What happened when my neighbors reluctantly called the cops
In my old neighborhood in Queens, there was a young drug dealer on my block named George* who was super friendly, always high, and near-constantly accompanied by very pretty girls who looked pissed about something he’d just done.
My downstairs neighbors bought weed from him, so they invited him to their 4th of July BBQ. When the fireworks began, we all went on the roof to watch them burst over the NYC skyline. Afterwards I went to crash at a friend’s house because I locked my key in my apartment. The next day, when I came back, the neighbor was in a panic. Someone had robbed them blind, taking expensive computer and camera equipment they both needed for work as animators and designers.
What followed was a lefty tragicomedy of errors. They didn’t want to suspect the only working class person of color at the party, but he’d been the only one that wasn’t on the roof. Then they didn’t want to call the police. They pleaded with George to just tell them where he’d pawned the equipment, which they needed for work. George, hilariously, feigned outrage. “I feel like I’m being racially profiled!” he indignantly told me.
Anyway, at their wits end, my neighbors finally reported the crime to the police, who located the equipment in a pawn shop down the street. George probably got 100 bucks for it. The neighbors didn’t want to press charges—they just wanted their shit back. But when a detective told them that George had a “sealed” record for sexual assault, they reconsidered. First of all, that could have been bullshit. Second of all, the point of a “sealed” record is that it can’t be used against you.
So what happened with everyone? The neighbors moved away before they could get their equipment back, because cops wanted to charge him for grand larceny and confiscated the equipment as evidence. I’m not sure how many months they went without being able to do their jobs, but it was long enough for them to get extremely angry at police.
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