For those of you who follow my Twitter feed or frequent my Facebook page (or both) you'll know that Friday was a pretty exciting night in our little neighborhood. Let's do the full recap.
At around 6:30pm, as I turned from Priest onto 3rd Street, I noticed a semicircle of police cars positioned at the far end of the street, and several uniformed officers milling about. One of them approached my car and asked where I was headed. I indicated the apartment complex to my immediate left and politely informed him that I was on my way home from work. He advised me to go around and use the far entrance, because there was a lady at the end of the street with a gun and they weren't going to be opening that route anytime soon.
Oh? You don't say... I drove around the block, bolted upstairs to drop off my stuff, and recruited Kyle to come out and spectate. In the parking lot, we discovered several other currio residents, including one extremely informative gentlemen whose amateur video footage helped piece together the origin of this event.
Apparently, the woman in the house across the street (who was named "Margie") had become very agitated about something, as evidence by the video, where she could clearly be seen flitting from window to window, talking to the police on a cell phone and brandishing a handgun. She stopped periodically to hold a piece of paper up to the window, but we couldn't tell what was written on it (and I'm reasonably sure the police couldn't, either).
As the sun went down, there seemed to be little progress. Margie had closed he curtains and the mini-blinds, and with the exception of her occasionally peeking out from the corner of a window, there didn't seem to be anything happening. But just as boredom and disinterest began to set in, our imaginations were recaptured by the arrival of the SWAT van. It pulled up to the corner long enough for someone to get out of the back, strap on a vest, and unload a battering ram. Kyle and I exchanged looks. The shit had just gotten real.
The van disappeared around the corner, and reappeared about twenty minutes later at the opposite end of the street. It rumbled to a stop directly in front of the house, at about a 45-degree angle from the front door. Two enormous spotlights came to life and illuminated the front of the structure. And then, at the far corner of the house, we saw what appeared to be a long metal pole with a light on the end of it rise into view from behind the limousine parked in the driveway.
"What the fuck is that?" was the question we all had on our lips. As we watched, the light approached the window and swiveled back and forth a few times before heading off toward the van. With the limousine no longer blocking the view, we could see that it was a small robot with what appeared to be a light and camera on a long metal arm.
"Holy shit, it's a Camerabot!"
Camerabot retreated to the SWAT van and disappeared from view. We spent the next fifteen minutes or so discussing how incredibly cool it was, and how we would love to be the guy sitting in the van and piloting the little contraption. And then the loudspeakers crackled to life and blared this directive:
"MARGIE. THIS IS THE TEMPE POLICE DEPARTMENT. WE NEED YOU TO PUT THE GUN DOWN AND COME OUT THE FRONT DOOR WITH YOUR HANDS UP."
No response from inside the house. The directive was issued again, complete with the identifying sentence, as if she was somehow expected to believe it was someone other than the Tempe Police Department that had formed a barricade around her residence.
Still no response. They continued to try this tactic for about twenty minutes, with the same result each time. Finally, they decided to go for an alternate approach.
"MARGIE. THIS IS THE TEMPE POLICE DEPARTMENT. PICK UP THE PHONE AND TALK TO US."
Silence, and then the unmistakable POP-POP-POP of shots being fired. The police apparently were not in the mood to fuck around, so they returned fire, shooting out the windows in the front of the house. Every shot from a gun was followed by the shattering of glass. First the small window over what we hypothesized was the kitchen sink, and then the larger window in the bedroom area.
At this point, Margie apparently decided that she should respond and shouted something back, but from our vantage point it was nearly impossible to tell what her response was. Someone else in the crowd wondered if she had just stated that she had killed her husband. Apparently, the officers must have heard something similar, because the next attempt at communication was something like this:
"MARGIE. YOUR HUSBAND IS FINE. HE'S OUTSIDE WITH US. HE'S SAFE. IF YOU PICK UP THE PHONE YOU CAN TALK TO HIM."
More screaming, even more incoherent than the first time.
"MARGIE. YOUR HUSBAND IS FINE. WE DON'T WANT ANYONE ELSE TO GET HURT. COME OUT THE FRONT DOOR WITH YOUR HANDS UP."
