Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The Oak Leaf Shootout

It was a dark and stormy night...okay, it wasn't stormy and it wasn't all that dark, but it was night, the middle of the night. I was staying at my brother's home to attend the wedding of our niece and as I slept, trouble was a-brewin' outside.

There is a house on the entry corner of the double cul-de-sac (French for dead-end) neighborhood that is cursed. No one who has lived in that house has been normal or had a normal stay. Odd things occur there. This night was to be no exception.

The sole adult of the house was out leaving only the near-adult children home alone with party goers with no sense of propriety, in other words, the perfect party goers. A few beers and several minutes into the shindig people began spilling into the sleepy, dusty street. People kept a-comin' and the noise kept a-risin'.

From out of the darkness arose such a clatter, I jumped from the bed to see what was the matter. It was not Santa Claus nor eight tiny reindeer, but a crew, a pack, a gang of ruffians wielding baseball bats.

Smash went a truck window. Thunk went a car door. The ruffians and the perfect party goers squared off for a rumble. West Side Story was on the street where I lived. Tonight, tonight, I just met a girl named Maria. The excitement was palpable and the curtain was rising.

I could scarcely believe my eyes. How could I be so lucky as to witness an honest-to-goodness rumble?! Yippee-ay-o-ka-yay!! I was reminded of episodes of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom; scenes of baboons fending off hyenas; the great circle of life spinning out of control before me.

My brother, a law-biding citizen in dire need of sleep, grabbed the telephone and punched in nine-one-one. Informing the dispatcher there were weapons involved, the local gendarmerie responded with all deliberate haste.

Time passed.

Fearing the dauntless constables had been waylaid by highwaymen, my bro dialed nine-one-one again. He was assured the posse was a-comin'. About that time, the thin blue line storm-trooped upon the scene with 12-gauge shotguns in hand.

Someone yelled, "CHEESE IT! THE FUZZ!" Ruffians and perfect party goers sprinted for cars and trucks. The sound of squealing tires, the smell of auto exhaust filled the chaotic street air.

The keystones were grabbing people and putting them on the curb. As soon as they let go the ne'er-do-wells would bolt. Cars sped uphill into one of the cul-de-sacs. The occupant ruffians probably felt pretty stupid when they returned downhill into the waiting long arm of the law.

It was an exciting night in the old Gold Rush town. I have not felt such exhilaration since I was held at gunpoint by two Bulgarian Border Guards demanding $200 US to cross the frontier...but that's an adventure for another time.

The life of Indigo Red is full of adventure. Tune in next time for the Further Adventures of Indigo Red.

1 comment:

Don said...

It is a shame the police had to break up the show, but I suppose one of those dumb asses could have gotten hurt. Remember when we had the excess energy for such shenanigans?