Hear the Wind Blow, Dear... (Vic Daniel Series) Read online

  'Right, Don,' said Dotty.

  So he'd talked to the police about setting up a neighborhood watch. They said they'd be pleased to send someone along to talk to us about it but they couldn't do it for three weeks as they were booked up. He wasn't prepared to wait three weeks or three days. It was one angry man they saw standing up there. He'd called an expert, me, who he'd pay himself, no problem, to get things off the ground immediately.

  'That's enough from me,' he said. 'OK, Vic, it's all yours.'

  I moved my chair up beside the Kalvins' where I could be seen by one and all, opened up the briefcase and started my pitch. I told them who I was. I told them I'd been working in security for over ten years both independently and with various law-enforcement agencies, which was almost the truth. I told them to butt in with questions at any time. Then I let them have a few vital statistics from the Crime Commission report just as an attention-grabber, as the ad boys like to put it.

  'About one in fifty,' I said, 'that's about the chance you have of being mugged. It's hard to say exactly but you've got more or less the same odds of being burgled in your home. Throw in your car and what can happen to it or to things in it and you're down to an even-money chance that at least one of those three will happen to you sometime. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if the odds aren't already worse than that.'

  A murmur from the crowd. A few swear words from the crowd. A theatrical gasp from Dotty.

  'Let's start with muggings. The word used to apply only to unarmed attacks, usually from behind, where the thief grabs the intended victim around the neck and squeezes until he or his pal has lifted the wallet or purse, but now mugging also includes personal robberies where the victim is threatened with and often injured by a weapon of some kind. A gun, a knife, a club, a bat, anything. A tire iron. Unfortunately the number of injuries occurring during muggings is going up sharply. Many muggings are inter-racial because it is safer – white people notoriously find it difficult to identify individual members of another race, whether it's black, Mexican, Chinese or farmers. The fact that those races seem to have the same trouble telling whites apart doesn't help much.

  'Most muggers are youths, which might help us. Most aren't smart enough to take up a more elaborate form of crime. Most are from slums and most work surprisingly near where they live.'

  'Why?' a man in the second row asked.

  'No problems of transport, no feeling out of place in a strange part of town or looking out of place and thus being noticeable,' I said. 'Finally, there's been a change recently in the kind of places most muggings happen. Where it used to be streets and parks and parking lots, more and more now they happen in apartment buildings, either in the entrance or the elevators or in the halls. This is obviously safer for the mugger, he's got more time, no passers-by, no chance of a cop car cruising by. OK so far?'

  'It's frightening,' one of the ladies said.

  'You better believe it,' I said. 'And there's no way it's going to get better. Now. A word about what they call victimology before we move on. Without going into the psychology of the would-be victim, which is not my area . . .'

  'Mine neither,' said Dotty. 'Sorry.'

  '. . . there are obviously things you can do to increase or decrease the risks involved in living in a big city. Night time is more dangerous. Outside more dangerous than inside by three to one. Being old. Being alone. Carrying groceries or otherwise having your hands full. How you're dressed. Your race. Being foolish or negligent by leaving the keys in the car, flashing a wad of money buying something in a store. Wearing furs. Wearing jewelry. Talking to strangers, especially one or more youths. Buzzing in someone you don't know in an apartment building.'

  'How many muggers do they catch?' one of the two black men in the room wanted to know.

  'You're not going to like it,' I told him, 'but maybe, maybe five percent get a conviction of some kind.'

  Whistles and headshakings.

  'Does having more cops on the beat or in patrol cars help?' someone else asked.

  'The short answer is no,' I said, 'unless you really saturate an area with police and keep them there. Some metropolitan areas have a ratio of one policeman to a thousand citizens, some four times that, and the crime statistics in both areas are still roughly the same, all other factors considered.'

  'What about mace?' asked a short lady in a trouser suit who had brought her peke along. 'Stuff like that?'

  'I don't know,' I had to admit. 'If I was young and foolish and fit I might try a squirt and then make tracks but if I was old and tired or a woman I don't think I'd try it. Usually the stuff is in a purse or a pocket anyway and you're grabbed so quick it's already over. But you could try noise, especially outside. A lot of noise. Screaming. Maybe a whistle.'

  'How about guns?' the other black man in the room asked.

  'They go off,' I said. 'I don't think a law-abiding citizen should ever even think of walking around with one.'

  'How about in your car or in the house?' he then asked.

  'You tell me,' I said. 'I bet at least half the men in this room have got at least one somewhere.'

  Silence.

  'I will say this. Last study I read reported that of ten firearm deaths in the home, eight were suicides, one was one member of a family killing another, and most of the rest were accidental deaths. Only half of one per cent were of an intruder shot. However I can't deny having a gun around makes a lot of people, rightly or wrongly, feel safer. But, moving on to the next subject, guns won't help prevent the kind of break-ins you've been getting here in Wilson Crescent. The pattern in this sort of residential area has always been daytime robberies, by males fifteen to twenty-five, usually during school hours and often by schoolkids. Are there any schools near here?'

