One Adam Twelve, One Adam Twelve...

So there I was, sitting in the living room this morning, watching the news and enjoying the relative quiet over a great cup of coffee brewed in a French coffee press.

I looked at the clock. It read 4:33a.m. It was time to go out and turn the sprinkler on a little patch of freshly-laid sod. I slipped on my flip-flops, and headed out the front door.

The porch light was burned out, but the soft, amber light emanating from over the garage door was sufficient for me to complete this minor chore.

I walked down the short walkway and leaned in behind a shrub to turn on the water (The sprinkler was already in place).

After I’d adjusted the water sufficiently to cover the desired area, I backed away from the bush. I simultaneously caught movement out of the corner of my eye and looked to the right. Two doors down there was a person walking around the small SUV that was parked in the street. The person was wearing a black jacket and had a beanie hat on. I watched, unnoticed, for a couple of seconds before walking back up toward the front door where I lingered for a short time, on the porch and out of view.

After a minute or so, the person (a guy) started walking up the sidewalk. I quietly ducked in the house, traded the flip-flops for some sneakers, and fetched my .357 Smith and Wesson (Cue Homer Simpson Voice: “Mmmm...hollow-points.”)

I set the down the pistola and looked out the window. I watched the guy meander up the sidewalk to my neighbor’s son's car. The guy was using his lighter to look into the car. I picked up the phone and called the police. As I was explaining the situation, the guy appeared to have gotten into the car. I relayed that to the dispatcher, who said there were cars on the way.

About the time I finished with the dispatcher, a car came around the corner. The guy wasn’t startled at all. He simply meandered up the sidewalk toward my house.

The car passed. The guy didn’t miss a beat. He got to The Boy’s car, which was parked on the street, and scoped it out. After (apparently) determining there was nothing worthy of stealing, he got back on the sidewalk and continued up the street. He veered slightly into our driveway. At that point he was obscured by the corner of our garage. I was sure he was headed to my car or into the back yard. Either way, he was on my property and subject to my wrath.

My immediate reaction to the guy’s apparent movement onto my property was Fuck you. I picked up my nickel plated friend and slipped silently out the front door and onto the porch. A few different scenarios whipped through my brain – The result of much firearms and shoot/don’t shoot (aka judgmental) training.

With the pistol at my side and my finger resting safely on the trigger guard, I walked quietly to the edge of the garage and peered around the corner. He wasn’t ransacking my car. I was relieved. He was already a few doors up the street. I watched for a minute as he circled around one car, then crossed the street and did the same to another.

A minute or two later, a cop sped up the street (no lights on at all) and stopped in front of my neighbor’s house. By this time, the criminal fuck had traveled over the rise and out of sight.

I walked over to the cop, briefly explained the situation, and gave a description of the guy. While I was ‘splainin’, he got a call. “I think we got him.” The cop jumped in his car, turned on the headlights, and sped (and I mean sped) off.

I went back in and got ready for work. At around 5:30a.m., the phone rang. One of the cops asked if I could identify him. Hell yes I could!

Twenty minutes later there were three cop cars in front of the neighbor’s house. The phone rang. Time to I.D. the fuck. The cop on the phone asked me to look out the window to I.D. the fuck. They pulled him out of the car and stood him in front of the spotlight. He pirouetted in quarter-turn intervals and I verified he was the guy. The cop on the phone thanked me and said, “You might’ve solved a big one here.”

Apparently, the fuck had been burglarizing in this and other nearby neighborhoods for weeks. He would park his car and roam around with his crowbar looking for shit to steal.

The young man is very lucky he wasn’t in my car when I came around the corner with the S&W. Why? Because if he’d done something stupid like raise the crowbar at me, he would most definitely have received a lethal lead injection.

Does this mean I’m now a McGruff The Crime Dog Deputy?

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Memory Du Jour:
1968, Inglewood, CA
I first learned to ride a bike on Stepney Street in Inglewood. I remember going down the hill toward Centinella Park and how it felt to be able to control the bike. I remember fast approaching a semi-hairpin corner and, although I panicked intially, I made it around to the right without incident. I couldn't however, negogiate the same corner to the left for some time.

That neighborhood was beautiful in the 60s. My mom paid it a visit in the 80s and was disappointed to see that it was awful. It's pure hood now...and dangerous from what I understand. The Bloods have a gang chapter (or whatever the fuck they call it) called the Centinela Park Family. Don't think I'll be taking any nostalgia trips there anytime soon.

The picture is of a nearby donut shop I remember. It's still standing.

Quote of the Day:
"I was not pleased that Hamas has refused to announce its desire to destroy Israel." — George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., May 4, 2006

Graphic Du Jour: