Mind Your Own Business: What Kind of an Operation is This?

It was obvious that something untoward was happening in the old, rundown house, but no one really knew what. There were just too many people constantly coming and going. Other than a few, the visitors seemed to be different every time, with a constant parade of old and new vehicles, adults and children of all ages. Some of the visitors appeared to stay for a day or so, while others came and left almost immediately. Many of them were unruly children or rowdy teenagers.

"Mind your own business!" the abusive owner would yell at the top of her lungs, when asked what was going on at her place. “I own this place. What I do with it is up to me.”

"She's not very friendly, is she?" an elderly grandmother commented to her daughter, who was growing increasingly fearful with respect to her mother's safety. "This neighborhood is just not like it used to be."

"That is for sure, Mom,” her daughter replied. "Make sure you keep your doors locked at all times." She made a mental note to check up on her daily.

Suspicion gradually grew, as more and more neighbors became aware of something going on at the old house during the daytime, but just as often in the evening, or in the middle of the night. ‘For sale’ signs began to go up everywhere, as this was no longer deemed a desirable neighborhood for seniors, or young families. Those who were reluctant to move installed security cameras and purchased watchdogs. Concerned neighbors set up a neighborhood watch to protect their children.

"It's a drug trafficking operation!" an elderly man insisted, after he spotted the owner of the old house exchanging a large number of loose bills for a brick size package wrapped in brown paper, in the middle of the night. "Is it cocaine?"

"You could be right," replied the young, police officer to whom he had reported it. The problem was how to prove it, as the word of one elderly man was not sufficient to lay charges. The police needed more evidence.    

More and more reports of break and entry into homes near the old house, poured into the police station. Police patrols were increased, but to no avail. Trying to prove anything was going to take some time and vigilance on their part. 

"There was a fire in the old house last night!" the elderly grandmother told her daughter, after a long, terrifying night. At three am, she had heard a police siren screaming, followed by those of sirens on fire trucks.

"I knew they were drug dealers!" said the elderly man. "I just knew it! They burned the old house down.”

The owner was nowhere in the vicinity. No one else was in, or around the old house, either. In fact, the old house, vacated just prior to the fire, would no longer be a trafficking center of concern. That lot would soon become a park for the local children.

The neighborhood gradually returned to normal, as over time the visitors to the old house stopped coming, but it took a while for all of them to become aware of the fact that the drug operation had ceased at that particular location.

It was not that they had gone out of business, but simply moved on.