Chapter 7 - March 2009

There are two types of people in the world, city folk, and everyone else. And after the four months I spent by the beach, I was happy to be home. There’s nothing like a whiff of hotdogs and pretzels, followed by a burst sewage line and fresh tar. The sound of honking cabs, yelling, and street performers; but there’s a quietness about it. If you don’t listen to closely, all the sounds come together and it almost sounds symphonic. Early in my career, I’d often find myself on street benches with my pad allowing the city to help guide my pen.

            In a city like New York, it becomes smaller and smaller the longer you live there. Each block runs into the next. The same constructions being done at every corner, a newsstand sits across the street near a deli, pawnshop, pizzeria and barber. But I love it. The noise lets me know that I’m still alive, and the people account for endless entertainment.

            I sat at the edge of my bed rubbing the night from my eyes. Scout was flipped on his back snoring, his legs twitching as if he were chasing a rabbit. My buzzer went off and I stood up and walked to the door.

            “Who going on?” I said through the intercom.

            “Ryan. Can you let me up?”

            I buzzed him in and went to my bedroom to get dressed.

            “What is it?” I asked, starting my coffee machine.

            “There’s been a shooting.”

            I looked at him sideways. “There are shootings almost every day. Not that I take them lightly, but why is it so important that I’m aware?” I poured a cup, dropped in two cubes of sugar, and stirred.

            “It was down by that soup kitchen you’re always talking about.”

            “What! Why didn’t anyone call me?” I set the cup down and rushed to my closet to grab a hat and pair of shoes.

            “Allan called me and said he tried but you didn’t answer. I tried you when I finished talking with him, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

            I ran to my bedside table. My phone was fully charged, but I forgot to turn it on when I got home from my trip. Scout jolted awake, looking around in a daze. “Damnit!” I said, rushing to the door.

            “I’ve got my car parked outside, I’ll take you over there,” Ryan said, following close behind.

            “Thanks. Was anyone there?” I asked as the elevator door closed.

            “Allan said the ladies were there working, but he didn’t think anyone inside was hurt.”

            “Okay. Just get onto fifth avenue and take that all way to Forest Park. I’ll tell you where to go from there,” I said as we climbed into the car.

            The street was flooded with police. Yellow tape marked off half the block and the entrance to the building. I could see a few of the women speaking with officers, another leaning against the wall with her hands covering her face. Dozens of people stood at the edges of the tape, franticly using their cameras to document the scene. A police officer walked up to them shouting, telling them to put their phones away and step back.

The wail that came from the sidewalk was the most piercing noise I had ever heard.

It took several men to pull the woman off the ground. She fought and clawed her way back, the scream growing louder and more violent. Two more officers approached, grabbed her by the arms and pulled her flailing body onto the street.

Tears mixed with blood and smeared across her face. Katrina lay sobbing on the ground, her clothing covered in dirt.

I approached slowly, my hands trembling as I sat beside her, cradling her head in my lap.

Ryan walked forward, pulling his badge from his pocket and showing it to the police. “Officer. My name is Ryan, from the Star Tribune. Can you tell me what’s happened here?” he said, taking out his recorder.

“All we know at this point, is that there were several shots fired from what we believe was moving vehicle.” The officer turned and mumbled a few words into a walkie.

“Were they intended for the young man?”

“We cannot confirm at this time. Like I said, all we know is that there were several shots fired from what we believe was a moving vehicle.” The officer shewed Ryan back and walked over to the body to help cover it with a tarp.

“We need everyone to please move back!” another officer yelled. “We cannot do our jobs safely if we have to worry about you as well. Please, move back.” They extended the yellow tape even further, marking where shell casings and bullet holes were scattered across the ground.

I looked down at Katrina, her bronze skin glistening with sweat. Her screams had wilted, but her body convulsed in shock. Her arms and shirt were covered in blood. “Deep breaths. Take deep breaths,” I said, stroking her brow.

“Ryan. Do you see that woman over there against the wall?” I said, pointing.

“Yeah.”

“Her name is Maxine. She volunteers here. Go ask her if she knows what happened.”

As Ryan left, an EMT walked over carrying a towel. “Hi, my name is Gabby. Can you help me get her on her feet and over to the ambulance?” I nodded my head.

“I need you to try and stand okay?” I said to Katrina, whose eyes rolled back and forth. Throwing her arm around my shoulder, I carried most of her weight to the edge of the ambulance and set her down.

“I can take it from here. Thank you,” Gabby said, cutting open a bag.

As I moved away, I felt a firm grip on my wrist. I looked back. Fear clung to her face. “Don’t leave, please,” Katrina whimpered.

