A Shade of Gray

The man was standing with Sara directly behind her, the knife in his right hand and his left hand over the girl’s mouth. Joe dropped his right hand to his side, still clutching the gun. He briefly made eye contact with Steve, who was behind the car. The look Joe gave Steve made him melt. Steve knew exactly what Joe was thinking: how could he have allowed this punk to get a hold of Sara? The thug started talking really fast. “Okay, this is the way it’s going to go down. Me and this little bitch is going for a walk. You drop that fucking piece and kick it over here. I’ll let the bitch go when I’m out of sight.” “Do it, Joe, for God’s sake, please listen to him!” sobbed Elaine. “Don’t leave me, Wydel! Take me with ya,” cried the man on the ground. “Shut up, Frankie. Where you hit?” Wydel asked his fallen partner. “In the knee man. Fucker blew my knee apart!” answered Frankie. “Well, cuz, it looks like you ain’t going nowhere. Ain’t no sense in both of us going down, know what I mean? Now Joe, you best listen to your old lady here, or I’ll cut this sweet little thing.” Wydel had his head right up next to Sara’s, and as he said, that he kissed her cheek and smiled at Joe. Joe looked directly into Wydel’s eyes. Elaine was sobbing out loud. “Please, honey. Please,” she pleaded with Joe, and he glanced her way for a split second. That was all it took. Joe was the type of person who didn’t have to say much; his body language came through loud and clear. Elaine knew just from that quick look that Joe would handle the situation in his way. She had seen that look before and knew Joe expected her to stay out of it and trust him. “Be a good boy, Joe, and listen to your old lady. Drop the piece, kick it over here, and I’ll be on my way,” Wydel again demanded, smiling now. “You through talking? ’Cause if you are, now I’m going to tell you how it’s going to go down.” Joe peered directly into Wydel’s eyes. The intensity of the look amazed Steve. And the smile began to leave Wydel’s face. Joe continued, “First, don’t call me by my name. You don’t know me, and you’re not going to live long enough to get to know me. Second, you’re right. Frankie here isn’t going anywhere, and neither are you. Third, I’m going to count to three. You’re going to drop that knife. Then I’m going to blow your brains all over this parking lot. That’s how it’s gonna go down, Wydel.” The smile was gone from Wydel’s face. Sara was crying, her tears running down over Wydel’s hand still clenched around her mouth. Wydel spoke in a shaky voice, trying to sound like he was still in control. “Well, well, well, did you hear that, Frankie? I think this guy is calling my bluff. Best tell him I’m not bluffing.” Frankie didn’t respond. Joe took a step toward Wydel and Sara with his arms at his side and the gun in his right hand. Steve could see Joe’s eyes. There was no fear or worry. It was total concentration. He knew exactly what he was going to do. “One,” he said. Both Elaine and Cathy were on the other side of the car. You could see the terror in there eyes. Joe began to raise his arms. “Two.” He took another step toward them. Reaching out his left hand, he grabbed Sara’s right arm. “It’s all right, baby,” he whispered. Sara felt Wydel’s grip loosen. Joe brought his right arm over the top of his left. The knife dropped, hitting Joe’s left forearm, cutting it. Bang! The bullet entered Wydel’s skull right above the right eye, making an entry wound about the size of a pencil. It exited the lower back side of his skull with a wound the size of a golf ball, spraying brain matter and bone fragments ten feet across the pavement. Twenty-year-old Wydel Washington was dead before his body hit the parking lot. Joe pulled Sara into his arms. Everything was completely quiet for a second as Joe held his daughter, who was sobbing silently. “It’s all right baby. You’re okay. Everything is all right now. Daddy has you.” Joe looked up at Steve. “Get the ladies in the car,” he said in a low voice. Steve hurried around to the passenger side of the car. Elaine and Cathy stood by in shock. Steve opened the back passenger door and practically had to push Cathy in. Then he opened the front door for Elaine. She was still sobbing. She lightly called out to Sara, “You’re okay now, honey. Daddy has you.” Steve helped her into the car. Joe put Sara in the front seat, and she immediately slid over and into Elaine’s arms. Steve walked around the front of the car, and there laid Frankie. His left pant leg was covered in blood. Steve looked down at him and then at Joe. “This guy needs a doctor, Joe.” “Gee, do you think so, Steve?” said Joe in a sarcastic voice as he walked toward Frankie. “Or maybe I ought to do society a favor and put this piece of shit out of his misery.” “No! Man, no!” cried Frankie as he covered up his head with both arms. Joe began to raise the gun again. Steve rushed toward him. “No, Joe!” he yelled as he got between him and Frankie. “Keep him away from me! Man, the motherfucker is crazy,” whined Frankie as he continued to keep his head covered. Steve put his hand out and touched Joe’s chest. Joe stared down at Frankie for a moment longer before he looked up at Steve. Steve saw complete control in his friend’s eyes, and no compassion whatsoever. He was confused how Joe had remained so calm, so cool throughout the whole thing. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Somebody will take care of this garbage,” Joe said, glancing over his shoulder toward the crowd out in front of the liquor store. The people, having heard the gunshots if not the scuffle before, were finally starting to move slowly toward them now that the scene seemed to have cooled down. “Yeah, let’s go,” replied Steve in a low, somber voice. He walked around Joe and took one last look at Wydel lying flat on his back. The puddle of blood that had formed from his wound had created a circle above his head. During the confrontation, Steve hadn’t really gotten a fix on his age. Now, however, with the red halo above his head, Steve could tell he had been just a boy. Steve turned and got into the backseat. Joe got in the driver’s seat, started the car, put it in drive, and drove off. “All units, shots fired at Cedar View Shopping Center. Two victims down, ambulance en route, code three,” the radio crackled just as Detectives Ferrian and Larson were getting back to the station after a long day on a stakeout that had gone nowhere. “Sounds like a hot one. Buckle up and call it in, Billy,” said Detective James Ferrian. “Come on, Jim, it’s been a long day. Let someone else take it,” Detective William Larson responded. “Call it in; it’s only five minutes away. Let’s check it out. It will probably end up on our desks tomorrow, anyway.” “Ahh, hell let’s go.” Over the radio, Larson spoke, “Unit thirty-three responding to code three at Cedar View. Please advise.” “Assailants are assumed to have left the area. Use caution, Unit thirty-three” “Ten four. Unit thirty-three ETA four minutes.” Larson turned and looked at his partner. “Okay, Jim, let’s do this right now, and safely. Nobody gets hurt.” “You got it, Billy. You watch my back, and I’ll watch yours.” Detectives Jim Ferrian and Bill Larson had been partners for three years. Ferrian was a tall, husky black man in his early thirties, six-foot-four and 245 pounds with not an ounce of fat. An ex-Marine, his hair was cut short, almost shaved, and he had a goatee that he kept trimmed tight, just a little more than stubble. When his partner would ask him why he didn’t either grow it out or shave it, he’d reply, with his trademark smile, “It makes me look like a bad ass.” Larson always said Ferrian had watched too much Miami Vice growing up. No doubt about it, though, that man was mean looking. But with his smile and body, he was very popular with the ladies. Although he had never been married, he had plenty of female friends.