  'About ten minutes thataway,' Mr Kalvin said.

  'Close enough,' I said. 'What usually happens is this. The husband's out of the house working, the kids, if any, are at school themselves. The wife's out front gardening or picking oranges or slaving over a hot stove. A neatly dressed, nice-looking youth, probably white, in this area, nothing to be scared of, no huge rabid rapist, wanders by. He's maybe got a bottle of detergent in one hand or something innocuous like that. He's selling it or he wants to wash your windows or he wonders if you need a reliable gardening service a couple of times a week. The thing I must impress on you and what is hardest of all to accept is that he is innocent-looking, he's likable, so likable the victim often offers him a glass of water or gossips with him a minute – who wouldn't, a nice boy like that who could be one of your children's friends, just trying to make a little money? Maybe he's holding a piece of paper and is politely asking if you knew so and so who he thought was at this address. Got it? Innocent. And it's hard to say to a harmless-looking boy, beat it or I'll call a cop, especially when you're not sure he's up to anything wrong. Your immediate assumption should be, unfortunately, there is something wrong.

  'After the initial contact, there's lots of ways it can develop. You offer him some odd job, he goes off around the corner to get his pal who's parked there out of sight. While you're talking with one boy out front or upstairs the other is around back filling up the trunk. If you're on your way out shopping and happen to mention it, he wanders off, waits til you go, comes back, cuts his way in through a screen. But he doesn't come out that way, it's too noticeable, he uses the door and in a minute or two you're minus a TV or two and the home computer and the hi-fi. Often the vehicle used is a van, often it says TV Repairs or Home Laundry on the side. It isn't hard to slide a lot of expensive loot into a laundry bag or laundry basket and what could look more innocent? The guy is young, remember, likable, whistling. Maybe he's got a Cable TV company T-shirt on. Or Arty's Woodworm Service While You Wait. So: you do not let anyone in or near your place for any reason whatsoever. A boy knocks and asks politely if he can use your phone as his car has broken down right outside – forget it. No good-looking youths for any reason whatsoever.'

  A good-looking woman right i
n front of me sighed heavily and said, 'Oh, well,' which raised a chuckle.

  I shuffled through my notes until I found the one I needed. I told them if they couldn't remember all the details, not to worry, I had made notes of all the main points and would hand out copies to everyone later. I did want them to think they were getting their money's worth, or in this case, Mr Kalvin's.

  'Now we come to what you can do apart from being extremely leery about the youth of America. First. Protect your house. Proper locks, especially deadbolts on the main doors that can't be opened from the inside without a key because as I mentioned, seeing someone pass armloads of personal effects out a window is obviously suspicious. Windows should have proper locks and I don't mean a screen or one of those little catches, I mean the kind that turn with a sort of rollerskate key and drive a bolt into the window frame. A decent lock on the garage.'

  'Now he tells me,' said Mr Kalvin ruefully.

  'Second. Insurance, probably the cheapest, the best and often the only protection that works. Insure everything. Over-insure everything if you can as you only get the used value or the original value back. Insure your kitchen appliances. Gold, remember, and jewelry and art usually have to be insured separately. Money usually isn't insurable.

  'Third.' I took out of the briefcase the small engraving tool I'd bought earlier at the hardware for $19.95. It looked like a dentist's drill and was the sort of thing jewelers used to engrave the backs of watches or the winners' names on trophies.

  'A present from me to you,' I said. 'What you do with this is write your name on the back of everything stealable – hifis, TVs, radios, cameras, bicycles, boat engines. This procedure is recommended by the police as it does two things – it makes it possible to identify your goods and it is also illegal to sell items that have such identifying names on them or have had them sanded off – the police say it makes it easier for them to crack down on the middle-men. I personally am not sure it helps that much because if you want another hairraising statistic, only about two percent of stolen goods are ever recovered and those mainly when the thief has been arrested in the act.'

  That brought an angry murmur.

  'I'll tell you something else,' I said. 'Unless goods worth five thousand dollars or more are stolen, chances are detectives won't even investigate. In some areas it's ten thousand dollars. Then you would get one visit from detectives and a follow-up one from a fingerprint expert, and that's all. So, basically, if it's gone it's gone for good.

  'For those of you with expensive cars – and are there any other kind? – you might like to know there are several companies, one of which is Kar-Mark, that will mark identifying numbers on all your car windows. So when your Rolls is stolen, repainted and resold, it can still be identified as yours. And if someone wanders into a Rolls spare-parts division and asks for a half a dozen new windows, the salesman will be rightly suspicious. I know that a lot of garages now offer this service fairly inexpensively.

  'Next. Setting up a neighborhood watch. First you need one person who's always or usually at home and it will be that person who contacts the police because that's the way they prefer it. You, being suspicious, call your spokesperson who immediately calls Lieutenant Ronald Isaacs, I'll give you the number, who is your local contact at the Sheriff's Department. I haven't talked to him yet because he was out earlier' (actually I'd forgotten) 'but I will as soon as you decide on one person and Mr Kalvin can pass the name on to me when he pays my modest fee.'

