Third Shot

“Please,” she said, bracing herself so her voice could be heard clearly, despite the tears streaming down her face.

“Please, let me know when you’re recording.”

As more and more of her patrons lifted their phones and pointed them at her, the flash from the cameras caused Jamila’s vision to get blurry for a moment.

She waited for a moment, then she lifted her head and began to speak.

“My name is Jamila Abdul, and I am the owner and manager of The Pot & Kettle, a restaurant here in Seattle.”

“I have asked my patrons to record this video for evidence, because they just watched me shoot a man in front of their eyes.”

Jamila took another deep breath, trying to steady herself as she ignored the murmurs and continued on.

“The police are on their way, but I’m pretty sure this man is dead. As a black, queer woman I have no guarantee that I will not be arrested by the police the moment they come in through those doors.”

As Jamila gestured to the door, she felt the weight of the loaded gun in her hand as she moved her arm.

She paused for a moment to look at the weapon in her hands, then realized that she should probably put it down before the police arrived. Holding it at arm’s length, she took a few steps to the left and put the gun on the counter.

As she walked back, she grimaced at the bloody footsteps she was leaving all over the floor. She had unintentionally stepped in the blood as it was spreading across the floor earlier, and now her shoes were covered in it.

“At around 7:30 this evening, this man and several of his friends came into my restaurant. After a disagreement over our establishment rules, they were asked to leave.”

“Instead, they decided to record themselves getting verbally abusive, and making racist comments about myself, my staff and my customers. Despite being asked to leave repeatedly, they refused and began to act in an aggressive way towards me and another employee.”

Jamila looked over to her youngest waitress, who was trying to stifle her silent sobs with one hand, while she held up her phone and recorded Jamila with the other.

Reign refused to succumb to the adrenaline pumping through her body from the shock, and she tried her best to keep her arm steady by focusing on the little green light blinking on her iPhone screen.

When Reign walked into The Pot and Kettle and asked to speak with the manager a year ago, she never imagined she would oone day become a part of their restaurant family.

After Reign had introduced herself, she explained to Jamila that she was currently homeless and didn’t have money, but she was willing to put in a good day’s worth of work for some food.

Though it broke her heart to hear her talk about the painful situation she was in, Jamila was impressed by the way she carried herself and made her case.

She was clearly a very intelligent young woman, and though Jamila wasn’t looking to hire employees at the time, she knew that Reign had crossed her path for a reason.

As she looked over her, Jamila could tell that Reign was uncomfortable under her observation - and it was easy to tell why.

Although Reign had done her best to appear put together, her clothing was covered in patches and fraying at the edges. She was pulling the edge of her cardigan sleeves into the palm of her hand, foot tapping lightly against the leg of her chair in anticipation of her response.

Reign hoped that Jamila wasn’t noticing the stains on her top.

She had tried her best to clean up before coming here, but the REDC drop in shelter was at capacity last night and she wasn’t able to get a bed.

The 24 hour fast food restaurant in the area had also refused to let her in to use the washroom, telling her she couldn’t enter unless she had cash and was making a purchase.

She had ended up rotating park benches throughout the night, then used the gas station bathroom the next morning before she made her way over here.

It had been a while since she had been able to get a good long shower, so she had tried to use water from the washroom sink to clean her hair before she slicked it back into a low bun.

She knew that she was taking a big chance just walking into the restaurant and asking the manager for this.

So when Jamila instead offered her a paid position on her staff as a dishwasher, Reign was overjoyed.

Tears flooded down her face as she sat there in shock, listening to Jamila tell her about an outreach worker she wanted to get her in touch with, and securing a safe space for her to spend the night until she had a more permanent solution.

It was only with Jamila’s kindness and her connections with the organizations in the queer community that Reign was able to secure a safe space in a group home, catered specifically to adolescent girls in transition.

She was able to start at a new school, and even had a consultation with a gender reaffirming specialist, something that would never have been an option a year ago.

So when Reign looked over at her boss now, she could barely keep herself composed enough to keep recording.

Jamila had risked her life to save her when she put herself between Reign and the end of the gun being pointed at her.

All she needed from Reign now was to stay strong and keep recording.

As Jamila dropped her gaze to the dead man bleeding out on the floor of her restaurant, she gagged and nearly threw up.

But she knew she was running out of time.

Once the alarm system was alerted, the police showed up in under ten minutes.

Based on her estimate, she had about three minutes left.

