy might just be lying to get his daddy off the hook.”

  “How can we trust you?” Detective Brown asked.

  “I’m telling the truth. I swear. I’m not lying.”

  The folder was snatched and I watched the detectives racing from the office. The door slammed shut and I laid my head on the desk. My tears formed a puddle in my lap. I didn’t care.

  I closed my eyes wishing my nightmare would end. In the quiet office, loneliness and fear were my only companions, and they offered no comfort. Every footstep I heard made me cringe. There was no relief when my thoughts shifted to the beat-down dad had suffered at the hands of too many cops to count.

  It happened so quickly he never even knew what hit him. In a flash he was arrested. Were they coming back to give me a similar beat-down? My mind was exhausted from trying to block the thought.

  Anxiety crept back and grew stronger with each silhouette outside the opaque glass door. I worried they were going to do the same thing to me once they found out I was lying.