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Dindu at the Door Again

This knock is rather quiet. It's disconcerting because knocks on my door have become semi-regular, when I've issued no invitations for a drop in whenever. Not here. Not these days. Not even to friends. We plan those things rather precisely.

I peer outside through a single lifted blind near the bottom of the window. The dindu at the door was evidently expecting this and is looking in the direction of the window to begin with. We look at each other. I see no one I know and shake my head from side to side, letting the blind drop. There is a pause of a minute, and then the quiet knocks start again. I'm shaking my head, a little shaky on the inside, wondering if I should make a weapon arrangement in my living room, as I have by my bed, and what it is about no that people don't understand. I ignore this one completely, not even a peek, which would indicate utter stupidity and lack of resolve the second time around.

A couple of minutes later, I hear a vehicle start up, peek through the blinds again and see a rusted, white pick-up truck driving off. My three pale-faced older neighbors, all siblings, across the street are looking my way, and one man makes a dismissive gesture with his arm, a half arc through the air. They have seen it all, and I can evidently be seen from straight across the street by septuagenarians when I just lift one blind to peek out.

I open my door and start out, while the lady across the street does the same. We are both limping a little with our bad knees, she in socks and I in bare feet, carefully watching where we step. We meet at the curb, and I ask her if she knows what that was about. Turns out, the hustler had come directly out of the rather populous, Section-8 bitch house across the street and comes almost straight to my door, but not before asking my pale-faced neighbors if they had a room to rent. My neighbor tells me that the bitches had sent him to ask me as well. I warn her about groups of three and other dark things. She assures me that they also stay in after vampire hours, which start around dusk, not that light in the sky is any guarantee, mind you.

So there you have it. All of the surveillance from the bitch house is to my detriment. My neighbor informs me it is also a drug house and that they will look out for me as well. I offer the same. We palefaces have to stick together.

Books by James LaFond

Add Comment
Lili HunAugust 9, 2017 11:59 AM UTC

Thank you, LaMano. I always appreciate your clear thinking.
LaManoAugust 9, 2017 11:16 AM UTC

This isn't a gun site, so we don't talk about it much.

But a woman? Alone? In that situation?

If 'twere my wife, or ME for that matter, I would have a heavy gun (not a light carry gun) pointed at the door. Either a Remington 870 in an easy to handle form, or a .357 or .45 pistol that I knew how to fire.

Dindus don't get out of their car at my house, because I have a dog, and they HATE dogs. FEAR dogs. Close-to-nature FEAR dogs.

So I call the dog off, and have the weapon behind me or hidden near the door jamb, in my hand. Ten feet is close enough, twenty is better. So far, it's been all innocent calls, but there will be ONE someday and I'll be ready.

You should be too. A woman should be MORE ready, at home. On the street is one thing. Can't carry, can't escalate, need to train, might have to run, maybe have an escort. But at home? In the house? Alone? Be ready, willing, and able to blast a big red hole in the threat. Sort the legalistics out later, while you're still alive to do it.