“It’s fine if she wants you to stay,” Gabby said, handing me a sterilization wipe. “Use this to help me wipe the blood from her arms.”

I held her hand in mine, slowing scrubbing the blood and dirt from her skin.

“She your wife?” Gabby asked, climbing into the ambulance.

“No, just a friend.”

“Okay. Well, she’s still in a bit of shock and I need to remove her shirt so I can bag it. Do you think you can help me with that?” Gabby paused on the lip of the ambulance. “Sir!”

I jerked my head. “Yes. Yes, of course. Just tell me what to do.”

“I need you to hold her arms above her head so I can lift the shirt. If she begins to struggle, I may need to cut it off of her.” Gabby slid a pair of scissors into her breast pocket and hopped back down to the ground.

I took Katrina’s arms as Gabby worked her shirt up and over her head. “Good. Now put this on her.”

After helping her into a clean shirt, I sat beside her, her head falling heavily on my shoulder.

Ryan returned with Maxine.

“Oh Kat,” Maxine said, finding a seat on the other side and wrapping her arms around her waist. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ryan what did she say?” I asked.

“They didn’t see anything. They were in the kitchen working when they heard the shots. I guess Katrina’s son Malcolm was stopping by to get money for the movies. She was the first one to the door and when she looked out, he was lying face down on the ground.” He looked over at her and shook his head.

“Did they see a car leaving?”

“Not that they can remember. Katrina screamed and ran to her son while Maxine called 911.” Ryan pulled out his phone to show me an email he’d received from the office.

“You can go. I’ll be fine here. Tell Calvin to take over the Brockswood piece on school lunches I was going to do for this weekend. And tell Amy what’s happened. I’ll gather as much information as I can, but I’ll need your help writing this piece.”

“Alright. Call me tonight. I don’t want you going home without talking to someone.” Ryan and I shook hands and I watched him leave, his pale skin bobbing in and out of the dark background.

I rode in the ambulance with Katrina, my hand gripping hers as she lay on the stretcher. Her body had calmed but her mind was still elsewhere, the images of her son floating in between blinks, each bump in the road like a gunshot passing through his innocent body.

Aaron and Allan met us at the hospital. They sat with me in the waiting area while Maxine went into the room. SpongeBob played quietly overhead as two young children bounced up and down, eyes glued to the television.

“What happened?” Allan asked.

“I didn’t get much more information out of the police before we left. Apparently, he was coming to get money for the movies from Katrina when they heard gunfire. The police believe it was a drive-by shooting, but they haven’t confirmed yet.”

“Damn shame,” Allan spat.

“Yeah,” I said, pulling my leg up onto my thigh. “Where’s Mary-ann?” I asked.

“She’s at home with Prince. He’s back in town for a few weeks,” Allan said.

“How is she feeling? I was going to stop in this afternoon, but then all this happened.”

Allan exhaled slowly. “Much worse. She goes days without remembering where she is or who I am. And she’s not eating much.” He ran his hand over his head.

I turned in my seat to face him. “Have you considered what I said about finding someone to help. Someone professional?”

“More now than before. If she doesn’t start eating, I’ll have to admit her to the hospital.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Aaron interrupted, rubbing his hands together. “That was the nicest kid I’ve ever met. There’s no way he was involved with people who would do something like that.”

There were several things that ran through my head, and that was one of them. Children are exposed to more in today’s world than even thought possible when I was growing up. And children are the best liars, keeping the mask on when adults are around, only to shed it the moment they step out of the house.

But I knew Malcolm. He was a straight A student, captain of the chess club at Luther

High, and voted president of the freshman class. He also performed at a high level on the basketball team and volunteered at Full Bellies every Saturday morning. Aaron was right. It just didn’t make any sense.

“Maybe he was mistaken for someone else,” Allan said. “That happens with gangs all the time. It’s one of the reasons we bought a house out here, where gang activity is almost nothing.”

“A random killing then?” Aaron suggested. “It’s something gangs do to initiate new members.”

I stood. “Speculation only leads to more disappointment. We should leave it to the police to figure out.”

I poked my head in the doorway. Maxine rested her head on Katrina’s hip. Katrina’s eyes were closed and the rise and fall of her chest seemed calm.

I quietly closed the door. “It’s three-thirty. I’m going to head into the office for an hour or so before going home for the night. I’ll stop in tomorrow morning to see how she’s doing.”

“Thank you, Sal,” Allan said.

I walked out feeling like my head was dragging against the ground. A weight not so unfamiliar tugging heavily on my heart.

