Yesterday I’m home working. The doorbell rings. I answer and two mid-40’s ish men are standing there.
“Do you know where apartment #9 is?” one asks.
No, I answer. But if you count apartments from mine you’ll figure it out.
“Oh yeah. Sure. Thanks” he says and that’s that.
I shut the door. No way. You know how you know when something isn’t right?
A minute later I very quietly open the door after checking the peephole. I then look over the railing down the stairwell. And lo & behold, Flick and Flack are jimmying open the downstairs neighbor’s door. I close my door and call the police.
Who arrive, with special units, while I’m still on the phone with police headquarters. Pretty impressive.
They swarm the place and fan out over the neighborhood. They must’ve been looking for this crew because later I find out from a neighbor that they were part of a team. Two to each building, four teams working at a time. A truck following to collect loot.
The police caught the guys the next street over.
Shit, man. Lucky I was home, eh? And shit.