“It’s okay, Shareef. I think it’s a good idea. The bad guys want to kill us all. I’ve got to trust that your dad will take better care of you at this time.”
“But mom…”
“Shareef, you’ve got to trust me. I’m your mother, right?”
“Yeah mommy, I’ll listen.”
With tears in my eyes, I hugged mother, waved at my stepfather and walked away with Dad. We left the funeral in Dad’s car. He drove straight to his place and we went upstairs.
“I’ve got some leftover pizza from last night,” he said, tossing his jacket on a crowded sofa.
My dad’s place reminded me of my room. Everything was out of place. It seemed like he too was awaiting mommy’s attention. She would have him working all day to clean up this mess. The television needed dusting, but it worked. Dad saw me trying to find the remote.
“I think it’s underneath the cushion over by the lamp,” he said pointing. I found it and began channel surfing. “I’m gonna warm these slices, do you care for any, son?”
“No dad,” I answered.
Our lives had become crazy and he seemed really calm. Maybe I had inherited all my craziness from him. The microwave sounded and he joined me in front of the TV. Hearing him chomp on the pizza made me want to try one.
“Go ahead, get one if you feel like,” he said, sitting down. “And get a napkin too. I don’t want you dripping sauce all over the sofa.”
I looked around the living room, broken lamp on the floor wondering about a drop of sauce. Dad was fun, but I decided right then that he was also a lunatic. The evening wore on with us watching television. Despite everything that happened I felt relaxed around dad. It was his swagger or that certain uncaring attitude that appeared to be confidence.
After a while both of us were nodding off. The doorbell rang followed by a knock. We both opened our eyes, looking incredulously at the door. Dad tiptoed to the door and looked out the peephole. He immediately came back found his cell phone and dialed.
“He’s here,” he said, and closed the cell phone. Dad lowered the volume on the television. “Who’s there?” he asked.
“It’s Ramirez,” was the reply.
Dad shushed me and moved closer to the door.
“I don’t know any Ramirez. You must have the wrong apartment.”
“C’mon, you know me. I’m officer Ramirez—your ex’s partner. Remember me?”
“Vaguely…”
“We can talk about this when I get inside. Open the door.”
“No, I can’t just let anyone up in my apartment.”
Dad’s words were cut by the sound of gunshots. Then the door was being stomped. It fell open. Dad grabbed a baseball bat but Ramirez walked in, gun raised accompanied by the two detectives who had interrogated me and beat dad up at the jail.
“Drop it!”
The bat fell from dad’s hand slowly.
“All I want is the kid,” he said, aiming the gun at dad. “I’ll kill you if I have to, that’s not my problem.”
When he was sure dad wasn’t about to make any moves, Ramirez still pointing the gun, walked past him. One of them tried to grab my arm but I ran.
“Remember me, kid? I’ll put a cap in your legs then you won’t run.”
The other detectives grabbed me. For a second, Ramirez became distracted by my movement, and did not notice that dad had moved closer. Dad lunged at him and he tried to dodge but toppled backwards over the lamp. That was the advantage dad needed. The detectives released me to run to the aid of Ramirez. My dad was on top of Ramirez feeding him rights and lefts, just the way he had taught me. Proud excitement had me rooted to the spot.
“Get out of here, Shareef!”
I turned to run, but changed my mind and stayed. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave Dad’s side. The detectives tried holding him off to no avail. Dad kept hitting away. They were both big men and the fight was scary. Each second seemed like a lifetime.
A gunshot went off. The detective fired a shot into my father’s abdomen to still his fist. Ramirez jumped to his feet. He stood up aimed his gun and was about to finish my dad off.
“Drop your gun, Ramirez!”
He looked up and saw mother standing in the doorway. The gun in her hand was aimed at him. The other detectives dropped their weapons.
Wobbled by dad’s blows, he turned unsteadily and faced her. A sardonic smile creased Ramirez’s lips. The realization that I was standing between him and mother hit him.
“Put down your gun, Charlie. Please don’t make me do this,” she pleaded.
For a beat it appeared as if Ramirez would comply. Suddenly he raised his gun. Mother was like a cat when she pounced, pushed me out of the way, and fired three times. The bullets ripped through Ramirez’s body. He fell back against the littered sofa and blood oozed from his stomach. Mother rolled and immediately grabbed me.
“Are you all right?” she asked. She kept her guns pointed at the other detectives.
“Cuff yourselves!” She commanded, keeping control of the scene.
They did as ordered. They knew what she was capable of after seeing what she did to their partner in crime. I nodded and she quickly raced to dad’s side. Mother checked his pulse then ran to Ramirez. She was dialing on her cell phone when his hand fell limp.
“One dead, the other still breathing…” She closed the phone and surveyed the room. “We’re gonna have to do some cleaning up around here.” She hugged me.
“Shareef, I should have believed you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all over now. Lolo’s killers are where they belong. That was all I wanted.”
“Then it is true. Stanley was really more involved than he let on.”
“Yes mom. He was in the house that night that I snuck out. It was him and these detectives.”
“I’m gonna call the DA and let them know that he should carry the full weight of the crimes. Did you keep the evidence you collected?”
“I did. I have been carrying it with me at all times I my backpack.”
The tears rolled from her eyes. Once again, she was wrong about the man she loved and once again, she would have to be alone. Minutes later, the cavalry arrived.
THE END
Thin Line Page 13