More shots fired. At this point, the officers patrolling the perimeter approached the ever-growing crowd of spectators and told us all to go back into our houses. We dutifully retreated back a dozen or so paces, but that wasn't good enough, as the officers began herding us like cattle, following us to make sure we all went back into our respective domiciles.
Kyle and I immediately headed out onto to balcony. There was no chance of seeing anything from our vantage point, but we were hoping to at least be able to hear what was going on. The next attempt at communication revealed that we were not in a good position for auditory reception, either.
After a few moments of dejected grumbling about our misfortune, I convinced Kyle that we could take my car, drive around the corner, then come back and park near the front entrance so we could at least be close enough to hear if any progress was made. He agreed, and off we went.
The plan was good in theory. However, at the time of execution we had no idea how incredibly boring the next phase of the standoff would be. It consisted solely of the loudspeaker asking Margie to turn on a light to signal that she was alright, or to answer her phone, neither of which was actually happening inside the house.
After about fifteen minutes, we decided that it was no longer worth our time to sit and listen to the same request being repeated incessantly, so we wandered back into the house. I made plans to meet up with some folks at Casey's, so I left the house a few minutes later. However, as I walked through the group of spectators, it appeared that there was finally some activity taking place, so I quickly called Kyle and advised him to come back downstairs.
Camerabot had returned to the scene, and was busying itself with the shattered bedroom window. As we watched, it used a mechanical arm to smash out the jagged pieces of glass around the window frame, then reached in to grasp the mini-blinds and rip them out of the window. Cool. As. Shit.
The camera and light extended into the bedroom slightly, but apparently Camerabot didn't find what it was looking for, so it decided to try an alternate method. It rolled over to the front of the house, opened the door (which was surprisingly unlocked) and sauntered right into the house without the slightest regard for its own safety or well-being.
Yes, dear readers, I'm fully aware that over the past couple of paragraphs I have bestowed vaguely humanoid characteristics on the robot, but you have NO IDEA how fucking cool this thing was.
Camerabot hung out in the house for awhile, no doubt smoking a cigar and scanning the newspaper headlines. While this was happening, the loudspeaker kept insisting that Margie put down her weapon and come into the living room with her hands up. I concocted a mental picture of Camerabot waiting on the couch for Margie to emerge, and then holding her in place with a stern, withering stare when she finally appeared.
Alas, Margie had little to no interest in confronting Camerabot in her living room, so the robot emerged, wandered aimlessly around the front of the house for a bit, then retreated once again to the safety and security of the SWAT van. The loudspeaker went silent, and activity came to a screeching halt.
We consulted one of the cops guarding the perimeter and asked if he could give us any details. He informed the crowd, quite matter-of-factly, that the house reeked of meth, Margie was doped up, and she had flipped out and opened fire while they were trying to talk her down. After the second round of shooting, she had stopped responding completely. No other information was forthcoming, and after another twenty minutes of inactivity, we decided to call it a night.
I was coaxed out of the house about ten minutes later by Kate and Michelle, so I hopped in the car and drove over to Casa del Blanch for a quick cameo appearance. As I returned home, I noticed that the SWAT van was gone, but the streets were still closed off. A young couple who had been spectating with us earlier in the evening was pressed up against the fence, so I hopped out of the car and asked for an update.
They said SWAT had finally stormed the house about fifteen minutes prior (damn the luck - I should've waited it out). They were in the house for only a few minute before calmly re-emerging and removing their gear. They sent another team of officers into the house, and soon there were bright flashes coming from inside, most likely from a camera.
As the SWAT team began to load up for departure, one of the uniformed officers inquired if they should summon an ambulance. He was told not to bother - they wouldn't need it. Whether taken down during the shootout, or taking her own life, we never ascertained, but it appeared that Margie had shuffled off this mortal coil.
The next morning, the windows of the house had been boarded up and the front door had been sealed with crime scene tape. Kyle, after returning from his trip to the store, reported seeing three different people in various stages of distress over the state of the house across the street. Perhaps it was a distribution hub of some sort? The absolute lack of any sort of media coverage makes it hard to say, for certain.
