Isaac Whatever

More intimidations ensued. I remained cooperative. If they really were looking for the people who used to live in my apartment and had gone around running up a bunch of debt, then I would be happy to help Gloves and the Golfer find their guys. Unfortunately they seemed to believe I was spinning a web of lies.

Around this time Gloves said something (while flexing his fingers menacingly) to the effect that it’s his job to F people up, and he gets paid to do it, and he’s prepared to do it. The Golfer just said, “Yeah.” I agreed. I noted their obvious preparations in wearing gloves and carrying a golf club. “It’s a cane,” said the Golfer.

I mentioned, in a sort of affable way, that my father is a lawyer. He said his great-uncle was a judge. “How interesting!” I said. I tried showing him my ID. He didn’t really look at it. I suggested that he talk to the landlord and see about getting a forwarding address. Finally, I asked if he was sure he had the right apartment number eight.

“Show me another number eight,” he said. I walked them across the parking lot the next building, and showed them the number eight. All the buildings in this apartment complex have number eight apartments. The Golfer seemed dismayed. “You think you got the wrong apartment?” he asked Gloves. They looked around a bit, seemingly disoriented. I was incredulous. How could they not have noticed that my apartment number eight wasn’t the only number eight? What were they going to do now, walk around to all the number eights and try their intimidation act there?

As they left, the Golfer had the good grace to say, “Thanks man, sorry for wasting your time.” I replied, “Sorry (for not being Eddie, I guess), and good luck!”

A short while later the police arrived. The whole time I was being intimidated we were standing exactly where I wanted to stand, that is in a well-lit public area. A guy and a young couple had actually walked by during the scene, and had obviously noticed that some stuff was going down. So someone had called the cops. I wasn’t really planning on calling. It would most likely be a waste of time for them. Gloves and the Golfer were just going to leave, and the cops would scout around for nothing.

I was still standing outside, this time just making sure that my friends who were on their way wouldn’t get harassed by anyone. The cop asked if I was the one who had called. “I’m not the one who called, but I’m the one who got intimidated,” I said. I gave the cop descriptions of the guys and told him which way they had been walking.

Then I came inside and had a beer.

And that, my friends, is the first serious threat I have ever gotten, and my first interaction with the thriving but mostly incompetent criminal underworld of Southern Indiana.

On a side note, the guy probably saw my laptop, so I’m going to be locking my doors more now and locking my laptop to my desk when I’m not around. What a hassle.