Sticking together and the many uses of duct tape

This is a true story about a neighborhood that came together to help out one of their own from a stalker. It takes place around May 1990.  I get a call from a girl from the old neighborhood ( I mentioned it here once) and immediately knew something was wrong. She got a job in the school system out in Washington state. Everything was going fine until she met some guy that she thought ended after the fourth date. You know how it progresses from there. She had to move back home to Mom and Dad and start over. Well, he followed her to Broward County. Big mistake. In Washington, she was in his element. Here he was in ours and he had no idea of the support system she had.

I got from her his name, some pictures of him and what he does for a living. From that point on I had no contact with her or her parents. Let me introduce you to the core of the Redneck Mafia, there’s Russ the Bus, Ronny Greshna, Beer Can Wally, BR-549 and yours truly. I ran point while the rest of the guys did the heavy lifting. We knew his two main targets were her car and her parent’s home. A friend of hers from the neighborhood agreed to switch cars with her to really mess with him. Through another old friend from the neighborhood that worked in a particular police department, he got us the location of the pay phone the creep was calling her from. Russ, Ron and BR took it from there.

It didn’t take them long to find out where he lived. Typical stalker, he got a place that was hidden from the road and easy to stay anonymous and slip in and out without being noticed. Now that was working against him, too. A day or two later he left for awhile and it was starting to get dark. They broke into his apartment, found a lot of evidence of his stalking, found a .357 under his mattress and a box of ammo in his bedroom closet.

They waited for him to return and shut the outside light off. I saw the hospital photos later but they beat him into the next year. His face was one giant bruise, he told the cops he got robbed but had no memory of getting jumped but did remember the .357. I told BR to get rid of the gun and ammo and I don’t want to know the details.

A day after telling him that, sheriffs are at my apartment asking me questions because of the relationship I had with the girl and her parents. They thought I did it. I didn’t know if BR had time to get rid of the gun, he was staying at my apartment during this time to keep his parent’s family business out of it. The sheriffs wanted to search my place for the gun and if they didn’t find it I was in the clear. BR told me, let them search. I’m sweating bullets but I have to trust him. After a half an hour they thanked me for my cooperation and that was the end of that. When we got back inside, I frantically asked BR, “Where the hell is the gun?”. He got a chair from the kitchen, walked to a hallway closet where the A/C blower was, got on the chair, reached up over the doorway, pulled down the gun covered in duct tape.


By this time I’m relieved I’m not going to jail but pissed he didn’t get it out of my apartment. As for the stalker, my guess is he limped back to the west coast because she never heard from him again. She stayed in Broward and got a job in the school system there and last I heard she was a vice principal. I hope this gave you some good tips on how to deal with scum of the earth and how duct tape is really good at hiding things. Trump supporters need to stick together, like a neighborhood.

I would like to thank Sinaes for the inspiration to write this and as always, thank you for taking the time to read this.