Crime Fighters
Someone knocked my two mailboxes off their posts today. Now … I don’t want to make a federal case out of this — but it IS. Although I probably won’t call the FBI or even the sheriff’s office. My last episode with the deputies convinced me Rome keeps these centurions down at our outpost primarily as slim proof Island County is still in charge. Until you need them to solve crimes more heinous than speeding violations. Mass mailbox destruction is pretty low on their priority.
Like most crime here, we’re pretty much on our own, okay by me, judging from the lack of crime waves. The Barefoot Bandit ran amok for awhile and we got our first good look at Rome’s puny presence. The Kid even stole their assault rifles and laptops right out of their squad cars. Now that Rome’s running budget deficits, the sheriff is threatening to make cutbacks that will leave the South End without a single deputy most nights. Exactly what we had when I moved here. Pretty much what we got now. I listened to my neighbor’s high decibel burglar alarm going non-stop for half an hour two nights ago. If it had been an actual robbery, a moving van would’ve had time to empty the place. You know, IF the burglars wore hearing protection.
We’re still small enough, still closed-knit enough, that when a break-in or vandalism occurs, we got a pretty good notion who the culprit was. Been awhile since the last lynching, but a phone call to the miscreant’s parents usually does it. Not always. I had the mom of the kid who’d broken into my rootcellar and emptied my wine and homebrew stash bring said kid and herself over Right Now or I’d call the Law. She sat in her idling car smoking her cigarette and denied denied denied. I said her daughter’s step-dad had told me she had a winebottle with one of my labels on it for Roadspray Blackberry. “What did you do with the bottle, honey?” she asked her punk progeny. “I did what you told me, Mom, I got rid of the evidence.”
Now, I know blood is thicker than blackberry wine, but I also believe in good parenting. So, reluctantly, I called the Law. When they showed up a couple days later at my thief’s door, they took the step-dad aside and questioned him for half an hour about guns he supposedly had in his possession, then left. Later I got a call from Deppity Dash wanting to see my rootcellar crime scene.
Deppity Dash, newly arrived from the Los Angeles police force, drove over in his squad car and I showed him my hand dug cellar behind the shack. He just shook his head and said, “Damn, I thought those were just something you read about in books. I didn’t think they actually existed.” I didn’t tell him I thought the same about law enforcement on the island…. Turns out one of us was right.
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Tags: Crime on Camano, Crime on the South End