Saturday.  Got tired of being in limbo.  Went for a spin.  If only to clear my head.  Thought to swing by Kev and Tiff's place.  

Thought wrong. 

Here's what happened.

Approached the freeway, fantasizing, "I just gotta have a looksee in their basement."  Scope it for handcuffs or signs of a struggle.  Like blood splattered on the water heater where Kevin tortured the guy before depositing him under that slab of concrete in his backyard.  Or perhaps the handcuffs belong in their bedroom but somehow migrated downstairs.  Again, it's not for me to judge:  I'm just running ideas up the flagpole here.

Which, by the way, could be what's sticking up outta that slab:  a pole for their flag.  I say "could be" because it might be a Maypole or a tetherball pole.  I mean if it's a flagpole, why's it behind their house instead of in their front yard?  Why's it not where all others in the whole world display their Stars and Stripes if they're so inclined (like during a national holiday or, say, at half-mast if yet another important American passed)?   Point being:  in three visits I've yet to see a flag flying from it; I'm starting to suspect it's not a flagpole.  Could be a vent.

Anyway, I turned into their housing tract, and quickly made a U-turn.  Saw something out of the corner of my eye and decided to check it out first.  Another housing tract.  Kids sliding on slides to be exact.  A park.  Just the ticket, a nice little vantage point.  A cozy place to sit back and observe.  Drove there and saw it afforded one a fairly unobstructed view of the B.'s residence.  An elevated view, as it were.  Pulled out my magazine.

And right then it hit me:  what was I doing?  I almost drove past their abode again.  "Whew!" I said out loud, turning the page; "what was that all about??"  Of course I mustn't be seen by either of them--especially Tiffany--for a spell.  She needs to forget what I look like.  Yes, I need to return and somehow look around their basement, but I need to give her some time; her memory of me needs to grow fuzzy. 

Moreover, I can't just break in.  And I won't.  That's simply not my style.  And besides I meant what I posted a few updates ago:  it's very possible that Kevin B. hasn't done anything wrong.  Ergo:  he doesn't deserve to have the sanctity of his home disturbed.  

But what about my looking in his window?  He's none the wiser; no harm = no foul.  And the grass that I stood on near his checkerboard curtains?  I'm sure it's just as green, if not greener, than before my visit.

So I have nothing to feel guilty about.  However, I still don't know if he shot that other guy, and if I can somehow find a way to look around his basement, this whole dilemma might well be history.  Then I can go back to just, you know, living my life.

Really, though, it's our whole "not getting involved" national imperative that is ruining this country.  (IMHO.)  The trick is to never impinge upon the innocent/guilty during one's search.  Become aware of enough fairly sound evidence (as opposed to "gossip"), then contact the authorities.  However, if a concerned yet average citizen like myself can't determine another's guilt or innocence without violating this other person, then any and all impingements upon this perhaps innocent, perhaps guilty party should be avoided.  But to be sure, if one has the time and remains curious, then by all means:  keep sifting, keep Googling.  

 

or ask this guy

 

Something akin to a gun going off needs a bit more attention than just phoning it in.  (Sidebar to my poo poohing emailers:  I see blood on the effing parking lot, I'm on the blower to the police right now, k?  I see a gun pointed at someone and hear it go off?--you bet your sweet bippy I'm on the horn.  So I saw and heard a few things at my local Wal~Mart in January.  Enough to turn somebody in?  Nope.  It could have been a starter's pistol for all I know.)   

I suppose I shouldn't react so emotionally to these buttinsky emailers who insinuate that they know better than I do about what I should or shouldn't do.  All I'm saying is it's up to decent citizens to know when it's time to "stick their necks out."  A great nation doesn't want its citizens to just "phone it in." 

But by that same token, a great nation also doesn't want its citizens to take the law into their own hands.  I feel I'm taking some of the burden off our already overburdened state apparatus.  Or, rather, I'm not adding unnecessarily to their burden with info that may or may not be worthy of their attention.  If it becomes apparent that this Kevin B. guy really does have some explaining to do, oh, you betcha, I'll be speed-dialing the police.  Posthaste.

So anyway, where was I?

That's right:  in my car, near the hobbyhorses, in the park just up the hill from Kevin and Tiffany's place.

So I'm sitting there, enjoying my magazine, occasionally focusing on their home, when all of a sudden I see one of their vehicles on the move.  (I wasn't sure who was driving 'til I got a little closer, but that's for next time.)

 

 

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