Senseless gunfire changes a young life

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Robert L. Jamieson Jr.

Wednesday, December 17, 2003

Senseless gunfire changes a young life

By ROBERT L. JAMIESON Jr.
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

This is how a life can change.

It's just after 2 last Saturday morning -- closing time at Mr. Lucky's, a hip-hop club on lower Queen Anne.

There's a squabble out back. Gunshots blast from a light-colored SUV. Cars peel from a nearby parking lot. The SUV and at least one other car engage in a rolling duel that spills onto First Avenue North.

More gunfire.

A food vendor dives for cover behind his hot dog stand a few yards away.

"So many shots," the food vendor says. "Pop. Pop-pop-pop. Pop. Pop-pop-pop."

The vehicles, bullets flying, speed toward a street corner, where Mahmoud and his girlfriend, Danielle, stand.

In their early 20s, the two just moved to the neighborhood. They like Queen Anne's tempo, restaurants and mix of people, young and old.

Most of all, they believe it is safe here -- safer than other parts of the city.

Mahmoud, a mechanic, loves working with his hands. He just celebrated his 22nd birthday last month. Danielle, who works for a downtown hotel, loves her boyfriend so much she keeps his picture on her cell phone display.

The couple hoped to get a quick bite at Dick's around the corner, but the burger joint was already closed. Near KeyArena, they decide to go elsewhere.

In a blink, Mahmoud falls down. It's as if an invisible hand shoves him to the ground.

He lands on his face, shattering his black-frame glasses. An ugly knot swells on his forehead. Blood pools under his body.

This is how a life can change.

I'm walking home after a nightcap in Belltown, eager to get to bed.

A Seattle police car, with its lights flashing, races past me in the 300 block of First Avenue North. A second squad car blocks off the road.

Then, I see it -- the bleeding young man on the sidewalk. Then, I hear it -- a woman's anguished howl.

"Why are his legs not moving?" Danielle screams.

She and a friend are doubled over, crying. Mahmoud, now on his back, gasps for air.

"Tell me this isn't happening. Tell me this isn't real," the friend groans. "Tell me this is a bad dream. Why? Why?"

A Seattle police officer explains that the ambulance is coming.

The officer says a bullet struck Mahmoud in the upper back. The officer calmly tries to defuse Danielle's panic, saying Mahmoud is conscious -- a good sign. The officer reassures her that the doctors at the hospital are top-notch.

I hold Danielle's trembling hands. They are stained crimson with her boyfriend's blood.

"Mahmoud wouldn't hurt anyone," she says, tears falling, "sweetest guy in the world. He's got to make it."

The ambulance pulls up, followed by a police cruiser. Danielle and her friend get into the police car, heading for the hospital.

At the shooting scene, a good Samaritan who cradled Mahmoud's head after he collapsed is fuming.

"How do you feel about gun control?" the man asks, staring at the blood puddle.

He says I should write about what happened. He thinks a mention in the paper might jog a memory. Maybe someone saw a license plate. Maybe someone with a conscience will do the right thing and give the cops an anonymous tip.

A police spokesman later says Mahmoud was at the wrong place at the wrong time. "An unintended victim," the spokesman says. "He was not the person they were shooting at."

This case needs to be solved.

And the story of this innocent young man must be told -- to show the real and terrible human cost wrought by idiots who engage in gunplay.

My office phone rings.

"Hi," a woman says softly on the other end. "I'm Judy. Mahmoud's mother."

"We're so devastated," she sobs. "I mean, you can't walk down the street, a few blocks from your house, without somebody you don't know shooting you? That makes me angry. People should be outraged. It could have been anyone.

"Mahmoud is such a polite and popular kid -- All-American and apple pie. He doesn't do bad things. He's just beginning to build his life."

Waves of friends from Mahmoud's school days at Nathan Hale High and Summit School drop by his hospital room. They, too, are shocked by the randomness of it all.

Prayers pour in. Police Chief Gil Kerlikowske takes time to meet with Mahmoud's family. Detectives express hope that they will soon arrest those responsible.

The words and gestures offer some solace.

Some.

"He has an injury to his spinal cord," his mother says, her voice breaking. "He will be a para ... a paraplegic. He will never walk again."

This is how a life can change.

P-I columnist Robert L. Jamieson Jr. can be reached at 206-448-8125 or robertjamieson@seattlepi.com

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