One thing I am certain of, however. That was one hell of a Friday night.
At around 6:30pm, as I turned from Priest onto 3rd Street, I noticed a semicircle of police cars positioned at the far end of the street, and several uniformed officers milling about. One of them approached my car and asked where I was headed. I indicated the apartment complex to my immediate left and politely informed him that I was on my way home from work. He advised me to go around and use the far entrance, because there was a lady at the end of the street with a gun and they weren't going to be opening that route anytime soon.
Oh? You don't say... I drove around the block, bolted upstairs to drop off my stuff, and recruited Kyle to come out and spectate. In the parking lot, we discovered several other currio residents, including one extremely informative gentlemen whose amateur video footage helped piece together the origin of this event.
Apparently, the woman in the house across the street (who was named "Margie") had become very agitated about something, as evidence by the video, where she could clearly be seen flitting from window to window, talking to the police on a cell phone and brandishing a handgun. She stopped periodically to hold a piece of paper up to the window, but we couldn't tell what was written on it (and I'm reasonably sure the police couldn't, either).
As the sun went down, there seemed to be little progress. Margie had closed he curtains and the mini-blinds, and with the exception of her occasionally peeking out from the corner of a window, there didn't seem to be anything happening. But just as boredom and disinterest began to set in, our imaginations were recaptured by the arrival of the SWAT van. It pulled up to the corner long enough for someone to get out of the back, strap on a vest, and unload a battering ram. Kyle and I exchanged looks. The shit had just gotten real.
The van disappeared around the corner, and reappeared about twenty minutes later at the opposite end of the street. It rumbled to a stop directly in front of the house, at about a 45-degree angle from the front door. Two enormous spotlights came to life and illuminated the front of the structure. And then, at the far corner of the house, we saw what appeared to be a long metal pole with a light on the end of it rise into view from behind the limousine parked in the driveway.
"What the fuck is that?" was the question we all had on our lips. As we watched, the light approached the window and swiveled back and forth a few times before heading off toward the van. With the limousine no longer blocking the view, we could see that it was a small robot with what appeared to be a light and camera on a long metal arm.
"Holy shit, it's a Camerabot!"
Camerabot retreated to the SWAT van and disappeared from view. We spent the next fifteen minutes or so discussing how incredibly cool it was, and how we would love to be the guy sitting in the van and piloting the little contraption. And then the loudspeakers crackled to life and blared this directive:
"MARGIE. THIS IS THE TEMPE POLICE DEPARTMENT. WE NEED YOU TO PUT THE GUN DOWN AND COME OUT THE FRONT DOOR WITH YOUR HANDS UP."
No response from inside the house. The directive was issued again, complete with the identifying sentence, as if she was somehow expected to believe it was someone other than the Tempe Police Department that had formed a barricade around her residence.
Still no response. They continued to try this tactic for about twenty minutes, with the same result each time. Finally, they decided to go for an alternate approach.
"MARGIE. THIS IS THE TEMPE POLICE DEPARTMENT. PICK UP THE PHONE AND TALK TO US."
Silence, and then the unmistakable POP-POP-POP of shots being fired. The police apparently were not in the mood to fuck around, so they returned fire, shooting out the windows in the front of the house. Every shot from a gun was followed by the shattering of glass. First the small window over what we hypothesized was the kitchen sink, and then the larger window in the bedroom area.
At this point, Margie apparently decided that she should respond and shouted something back, but from our vantage point it was nearly impossible to tell what her response was. Someone else in the crowd wondered if she had just stated that she had killed her husband. Apparently, the officers must have heard something similar, because the next attempt at communication was something like this:
"MARGIE. YOUR HUSBAND IS FINE. HE'S OUTSIDE WITH US. HE'S SAFE. IF YOU PICK UP THE PHONE YOU CAN TALK TO HIM."
More screaming, even more incoherent than the first time.
"MARGIE. YOUR HUSBAND IS FINE. WE DON'T WANT ANYONE ELSE TO GET HURT. COME OUT THE FRONT DOOR WITH YOUR HANDS UP."
