It’s not every day that you look out from your bed­room win­dow and see some­one get­ting busted by the cops.

At least, I would hope not.

But now, it’s hap­pened to me twice.

Years ago in Tucson I had a bust hap­pen, lit­er­ally, on my porch. I heard scuf­fling, words like I got him, and went out­side when the noises less­ened to see a cou­ple of pretty winded-​​looking police offi­cers stand­ing in the yard. They asked me if I’d ever seen the man in the car — I hadn’t — or if he was a friend — he wasn’t. He’d got nailed try­ing to run from some crime scene, I guess, and the chase had ended out­side my window.

This after­noon, while being con­sum­mately annoyed by the neighbor’s yappy Dachshunds for the nth time, I looked out and saw a pair of vehi­cles owned by the local con­stab­u­lary in the alley.

My apart­ment is a split level. The bed­rooms and main bath are on the top floor. I was hack­ing some stuff on the Mac upstairs, which was why I even noticed any­thing. From down­stairs, no win­dows or doors let onto the alley.

In a few min­utes an offi­cer led a barech­ested, jeans-​​clad man to his car, did the pat-​​search, basi­cally did the process thing. And off they rolled.

You know, this neigh­bor­hood has seemed, for the most part, quiet. But talk­ing to my imme­di­ate neigh­bor and the woman who lived beside the house focused on in the bust, I learned that there have been issues from the place on the cor­ner for years now. It’s a drug house. And appar­ently this is known, yet the perps seem to be set free, seem to come back.

The house in ques­tion is about a mile south of the only junior high school in town, and is on an arte­r­ial that goes to and from it. Preteen kids gather on the cor­ner oppo­site this house, every day, wait­ing for buses to take them to their grade school. Teens walk or bike past every day on the way to their own classes at the JH, which was the same one I attended lo these many years ago.

I’m reminded of Shelley’s Frankenstein, of mad vil­lagers wav­ing torches.

And you know, maybe this is the incip­i­ent papa in me, but I won­der if per­haps a good old fash­ioned posse comi­ta­tus isn’t just what we need right about now.

They don’t have to die, but maybe they should be told, in terms that brook no mis­un­der­stand­ing, they will not be tol­er­ated any longer.

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