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Hey Cops, What You Going to Do About Us by David Arthur Walters

Hey Cops, What You Going to Do About Us by David Arthur Walters

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Published by Ryan Webster
Politically incorrect but true anecdote on illegal immigration in Miami Beach
Politically incorrect but true anecdote on illegal immigration in Miami Beach

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Published by: Ryan Webster on Nov 15, 2010
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11/08/2012

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Miami Mirror – True Reflections 
 
~ 1 ~
 
HEY COPS, WHAT YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT US?An Illegal Immigrant asked the South Beach CopsByDavid Arthur Walters“What you going to do about us, niggers, arrest us?” the more belligerent of the twoHonduran illegals asked the two black cops who responded to my call about drunkenand disorderly conduct and child abuse at a little apartment complex of three smallbuildings on The avenue in “chic” South Beach, which is on the southern reach of Miami Beach.Each building has studio apartments; rent: $800 month. The studios are sizeable. Thisparticular apartment, occupied by Honduran immigrants, had been previouslyoccupied by a Puerto Rican couple, two babies, a dog, and sometimes a mother-in-law; they had finally managed to get a two bedroom apartment on North Beach withSection 8 assistance.
 
As Homeland Security's I.C.E. knows very well, South Beach is densely packed withillegal immigrants who generally serve the expensive hotels and restaurants thatillegally hire them and pay them low wages. They live two or more to a small room.Many of them occupy their off hours drinking beer, and smoking pot and crack whenthey have the cash –if they don’t have the cash, they may deal the drugs to get it.I was tired and wanted to go back to sleep. It was after two in the morning. I had to beon the way to work by six. The acoustics of the premises are such that the usually loudconversations between the buildings carry to every apartment nearby. The bassthumping of Latino and Hip Hop music disrupts the peace, vibrating an entire buildingfrom within. To make matters worse, some residents love to slam their metal doors,which creates a very loud boom, as if their apartments were big drums.
 
I had become sick and tired of being awakened so often in the middle of the night bynoisy neighbors and their visitors, and by vagrants, drug users, and strangers from theclubs who use the premises as a toilet and as a place to fornicate. The generally absent
 
Miami Mirror – True Reflections 
 
~ 2 ~
 
landlord refused to fix the locks on the gates. He rents to anyone who has somemoney, preferably cash, no questions asked.
 
Yes, one can always move, and maybe buy some peace and quiet elsewhere, say, for$1,000 a month, if you are lucky. But then you may move and wind up having thesame or worse experience elsewhere, so sometimes you figure it is best to take astand. When I signed the lease, I thought the place was a move up for me, fromprevious prostitute-ridden, crack-head and drug-dealer infested quarters, then ownedby prominent developer Russell Galbut and operated by his relative David Muhlrad,directly across from the Delano Hotel on Collins Avenue. The landlord assured methat the premises were a quiet place to live. Little did I know that theapartment complex had been a public nuisance for over a decade.
 
The other illegal in the apartment below, named Juan, who spoke no English at all,had managed to get to his feet from the sidewalk where he had passed out. He wasswaying back and forth outside the apartment door, leering at the cops from a drunkenstupor. The two-year old boy in their care was inside the downstairs apartment now,still screaming bloody murder.I had called the police, in the wee hours of Monday morning just two weeks beforeChristmas, because of the screaming and loud music downstairs. When I came outsideand looked down, I saw Juan, unconscious, on his back on the sidewalk in front of thedownstairs apartment. The terrified little boy was running around in the dark,screaming; the other fellow, leaning against the wall of the building next door, lookedup at me with arms crossed and a hostile grimace. The gentuza look, I noted.“Where’s the mother of the baby?” one cop asked.“What? You going to arrest us, nigger?”“Hey, listen up. I asked you, where is the mother of the baby?”“You gonna arrest us nigger? What you going to do? Fuck you, nigger. You going toarrest us,” the belligerent man rambled on, and then began to walk away.“Come back here!” one cop ordered. He sat the man down on the sidewalk and cuffedhim, where the man continued to insult him.“Shut the fuck up!” the cop commanded. “Where is the mother of the baby?”The other officer had gone into the apartment through the open door, where the littleboy was crying hysterically. I could hear every word. He spoke in Spanish with Juan,who identified himself as the father of the boy.
 
Miami Mirror – True Reflections 
 
~ 3 ~
 
“The mother is working at a laundry over on Alton Road,” the officer soon informedhis partner outside. “I’ll get someone to go over there,” he said, and communicatedthe address to the dispatcher. Some time passed, and he said, “A car went over there.There is no laundry.”One cop came upstairs and knocked on my door. “Well,” I said to myself, “now I amidentified. But so what, people should come forward instead of hiding like cowards.”The officer asked me what I knew. I complimented him on his restraint, and told himwhat I had observed. And I told him I had seen the landlord rent the apartment toJuan, give him mailbox keys, and that I had told Juan in terrible Spanish that I did notcare what my neighbors did as long as they did not disturb the peace, and if they didthat I would call the police.The officer informed me that there were drugs and beer in the downstairs apartment,and no food at all for the baby. The poor child was plainly terrified. The mother couldnot be found. The brass had been called, and the two men would probably be arrested.They appeared to be illegal immigrants, and might be deported, but that was up to the judge. It was not long before the brass showed up; the two men and child were takenaway.It was after 4 am by then, and I laid down hoping to get an hour’s sleep before gettingready for work. I heard some shouting ten minutes later. A half dozen men andwomen from the illegal immigrant apartment hotel next door had showedup downstairs. They were evidently family and friends of the arrestees. I told them thetwo had been arrested, and asked them to please quiet down.Two residents of the front building, Guillermo and his consort, Uhma, came out.Uhma, an immigrant from Pakistan, had gotten stoned on crack and wine one recentnight, and announced that every man had a penis, but she only cared about the oneswho had “bump” i.e. crack, and she laid out how she sold drugs for Guillermo at thehotel where she worked.“Look!” said Guillermo, pointing me out to the relatives. “He called the police, gotthem arrested!”“He is evil!” screeched Uhma, pointing at me.“And what are you?” I thought, “but a coke whore!” I felt like saying but did not, as Ido my best to refrain from insulting women with vile language.“You called the cops! The cop came to see you! I saw the whole thing,” Guillermodeclared.

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