Taking one more deep breath, she steeled herself then continued.

“One of the men began to make horrible, transphobic comments towards my waitress. When I told him to stop addressing her, he pulled out a gun and aimed it at her.”

“At that point, I stepped in front of her and began to try and calm him down. I also put my hand on the counter, and pressed the button that unlocks the cabinet below my cash register. Because this cabinet contained my registered automatic weapon, opening it also triggered the silent alarm system.”

Here Jamila paused for a moment.

“Under the Second Amendment I have the right to bear arms and protect myself from any attack on me and my property. This man brought a gun into my restaurant and was pointing it at me on some bigoted bullshit - so I did what I had to do to defend myself.”

Hearing the sound of the sirens in the distance, Jamila knew she was running out of time.

“Besides the plenty of witnesses recording this, my security camera footage will back every thing I have said.”

“As his friends laughed behind him, this man then threatened me, claiming he was going to shoot both of us. Once I knew the cabinet below was unlocked, I shoved Reign and told her to run, before throwing a nearby salt shaker at his head.”

“He cussed at me and let out a shot, but instead of running I ducked under the counter and reached into the cabinet to grab the gun.”

“I waited until I heard the kitchen doors swinging shut behind Reign, then jumped up and shot in their general area twice. This caused the men by the door to run out of the restaurant.”

She could hear the sirens were much closer now. She took another deep breath.

“Holding the gun straight I told him to lower his weapon or I would shoot, but he didn’t listen. Instead, he raised the gun in his hand to aim at me.”

“Before he could pull the trigger I released my third bullet of the night, which hit him in the chest and caused him to drop to the ground.”

She looked up then continued.

“The police are about to come here right now, and I have no guarantee that they will handle this correctly. That this will be taken seriously as a hate crime.”

“In fact, although I have no criminal record, I wouldn’t be surprised if the police try and handcuff me when they come through those doors.”

At this, the patrons began to murmur amongst themselves, with some beginning to chant Black Lives Matter.

“No. Please, I need you to listen. I need to make sure that my story is heard, that if there is a lawyer that can help me, they will try to get in contact with me.”

She took a deep, gasping breath.

“I almost lost my life today, I don’t want this upcoming investigation to cost me what I have left. Please don’t stop recording - ”

Before she could finish, the sirens drowned out her voice as several police cars swarmed outside of her restaurant. As the car doors opened and shut, Jamila could barely get out her last words over all the noise.

“Please keep recording! Please keep recording! Please-”

The doors to the restaurant were pushed open as several police officers came in, yelling that everyone should have their hands where they could see them.

Jamila tried to speak but was immediately met with yelling from the police.

“Put your hands on your head. I repeat, put your hands on your head.”

Jamila slowly moved her hands to the top of her head, and she was immediately surrounded by two officers who came to put handcuffs on her wrists.

Reign couldn’t believe her eyes.

Not only did Jamila risk her life to save them, but now she was being arrested for it.

Reign stepped out from the crowd and began to walk over to the police officers.

“Stop! Please, she’s innocent! They came in here and tried to hurt us she was only -”

As she tried to make her way over, she was pushed aside by one of the officers, causing her to fall on the ground.

From the floor, her view of Jamila was unobstructed as she watched the officers began to read Jamila her rights, even as several other patrons came forward to try and tell them she was innocent.

Instead of listening, more police officers walked into the restaurant and forcefully begin to move them back.

As Reign tried to grab onto the counter to help her get up, she was yanked up by a police officer.

She tried to pull her body free, but the officer held on tightly as he pulled her to her feet.

Raising her arm, she looked to see if her phone was still recording.

Though the screen wasn’t well lit, the little green light on the top was on, indicating that it was still recording.

Unfortunately, just as she saw it the officer manhandling her did too.

Forcing her arms behind her back, he pulled her wrists together to handcuff them, making sure to drop her phone in the process.

Taking a step forward, he stomped his boot down on the ground.

Reign couldn’t do much but look down in horror and watch as the officer lifted his foot, her shattered iPhone beneath his shoe.

Turning her eyes back to Jamila once more, she was able to understand the fear gripping her heart at that moment.

Reign had a majority of the incident documented on her phone, showing that this was not just a random attack, but rather a deliberate hate crime.

The racist, homophobic and transphobic comments that escalated to gunshots and this man’s death were all on her phone.

The only proof they had was now destroyed.