You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

A FRIENDLY NEIGHBOR

Ninteen-Sixty-eight was a great time to be living on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It was a time when while walking through Washington Square Park, I would find a frisbee flying to me with an invitation to join a group of hippies sitting in a circle on the grass. It was a year of anti-Vietnam War protests which brought a sense of shared participation in an important cause. I was there living with Margie, a modern dancer, in a sixth-floor walk-up flat.

The communal spirit found in Washington Square Park was not seen in our apartment building, however. We passed four apartment doors on each of the five floors as we climbed up to our railroad flat. These doors were always closed. We knew no one in the building. There was one exception. He was a man who lived on the second floor. His door was usually open. He would always give us a friendly hello as we passed. His greetings gave the building a welcoming feeling. It had the appearance of the friendliness found in Washington Park.

Margie sister, Samantha, lived in the flat below ours. “Sam” was a unique individual. Her clothing and jewelry were distinctive. Her taste in men was similarly unconventional. Her man-friend, Tony, was one of a kind. A tall, lean, gregarious, and well-dressed black man with one gold earring and a warm smile. Tony was easy to like. His hipster appearance and friendly nature gave no hint of his risky profession. He was an on-call drug courier. He would receive a phone call at any time of day or night, telling him where to pick up a freshly stolen credit card and a contact in the Los Angeles air terminal. He would then quickly retrieve the card and purchase a round-trip flight: JFK- LAX-JFK. When on the ground in LAX, a stranger would hand him a package, which he would immediately bring it back to a pre-arranged drop or contact in Manhattan or Brooklyn. To avoid being arrested, his travels had to be completed before the card was reported stolen. He knew none of the people with whom he did business, and yet they trusted him with their valuable packages. For these high-risk trips, Tony was paid handsomely.

One evening when “Sam” came home, she found her door open, her belongings scattered, and her distinctive jewelry gone. She was devastated by the loss of her security as much as by the loss of her valuables. Tony had underworld connections. He assured Samantha that he would get her things back. He began his search by talking with local fences. Through them, he learned that there had been a series of robberies in our building. He contacted a number of fences until he found one who recognized the description of Sam’s unique jewelry. From the fence, Tony learned the identity of the thief. The same man had robbed several of the tenants of our building. The thief lived in our building. He was the friendly man who lived on the second floor. He hd used his friendlyness to learn who lived in each apartment and our daily schedules. He knew when each of us left the building and how long we would be gone.

Tony waited until the thief left his apartment. Then he broke into it. He ransacked the place and found most of Samantha’s stolen items. Then, with a broad red marker, he scrawled the following note on the thief’s bathroom mirror: “GET OUT YOU DEAD FUCKER”.

When I came home from work that afternoon, I passed the friendly man’s apartment. His door was wide open as usual only this time, he was there to greet me. Instead, the open door revealed the chaotic mess left by Tony’s search and the hasty exit of our only friendly neighbor.