 “You didn’t need to come in today Sal,” Ryan said as I sat down at my desk. “We’ve got things covered. Calvin is at Lakeview Elementary speaking with Principal Brockswood. Amy knows as much as we do and she hired a temp the other week to help with filing.”

“I know Ryan. But I couldn’t just go home and sit there. I couldn’t stay at the hospital, and I couldn’t go back to the soup kitchen and see it all over again.” I pulled open one of my drawers and removed a bottle of bourbon. Taking a drink, I smacked my lips together and returned the bottle. “You can have some if you want.”

“No thanks, I had a drink of my own at the bar across the street before coming in. I haven’t been out in the field since college, and I sure as hell wasn’t gathering information on drive-by shootings.” Ryan shook his head, closed the door, and sat.

“I’ve had a few in my thirty years, but never someone I knew.” I reached for my drawer again, but thought better of it, taking my pen instead and rolling it across my knuckles.

A knock came at the door. Amy stood by the window with her hand to the side of her head like a phone and walked away.

“Hello?” I said, bringing my phone to my ear.

“Hi, Mr. Pitello. This is Alise, Sharice’s mother.”

“Yes, Alise. How are you?”

“I think I should be asking you that question,” she said, her voice filled with sympathy. “I just got off the phone with Maxine. She said the police came to the hospital to speak with Katrina.”

I quickly put the phone back down and slid a pad and pen to Ryan. “I’ve got you on speaker. I’m in my office with my editor Ryan. How is Katrina doing? When I left she was asleep. What did Maxine say?”

Alise cleared her throat. “They had to wake her, but Maxine said Katrina was able to talk. She said they asked her if her son was involved in any gang activity.”

“Was he?” I asked, jotting down the word gang and circling it.

“She said no, of course not. He would never do something like that.”

“What else? Did they confirm whether the shots were fired from a vehicle?”

“They said they found tire marks that would indicate a car left in a hurry, but there weren’t any witnesses to determine what type of car it was, so it will take longer to confirm. Sal,” she said, her voice lowering to a whisper.

“Yes. What is it?”

“Katrina was pretty upset that you weren’t there when she woke up. I know you two haven’t spent a lot time together, but I think she finds comfort in having you around.”

“If you hear from Maxine again, tell her to let Katrina know I’ll come by in the morning. I still have a job to do, but I will be there with her as much as I can.”

“Thank you, Sal. That means a lot. I’m going to head back down to Full Bellies to see if I can get some answers.”

“Alright, thanks for calling Alise. Let me know if you find anything else. I’ll be in touch.”

After hanging up, I wrote a few more things, peeled the sticky note and stuck it to the calendar on my desk.

“Call the police station every two hours until you leave tonight,” I said as I stood.

“Okay. Where are you going?” Ryan asked.

“Home. This was not what I expected to fall into the day after getting back from my trip. I need a strong drink and some rest so I can get work done. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Ryan nodded his head and walked back to his desk.

            Four days later I sat in the front pew of the Big House, Katrina’s tears soaking into the bone of my shoulder as she wept, the casket just feet away. No parent should ever have to bury their child. The thought alone is hard enough to comprehend.

After speaking with the police and a witness that eventually came forward, we learned that two suspects were brought into custody. It was a random shooting. Another fourteen-year-old kid who thought that joining a gang would give him everything he ever wanted. Instead, it tore a mother to pieces, shattered the safety of a community and would land him in prison for likely the rest of his life.

The church began to fill with people. They dressed in mourning black and carried

white flowers, placing them gently on the casket as they walked by. Bishop Anderson stood at the pulpit, his head dotted with droplets of sweat, reading verses of comfort and God’s eternal purpose.

Aaron came and sat behind me, grabbing my shoulder and greeting me with a furrowed brow. I turned and saw Allan slowly pushing Mary-ann in a wheelchair.

It was the first time I’d seen her since leaving for my trip. She looked brittle then, but now she looked nothing but skin and bone. She wore a flowery hat and her eyes wandered about the room. Allan took his seat at the end of the pew and rolled her up beside him, just as Bishop Anderson began to speak.

I had no pen and pad, no computer, no recorder. I was there, a comfort for a hurting friend. Though I’m usually far better at remembering what has happened around me, I cannot recall anything that was said, or what preceded thereafter. Just the blurred vision of white flowers, the warm tears upon my shoulder and the scream that still haunts me to this day.

It would be months before Katrina would see anyone, including me, though I would stop by and knock gently on her door. Overwhelmed, I knew I needed to put my energy back into Mary-ann, the reason I became part of this community in the first place.