About 20 years ago, I was an accidental witness to one of the world's larger illegal drug transactions.
One of my Hispanic in-laws asked if I would drive her and her four little children from a residence in Cherry Hill, New Jersey to their home off 5th Street near Lehigh Avenue in Philadelphia. I hated the house where that kid and her children lived, because it literally rained roaches at night in all of the rooms, so that it gave me the creeps just to walk into it. But, the girl was a courageous little soldier, a loyal mother to her 4 little kids, all of whom she had borne out of wedlock to worthless Hispanic suitors.
I loaded the kids into the back. Their mom drove in the passenger seat next to me.
We crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge over to Philadelphia, then went north up 95 to Lehigh Avenue. I drove up Lehigh to 6th Street, I think, and then turned left onto 6th and proceeded south. I believe at 6th and York Streets, I came to a red light and stopped.
There, on the cross street in front of us, were two brand new white, windowless Ford Econoline vans. One was parked on each side of the intersection, backs pointed toward the intersection, back doors opened. It was about 5:00 p.m. There, right in front of us, two Hispanic guys came out of the back of the van on the right, each with a Kalishnakov
The two Hispanic guys looked up at me, through my windshield with alarm.
All of a sudden, the reality of my current situation came crashing down upon my psyche.
(1) I had accidentally stopped in front of one of the larger illegal drug transactions in American history. These Hispanic guys were cartel "soldiers" with the job of killing any witnesses.
(2) There would be no police around. They had been paid off. Otherwise, these guys wouldn't be doing the transaction in broad daylight.
(3) I had a car with a girl and her 4 helpless Hispanic children in it, and we were all about to die.
As one of the "soldiers" began to unsling his AK while he held the bale with his left arm, to machine gun my car, I realized that I suddenly had the most important job in the world in front of me -- keeping the girl and her kids in my car alive.
I quickly rolled down the window on the driver side door, and grabbed the shoulder of the Hispanic mom next to me, and yelled, with as much emotion as I could find with the purpose of making my words sound like begging, "NINITA !!! NINITA !!!" ["Little girl !!! Little girl !!!"] I grabbed the shoulder of my Hispanic in-law next to me. I figured that they couldn't see the four male children in the back.
What is odd about my use of that word is that earlier that day, at the Magnolia, New Jersey post office, as I was dropping off some mail for my law practice, an Hispanic dad had told me how to say the word for "little girl" in Spanish -- as though God were preparing me for that evening.
The Hispanic guy who wasn't unslinging his AK clearly understood my point -- "I've got a car full of little folks whom you don't want to shoot !" -- and looked crestfallen.
The other one continued unslinging his AK, and he was in the process of leveling it at the car as I began to drive through the red light, past them, south down 6th Street toward the kids' home.
Deep in my soul, I prayed a prayer that the soldier who understood my point would tell the other to stand down.
No bullets followed us. We made it.
_________________
I, Peter J. Dawson, of full age, hereby certify that the preceding allegations or fact are true to the best of my knowledge, information and belief. I am aware that if any are knowingly falsely made, then I am subject to punishment.
No comments:
Post a Comment