When I was looking for a home in Pennsylvania back in the 1990’s, I found a converted farmhouse in Chester Springs. It was about a 20-minute drive to work, making it very geographically desirable. It was on about 5 acres, complete with a stream and spring-fed 1 acre lake. Unfortunately, I would soon learn that being so close to work was a mixed blessing.
Many times the phone rang in the wee small hours and I had to head in to go on-the-air. I had to get in so quickly a few times I couldn’t shower, so I went on live national TV with my hair looking like a demented Albert Einstein. When no one noticed my mental patient appearance, it made me wonder how I usually looked on-air. But other than the late-night calls, I loved living there.
The house was set back about 300 feet from the road so it was very quiet and secluded. It had a 300-foot paved driveway. I know the exact length because the first winter was so harsh that the whole thing needed to be repaved. They did a great job and it really made the house look great. For nearly $15,000 they should have put in a security gate and guard station!
One night I had worked until 2 AM and didn’t get home until a little after 3. I was wheeling the trash can out to the road when a local police car stopped me. I don’t blame him, the hour made it look suspicious. Before I could identify myself, he recognized me from QVC. He said he even bought a computer from me. I asked him if he wanted to come in for coffee since I had started a pot (pre-Keurig) before I took the trash out. He radioed in that he was taking his break and drove down my driveway.
He was an officer on the local police force. We talked about the area. He lived a few miles away but had been an officer in our township for many years. He noted that it was a fairly safe community. When he left, he gave me his card and said to call him directly if there was ever a problem.
My mailbox was on the street at the end of the driveway. Ah, the joys of living in the country. I used to walk Mandy down to the mailbox every afternoon (our mail didn’t come until after 2 PM). One day, Mandy was sniffing something on the ground. I stopped her before she could pick it up. I looked in my hand and realized that I was holding a used condom. (With OCD like mine, I still vigorously wash my hands with disinfectant every time I think about the incident.)
I called the police officer I had met and, after he got done laughing, he said he’d notify all the patrol to be on the lookout for “parkers.” A few days later, there was another used condom in my driveway. This time I was ready with a disposable stick and multiple plastic bags. Now I was really angry! Get a freakin’ motel room! Hell, the Holiday Inn Express was just a few miles down the road.
I started staying outside at night, hoping to catch the fuckers (literally) in the act. The one night I saw them, I used my night vision binoculars (we actually sold them once on QVC) and wrote down his license number. I called the police but by the time they got there the car, an older Oldsmobile, was long gone. Obviously, this guy was the king of premature ejaculation. Compared to him, I’m Ron Jeremy…sort of.
The police told me there was little they could do since it would be my word against his. And when I suggested they do a DNA test (which took over a month back then) on the contents of the condom, they laughed like the audience at a Joan Rivers performance. Now I had to take matters into my own hands.
I had a friend who worked for the government. I knew he had access to all sorts of cool “toys.” I asked him if he could get me a rifle with a night scope. When I assured him I wasn’t going to kill anyone, he got me a very cool sniper rifle with a night scope and even a flash and noise suppressor (silencer). Sadly, I would have to give it back when I was done. But Garth Brooks was right, it pays to have friends in low places. I can freely write about this now as he passed away many years ago.
I took the rifle to a local gravel pit to test it out. The silencer made it very quiet and it was the most accurate weapon I had ever fired. I didn’t have a ghillie suit (I figured asking for one would have pushed our friendship too far), so I dressed in a black sweatshirt and slacks and waited outside my house, laying in a prone position on a sleeping bag (it was a particularly cold November).
It took a couple of nights but the Oldsmobile pulled back in my driveway. He drove up about 100 feet which made him “invisible” to the cars on the road. I had a perfect view through the night scope. I waited a couple of minutes and then fired twice. I blew out his front 2 tires. I grabbed the ejected brass and ran back inside my house, washing my hands vigorously to get rid of any gun shot residue.
A couple of minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was the driver of the car standing next to an attractive brunette lady. He said he was pulling into my driveway and had 2 blowouts, stating he must have hit some sharp rocks. I had considered putting out a spike strip but I didn’t want to catch some poor fool who was just pulling in to my driveway to turn around. Yeah, sharp rocks, this guy was a criminal genius.
I insisted on calling the police officer I knew, who got there in a couple of minutes. Before he arrived, I handed the driver a sealed plastic bag containing one of his used condoms, “Here, I think this is yours. Take it, I have others. Maybe you’d like one for your wife.” He grabbed the bag and, once he realized what it was, he stuffed it in his pocket. He said nothing
The officer called the garage on duty and they towed the car away. I’m sure he knew what I had done, as he was sighing and shaking his head while he was there. He said he hoped there would be no more “blowouts” in my driveway. We remained friends during my time in Chester Springs. In his case, it paid to have friends in high places.
I did spend several nervous days after the incident, hoping they wouldn’t find a couple of .223 rounds in the shattered tires. But I literally dodged the bullet on that one. I never heard a word. I don’t know if these car-sex people have a network, but there were no more used condoms in the driveway during my 15-year stay.
I gave the rifle back to my friend. When I tried to tell him what I had done, he told me to shut up. It was the first time I ever heard the phrase “plausible deniability.” I love learning new words.
© 2017 Steve Bryant – No portion of this or any blog can be reproduced or copied and reposted on any online site or read aloud on any audio media without the express permission of the author.