The Dealers Next Door, Part 2
By: David Silva
Franco (not his real name, but drug dealing is illegal, you know) recently installed a carport awning to protect his trade in bad weather. Brother Mario (another pseudonym) is on what appears to be his fourth new car since Christmas. Say what you want about these guys (and lord knows I’ve said a lot—to the Riverside police chief, the mayor, the city’s crack narcotics unit and the Weekly’s readers), they’re single-handedly keeping the local auto industry afloat.
Yes, these boys have struck gold, and the rest of us are green with envy. While no less than seven “for sale” signs can be seen on front lawns up and down the block, the dealers next door are in home-improvement mode. While the rest of us sleep in shifts in case some addled tweaker tries sneaking through the bathroom window, the dealers sleep the untroubled sleep of the dead, their persons and their stashes safe behind wrought-iron doors and the sign on the front that reads (I kid you not) “Do not ring after 10PM.”
Of course, there’s always the remote possibility that the dealers really should be more worried that, at any minute, Riverside’s crack narcotics unit will come crashing through those reinforced doors. But who are we kidding? If the police were going to put a stop to all that illicit activity next door, they would have done so by now.
As I wrote back in October, my non-dealing neighbors and I tried repeatedly to draw the city’s attention to the situation next door, going so far as to arrange a neighborhood meeting with one of Mayor Ron Loveridge’s deputies. The deputy listened wide-eyed to our story and jotted down notes into a little black notepad, which he then tossed into a briefcase where, I imagine, it remains gathering dust to this very day. Nothing was done.
By the time my column appeared, I had called the Riverside PD three separate times to complain about the dealing next door (not counting follow-up calls to check on the status of the complaints). Since October, I’ve called the police and City Hall three more times, each time being told that the department had no record of any previous complaints, and each time being assured that the department was now right on it. One of those calls resulted in a callback from Riverside Councilman Frank Schiavone, with Police Chief Russ Leach sitting by his side. Both Schiavone and Leach assured me that the city took such complaints seriously, and that they were right on it.
Nothing happened.
This has been going on for three years now, during which I often wondered why the Riverside PD would put up with an open-air drug bazaar operating in a residential neighborhood just three blocks from three public schools. Drug busts are great PR for the police, and right here was a major bust just begging for the cops to walk up and slap the cuffs on it. So why didn’t they?
Early last month, I finally learned the answer to this nagging question: It wasn’t that the police didn’t want to bust up the drug house next door. They just couldn’t find it.
“According to my computer,” said the officer who took my sixth (and, I swear to God, last) complaint, “the street address you gave me doesn’t exist in Riverside.”
“Well, that’s odd,” I said. “I’m looking right out my front window and there it is.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah, it’s right there. Maybe you should check again.”
He did, and again declared the address didn’t exist. Back and forth we went, with me insisting the street address of the drug house next door to me existed, and the officer insisting that it didn’t. Finally:
“Found it!” he said, sounding well pleased. “OK, we’re on it. The Police Department takes these calls very seriously.”
After three years, six complaints, a meeting with the mayor’s aide and a conference call with a councilman and the city’s top cop, the Riverside Police Department’s crack narcotics unit finally located my neighbor’s house on a map.
More than a month later, the dealing next door has continued unabated, and if there are any cops snooping around, they’re wearing invisibility cloaks. The only thing that’s changed around here is my attitude toward the neighbors.
“How’s it going, Franco?” I shout when I go out for the mail. “Yo Mario! Nice new Prius, buddy!”
If this is how the city of Riverside wants to wage its war on drugs, I might as well be on friendly terms with the winning side.
–David Silva
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It sounds similar to the drug dealers across the street in our affluent Corona neighborhood. Police inquiries and reports seemed to become insessantly and mysteriously lost. Perhaps my mistake was not concealing the messages in a box of donuts...but I digress.
After some time, we learned to live with our up and coming neighborhood entrepreneurs; they even converted the kitchen window into a service bar so that purchasers need not sully their living room rugs.
I think the final straw was when they threw a party, and a rival gang showed up. Needless to say, rather than a scholarly debate, a riot ensued. The riot spilled out into the street, complete with firearms, chains, and knives. I could hear car windows being broken as I took my children out of their beds and hid them in the stairwell of the house, anticipating gun fire.
I called Corona's finest, and they asked me..."How many cars do you think we should send?"
"Holy crap lady...send everything you got!"
"It can't be that bad...hold on."
It was at this point I imagine each an every neighbor on the street calling, panicked out of their minds and delivering a similar tale.
The operator came on and told me, "Hold on...we are sending help."
At this point, I loaded my Dan Wesson .357, not anticipating having to use it, but just the mere sight of such a large pistol makes most gang members wet their pants and run...fast.
After Corona PD rolled everything they had, the gang members started to flee and in the process cause more damage as many of them managed to escape. They did manage to detain a few and I remember one nearly getting his face chewed off by a K9 unit like it was the dog's squeaky toy. His only comment after being cuffed was, "Oh man...."
With that, I took the opportunity to talk with the police about our neighbors behavior, but was commanded to go back inside as not to incite "bad blood" amongst the neighbors.
Corona's finest never did do anything about it. It turns out they later left on their own. It seems their grandmother died and left them a "nicer" house in Temecula, so they were abandoning these digs to go there.
My thought on that? I feel sorry for their neighbors in Temecula...but good riddance!