"Hey hon... some dude tried to stab me out in the yard, is our insurance up to date?" PART 2
We used to live in the city, back so long ago on that proverbial Tuesday I previously referred to. This story actually starts then, in 2016. I and my wife had just sold our previous house. We got bored and decided to start over again in a smaller more manageable house with less electrical issues, newer plumbing and a bigger yard. But also, we wanted a nicer neighborhood. At first, that little place had everything we wanted.
We bought a small house on a busy street corner. When I think back to how much we paid for that house I get a little teary eyed. It was in the "before times". Our mortgage was $700.00 a month. This was pre-COVID, things were better back then. However, at the time, the mortgage on the new place was more than the place we left, mostly because it was a double lot with a detached shop in the back.
For the most part we were doing alright. She was building a private practice and finishing out a stent at a youth facility as the "clinical manager". I was working as a consultant and quality manager at a tech firm, at least until 2018 when they killed the business and sold off the pieces like sliced bread. Some lucky bastard out there made 2 billion off the deal, adding to my hatred of rich people. I am not rich so we bought the home we needed, not the one we wanted.
However, despite it being the reasonable and affordable choice, the one we needed, not wanted, it really was a nice little place. It was just right for me and the wife. It was seventeen hundred square feet, two floors, three bedrooms, a one and half bath. It was a nice little place with a large lawn, and a privacy fence.
It had a strong foundation, a good roof, double paned windows, and it was warm, or cold depending on the season. It came with all the appliances, we brought the 2.5 kids with us. The "point-five child", we kept in the attic. That's a joke for those of you unfamiliar with the American dream. When I say kids I am referring to my fur babies, our dogs. They loved it there.
The privacy fence went all the way around the back yard, and the dogs had the freedom to go out and in when ever they wanted. The back yard was big and open, it was also lined with trees along one side and square in the middle was a cherry tree. The fence went all the way around the outside, within a stones throw from the sidewalk. There was a busy street on the north side, an empty lot on the west and the south side, and a side street in the front. Our back yard was secluded and no one could see in from any side.
Both the empty lots were overgrown and covered in weeds, thistles, and sometimes a passed out transient or two. They came and went from the lots but never stayed because there were no trees on the larger lot, no shelter, or places to get out of the weather. The smaller lot was covered in briars and sharp rocks. On top of that, my dogs at the time were a large German shepherd and two cranky pit-bulls. They didn't like strangers.
I was a typical home owner during that time. I worked Tuesday through Friday, ten hours a day. I got that sweet, sweet, extra day off. I often used it to make sure the lawn was mowed, the maintenance was up, and all the little things that needed done were completed on time. Our goal was that we we would fix up the house and add value to it and maybe someday sell it for the sweat equity we'd put in it. We had used the equity from our last home to buy that little place and it had worked well for us. The new place had way more potential, or at least we thought it did.
There were a few things that made us decided to sell and move. The first was the near stabbing, the second were the fentanyl foils that started making there way through our front yard like tumble weeds, and the last were the neighbors that moved into the lot next door, kind of. There were also a couple of little things, but they, on their own would not have forced us to move.
As the title suggests, I am going to start with the near-stabbing.
For a number of months we had noticed the increase in traffic through the neighborhood of colorful individuals. When I say colorful, I mean tattooed. This was not an issue at first, we both have tattoos and appreciate some good art. These tattoos were different. A good deal of them were gang tats, and not of the same gang, multiple different gangs. Most of them were not friendly with each other either, in fact some were bitter rivals.
As the weeks passed, we saw more and more of them. Most were headed north towards the new apartment complex someone had built up the street from us. Things started small. Domestic disputes up the road. Shouts in the night. But they grew, as these things do. It wasn't long before we heard the first guns shots in the distance, someone beyond the apartment complex had been involved in a drive by. This was not new to either of us, although it was concerning.