More shots fired. At this point, the officers patrolling the perimeter approached the ever-growing crowd of spectators and told us all to go back into our houses. We dutifully retreated back a dozen or so paces, but that wasn't good enough, as the officers began herding us like cattle, following us to make sure we all went back into our respective domiciles.
Kyle and I immediately headed out onto to balcony. There was no chance of seeing anything from our vantage point, but we were hoping to at least be able to hear what was going on. The next attempt at communication revealed that we were not in a good position for auditory reception, either.
After a few moments of dejected grumbling about our misfortune, I convinced Kyle that we could take my car, drive around the corner, then come back and park near the front entrance so we could at least be close enough to hear if any progress was made. He agreed, and off we went.
The plan was good in theory. However, at the time of execution we had no idea how incredibly boring the next phase of the standoff would be. It consisted solely of the loudspeaker asking Margie to turn on a light to signal that she was alright, or to answer her phone, neither of which was actually happening inside the house.
After about fifteen minutes, we decided that it was no longer worth our time to sit and listen to the same request being repeated incessantly, so we wandered back into the house. I made plans to meet up with some folks at Casey's, so I left the house a few minutes later. However, as I walked through the group of spectators, it appeared that there was finally some activity taking place, so I quickly called Kyle and advised him to come back downstairs.
Camerabot had returned to the scene, and was busying itself with the shattered bedroom window. As we watched, it used a mechanical arm to smash out the jagged pieces of glass around the window frame, then reached in to grasp the mini-blinds and rip them out of the window. Cool. As. Shit.
The camera and light extended into the bedroom slightly, but apparently Camerabot didn't find what it was looking for, so it decided to try an alternate method. It rolled over to the front of the house, opened the door (which was surprisingly unlocked) and sauntered right into the house without the slightest regard for its own safety or well-being.
Yes, dear readers, I'm fully aware that over the past couple of paragraphs I have bestowed vaguely humanoid characteristics on the robot, but you have NO IDEA how fucking cool this thing was.
Camerabot hung out in the house for awhile, no doubt smoking a cigar and scanning the newspaper headlines. While this was happening, the loudspeaker kept insisting that Margie put down her weapon and come into the living room with her hands up. I concocted a mental picture of Camerabot waiting on the couch for Margie to emerge, and then holding her in place with a stern, withering stare when she finally appeared.
Alas, Margie had little to no interest in confronting Camerabot in her living room, so the robot emerged, wandered aimlessly around the front of the house for a bit, then retreated once again to the safety and security of the SWAT van. The loudspeaker went silent, and activity came to a screeching halt.
We consulted one of the cops guarding the perimeter and asked if he could give us any details. He informed the crowd, quite matter-of-factly, that the house reeked of meth, Margie was doped up, and she had flipped out and opened fire while they were trying to talk her down. After the second round of shooting, she had stopped responding completely. No other information was forthcoming, and after another twenty minutes of inactivity, we decided to call it a night.
I was coaxed out of the house about ten minutes later by Kate and Michelle, so I hopped in the car and drove over to Casa del Blanch for a quick cameo appearance. As I returned home, I noticed that the SWAT van was gone, but the streets were still closed off. A young couple who had been spectating with us earlier in the evening was pressed up against the fence, so I hopped out of the car and asked for an update.
They said SWAT had finally stormed the house about fifteen minutes prior (damn the luck - I should've waited it out). They were in the house for only a few minute before calmly re-emerging and removing their gear. They sent another team of officers into the house, and soon there were bright flashes coming from inside, most likely from a camera.
As the SWAT team began to load up for departure, one of the uniformed officers inquired if they should summon an ambulance. He was told not to bother - they wouldn't need it. Whether taken down during the shootout, or taking her own life, we never ascertained, but it appeared that Margie had shuffled off this mortal coil.
The next morning, the windows of the house had been boarded up and the front door had been sealed with crime scene tape. Kyle, after returning from his trip to the store, reported seeing three different people in various stages of distress over the state of the house across the street. Perhaps it was a distribution hub of some sort? The absolute lack of any sort of media coverage makes it hard to say, for certain.
One thing I am certain of, however. That was one hell of a Friday night.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
drusylla:
You should write novels.
reid:
Thanks! And thanks for hangin out 