  'Ha ha,' said Mr Kalvin.

  'Next. Every home, every fence, every lamp post and tree has a large sign saying you belong to a neighborhood watch. I talked to a local sign store earlier and they can let you have them for fifty dollars a hundred, I've written their address down too, but if you fear I have some connection with that store, find one of your own. I've also left you some material from one of the private security companies that cover this area, you may find it interesting. Even if all of you don't want to go to the considerable expense, it might be worth your while to subsidize an occasional property just for the extra protection.'

  'Not a bad idea,' someone said.

  'Thank you,' I said. 'To wrap it up. You watch. You signpost saying that you are watching. A sign on the gate that says "Beware – Mad Dog" can't hurt either, especially if there are some traces that there actually is a mutt on the premises. If you care to, you mark. You insure heavily. You keep a list of serial numbers of your insured goods tucked away somewhere safe. You install proper locks. But most of all and most difficult of all, the first time some fresh-faced kid wanders your way, you say, excuse me, I left something on the stove, be right back, and you call your leader and she calls Lieutenant Isaacs. And that's about all from me, and about time, I hear you say. The rest, choosing your leader, delegating the various tasks, is up to you, unless there are any questions.'

  'Those little round things some doors have to see through,' said a lady.

  'Judas windows,' said another.

  'Good,' I said. 'Cheap, easy to install. Just beware the likable, fresh-faced youth who comes around out of nowhere offering to install one for you.'

  I shook a hand or two, left all the material I'd promised, then left them if not laughing, at least buzzing.

  Another day, another $200. Well, I had worked for it, what I reported here were just the outlines, it took over two hours to go through it in detail at the Kalvins'. I hoped it would help. It's surprising how difficult it can be sometimes to get people to beware of other members of their own species.

  On the way home, wouldn't you know, I got mugged.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As it wasn't all that late, a little after ten, I stopped at the Two-Two-Two on the way home for some needed and well-earned alcoholic refreshment. You might not know it but it's a tiring business performing, one might even say, starring, for hours in front of a critical first-night audience.

  So I had a couple of brandy and gingers there then popped over to the Corner Bar and put my initials on the blackboard, which was what you did when you wanted a game of pool and the table was in use. When your turn came you put in the fifty cents and played the last winner. A hefty gal known as Baby was on a run when I got to the table; I soon took care of Baby with a little help from a fluky bank shot. I like bars. Neighborhood bars, hotel bars, Mexican bars, downtown bars, smalltown bars, piano bars and jazz joints. I like English pubs and Irish bars and French cafés although I've never been in a real one and probably never will; hell, I even like airport bars.

  I left the Corner Bar about eleven thirty and was standing there minding my business, wondering idly whether to visit the Three Jacks or the Cloverleaf next, when it happened. The first hit was right in the small of my back; I went down, head first, half on the sidewalk, half in the street. I was trying to roll over when I got clipped again, on the shoulder, then on the arm. I got a glimpse of an angry red face under a baseball cap, then a close-up of a golf club, a wood. It caught me right on the chin and I started losing it. I heard someone shouting at me to stay out of it. Then whoever it was stepped closer and began putting the boot in – the back, the face, the gut. Enough's enough, I thought. Now you've made me mad, I thought. Smiling, I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

  When I came to the first thing I saw was a brick. It was in the middle of a lot more bricks. They were nice bricks, brick-colored, cemented neatly together to form what is called a wall. By slowly moving my eyeballs I discovered I was lying on my side in the alley next to the Corner Bar. It was comfortable there, maybe I'd stay a while. I could have the kindly barman make a hole in the wall right in front of my face and serve me through it. My nose was bleeding and one of my eyes was watering, at least I hoped it was water. My back was on fire, my left arm numb, and for a while I was afraid to try moving anything important, like my mouth.

  Well, when the going gets tough, the tough get going, and after a while I got going too, after a while. Before long I was on my knees, then I was walking, sort of, down the alley. Turn right.
Lean against the car for a spell. I loved my car, I realized suddenly. I had always ridiculed it. I loved my Nash. I still had my keys and my wallet so maybe I hadn't been mugged after all but merely whupped and left out in the cold to die, like old Eskimos.

  I didn't know where I was going but my car did. I didn't want to go home to Mother because that's all she needed, blood as well as never-ending fluff on our new carpet, to say nothing of me. A hospital wouldn't have been a bad idea but the car had a better one – Evonne's.

  When she finally answered her door I was slumped on the back porch looking up at the night sky. I loved the night sky. Evonne wanted to know just what I thought I was doing there in the middle of the night.

  'Got any aspirin?' I said bravely.

  She took a closer look. Then she said something short and unladylike but all of the ladies I know say it all the time now. Then, with a little help from her, I crawled inside, through the small living room, down the hall, into the bathroom and up on the toilet seat, from where I grinned at my darling.