One of our previous locations, when we were in college, was in a bad neighborhood. All of our children knew to lay on the floor when they heard shots. The people across the street dealt drugs, and eventually they had a gunfight with SWAT on the front lawn. So we were not keen to live in a similar neighborhood again.
Then, in 2018ish, I was laid off. My company closed it's doors and sold the assets. Of course, this was after a strategic buy back plan. I was not one of the people who got rich. I was however, given the opportunity to get another degree at no cost. So I went back to school. As a consequence I was home more. So I had more time to work on the house and fix things that needed fixed. Also do some landscaping and "pretty-fication" of the place. You know, for curb appeal.
One day I was out in the south lot on the other side of the fence replacing fence slats. One of our goals was to make sure the fence was replaced all the way around so the dogs would be safer and it would look nicer if we decided to sell. The south lot was the secluded one with the briars and the rocks. The thing is, a person has to be directly in front of it to see back there. The north side of that lot was the south fence of my place.
It had seen better days and some of the cedar fencing was less than sturdy. So I saddled up and made my way to the "big-orange" to get some fence slats, some 2x6s, some nails and some screws. I hauled them all back there to make quick work of the ugliness.
No sooner had I stepped up to the fence I heard a voice from behind me. "Hey mister, you wouldn't have a smoke would you?" Startled a little, I turned around to see who was asking.
There, around ten feet away was a man. He could have been more than 20 years old. He was standing ion a bald patch next to waist-deep weeds. There was a desperate look on his tattooed face. His head was shaved into a ghetto mohawk, which was pulled back and held in place with a large hair clip. All down the mans neck were thick lined tattoos that looked as though they had been done with a guitar string, pen ink, and the motor from an electric razor. A.K.A. prison tats.
I backed up a little and responded. "Nope, don't smoke anymore." I said.
He took a step closer and asked. "How long you been at this house."
Which was a really strange question, since I didn't know the guy. I gripped my hammer a little tighter and tilted my head sizing the man up. I can handle my self, but prefer not having to. For the previous ten years I had been in or teaching Kenpo, so I am a little versed in the art of an ass whooping, but I try not to get my self into trouble with guns, knives and crazy people. I like my internal organs, and pooping in a tube has never appealed to me, and at the time I wasn't sure about how good my insurance was either.
Not wanting to instigate, or give the guy a reason to do something both of us might have regretted, I simply told him, "A while." He moved closer, and that is when I saw the knife. It was folded back behind his hand tucked with the blade up. I also noticed the 9mm in his waste band. This was a good thing, as long as that knife was in his dominate hand, the gun was going to stay in his waste band. I knew that I was better with a hammer, than he was with a knife. But what to do? There was only one path through the briar covered lot, and he was blocking it from me.
Perfect.
I figured I would be okay as long as the gun stayed in his waste band. Thankfully an opportunity presented in the form of a neighbor across the street on the open side of the lot. He waved and yelled across the street to me saying hello.
I had known him for a few years. He was from a much larger city and he knew exactly what was happening. He was not saying hello, he was acknowledging the situation. As soon as he did I spun the hammer and used the claw on the back to pull the mans arm off to the side, then I lowered my center of gravity and went right through him like a line backer. This did exactly what I was hoping it would do. It tossed his body off to the side and into a large patch of briars. He really didn't have the time to say anything except a couple of curses and something in Spanish. By the time I reached the front of the lot he was climbing over the fence to the back lot. He disappeared into the tall grass and I never saw him again.
I thanked the neighbor, and he confirmed what I already knew, he saw what was going on and decided to let the stranger know he was being watched. We talked for a little while, called crime check and filed a report, and then I went back in the house. My wife was not happy when I told her what happened. It was that night we discussed moving away to the woods for the first time. I was something we had talked about when we were younger, but it was always a pipe dream. That night it was not a pipe dream, that night it was a serious discussion.
I got a lot more serious after the Meth-prostitution and theft bazaar set up shop in the other lot.
Stay tuned for Part 3: "Foils in the yard and meth out back".
Cheers!
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