New?
Go here first, then
navigate forward.
No.
It's not necessary.
It
will not be required to twist my arm to get me to admit that I ought to have called
the police immediately after hearing that gun go off.
Definitely,
a grievous error on my part.
And,
marshalling my wits, I really shoulda phoned them within an hour; certainly
that same day.
But
I didn't. That's w enough; what's
worse is I can't call 'em now. Nope.
Can't.
Here's
why. Since my observations do not
constitute probable cause for the authorities to thoroughly search Kevin and
Tiffany B.'s property during their first
contact, if I informed them now--before a more exacting contact is
warranted--Kevin B. might well be able to hide any subsequent
harm he's administered to that guy he was choking in the parking lot of my
local Wal~Mart. The cement'll
dry, so to speak. He'll have a
chance to do a little relocating of the, perhaps, body of evidence pointing
toward his guilt.
Don't
worry, I know what you're thinking: Kevin?
Tiffany? Their last name
begins with a B?
Salsa
guy and his wife.
And
no: it wouldn't be right to list
his full name here because Kevin may have a perfectly good reason for doing what he
did. Yes, he had no good reason
to mess with my produce; however, the police have better things to do than
chase down fruit mashers. And if
the guy Kevin B. was choking had a good reason to be choked, and then, for
instance, one of 'em shot at (but missed) the other, followed by both shunning the
police, well, maybe both these knuckleheads had good reasons for clamming up.
Here's
where a lot of citizens might pipe up: "Well,
duh: they're drug dealers. Or
Mafiosos. Or gangbangers from the
'hood. That's why neither of them
called the police."
Well,
we don't know that.
What
we do know is if I call the cops now with the hot tip that two months ago I
heard what might have been a car backfiring or, more likely, the discharging
of a gun, and that later I stood outside of the residence of some guy who
may have been involved with this possible shooting and listened while he and
his wife dramatically and vigorously entertained each other, only to come
home and have to change my shorts, followed by a second visit a week later
to rifle through their garbage cans... well, I'm not sure how our local
police would react to all that.
No.
Actually I am sure. They'd
start investigating me.
Which
is unnecessary. I haven't done
anything wrong. I merely drove
back to salsa guy's house, bringing a ladder and a plan, but then--while
motoring about his neighborhood--it slowly dawned on me how most of the
residents' refuge receptacles stood bulging near their respective curbs...
which prompted a change in
plans.
I
left my ladder folded up in my Minor, and--amid tossed creamy beef boxes,
coffee grounds and acidic rinds--soon found their names printed on a
smattering of periodicals and envelopes.
Equipped with enough info to get started, I shoulda quit while I was ahead. But no, I had to keep
sifting. And sure enough:
"Um,
is there something I can help you with?"
This
spoken through mini blinds in a sultry voice by Tiffany B.
Needless to say I scurried away, darting through the skeletons of
half-built homes, and back to my car. It
was after ten pm and my Double Bubble baseball cap shielded my eyes, so I
don't think she saw too much of me.
Got
home and started Googling them. And
asking Jeeves about their activities.
OVER
to HerbNation HOMEPAGE
herbie@herboverstreet.com