Thief: “My eye, my eye! This old man attacked me.”
Me: “I apprehended this criminal stealing your rubber boots.”
“Writer”: (ignoring me, to Thief) “Are you okay?”
Thief: “Something’s wrong with my eye.” (Blood dripping down face onto sweatshirt, will definitely stain if not washed immediately.)
“Writer”: (dialing 911 on his phone) “We need an ambulance.”
Me: “Are you crazy? She’s probably faking. Do you know how much an ambulance costs? Over a thousand dollars. Do you have insurance?”
“Writer”: (finally paying attention, hangs up). “I’ll drive you to the emergency room. My car’s just right here.”
“Writer” helps Thief to feet. Half-carries Thief to car (Prius, keyed on both sides). Drives away, silently, because: Prius. Leaves rubber boots on sidewalk. I gather them up, line them back up on his porch, all ready to be stolen again.
10:00 a.m. — Prius returns. “Writer” goes around to passenger-side door. Helps out Thief, who is wearing eyepatch like pirate. “Writer” and Thief enter “Writer’s” house.
11:10 a.m. — I am questioned by police. Officers P. and S. accuse me of assault with a weapon on private property. Say I’m lucky the “victim” is not pressing charges. I express outrage.
Officer P., apparently Hispanic, bald, says, “Maybe you should choose your battles, sir. You’ve called 911 twenty-two times in the past month.” P. and S. smirk at each other.
I express outrage that the neighborhood has been allowed to become like the movie Falling Down. Question officers if they have even seen the movie Falling Down with Michael Douglas. (You should rent it on Amazon Prime, $3.99, I gave it five stars — story of regular man fighting back against falling-down neighborhood like ours.)
Officer S. asks me if I’ve seen Rear Window, his favorite movie. I ask officers if they are arresting Thief. Officer S. says, “You mean the female victim?”
Are there any witnesses to what actually occurred at 5:45 a.m.? Private message me.
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Post Message: Log Date, November 18, 2017
9:00 a.m. — “Writer” and Thief taking tea on front porch. Thief still wearing eyepatch. Thief is pale, likely tweeker, with bruise on cheek. Bruises easily due to drug use?
There is 98 percent likelihood Thief will rob “Writer” blind, kill him in his sleep, etcetera. I am predicting this now.
(I suggest some of you walk by and take some photos for evidence of this future crime. I don’t want to reveal house number, but I’m sure you all know the residence. The one with the overgrown front yard, jasmine and morning glories, etcetera, choking everything, weeds growing onto sidewalk through the white fence which is broken off and tilting in places, front porch painted purple, that “Little Library” hammered onto a post by that gate with those bells all over it.)
This “Writer” not your typical Santa Cruz hippie, though, because Asian. “Writer” bought house fifteen months ago. At first I thought he would help us save the neighborhood, because Asian. At my middle school, Asian children were always best behaved, neatest handwriting, etcetera, but this “Writer” has long, shaggy hair that looks like birds could make nest in it.
To describe “Writer,” hard, because he doesn’t look like actor I can think of, because so few Asian actors. Maybe like Bruce Lee if Bruce Lee wore a woman’s wig to play a washed-up “Writer.” More like pre — washed up, because never famous. I wish Bruce Lee lived in neighborhood, he’d keep everyone in line with his karate chops.
Imagine he’s mooching off his family — the “Writer” — not Bruce Lee. Probably his parents are immigrants who worked all their lives running a small business, a souvenir shop in Chinatown, to put him through the best schools, and this is how he repays them, living off their money pretending to write. Parents never visit, as far as I can see. Probably better for them not to observe how he’s living, probably give them heart attack.
10:00 a.m. — Thief, still with eyepatch, wearing “Writer’s” large rubber boots, is weeding “Writer’s” overgrown yard. So she nabbed the rubber boots after all.
11:00 a.m. — Still weeding. Has filled three trash bags with green waste (Thief looks like that actress with short hair, good face, what’s her name? Just Googled it: Audrey Hepburn. Like Audrey Hepburn playing thief/tweeker. I wish Audrey Hepburn lived next door, but just crazy dream because she would have moved out long ago due to crack addicts, etcetera).
12:00 p.m. — Thief examines “Little Library.” Takes out a Babysitters Club Mystery. Makes me think! Either this book is much too young for Thief or Thief is much younger than I first thought.
Is Thief a runaway? Situation suddenly takes on new, ugly light. Perhaps it is Thief who is in danger from “Writer,” not other way round.
Did “Writer” put a Babysitters Club Mystery in “Little Library” to lure underage girl? Possibility of statutory rape raises its depraved head. Consider calling cops, but will gather proof first.
1:00 p.m. — With my copy of Treasure Island I make my way to front gate of “Writer’s” house. Shake gate with bells to get her attention. Call to Thief, “If you’re going to read, which may strain your one eye and cause blindness, at least don’t read trash. Here’s a classic.”
She comes down off purple porch. Stands on other side of gate. Undernourished in ratty T-shirt, though no apparent needle marks on arms or signs of that popular cutting hobby either. Close up, she is not so much Audrey Hepburn, more like very pretty lollipop with long neck and round face with huge eyes.
Thief: “You’re a tough old geezer. You remind me of my grandpa.”
Me: “Where is your grandfather?”
Thief: “Dead.”
Me: “What about your parents?”
Thief: “Same.”
Me: “How old are you?”
Thief: “How old are you?”
Me: “Seventy-two.”
Thief: “You don’t look a day older than seventy-one, ha-ha. Seriously, I could give you a makeover. I have about two-thirds of a degree in cosmetology.”
Me: “Very funny. What is your name?”
Thief: “Jim.”
Me: “Jim?”
Thief: “Jim. It’s my nickname. Jim Hawkins.”
Me: “Why were you reading that Babysitter book?
Thief: “I put it under the leg of a rickety chair.”
(Alert: See attached photo of “Jim Hawkins” that I took from second-floor balcony. Runaway in danger? If anyone recognizes her, private message me.)
1:45 p.m. — Correction: Jim is an alias. I realize from googling that girl gave me the name of the main character in Treasure Island, “Jim Hawkins.” Perhaps secret message. Jim Hawkins taken captive by pirates. This person is clearly educated. Have strong feeling family is not all dead, and may be looking for her. This young person may be being taken advantage of by lecherous older man.
1:50 p.m. — Decide to call cops. Express my concerns re: runaway, statutory rape, etcetera.
3:11 p.m. — Officer P. knocks on “Writer’s” door. “Jim” answers. Officer P. speaks. “Jim” takes out what appears to be an ID. Officer examines briefly and returns (could be fake). Officer P. and “Jim” look over at my house and laugh. I drop curtain.