Shots rang out

I have ranted about guns before on this blog. I have had plenty of experiences and close calls with guns and I am very familiar with the violent pop that a hand gun makes when fired. But something I hadn't actually seen up close and personal was somebody dying from being shot.

I might have seen somebody receive fatal wounds in a gun battle in NYC, only i didn't stick around to find out. I've had bullets whizz by close enough to me to know that a few feet might have made the difference of a lifetime. But this experience had a very different effect on me. I am an adult now. Being near gunshots and death is something that doesn't "pump my nads" or make for an exciting night. It is what it is, a horrible tragedy.

It was a crazy day for me. I had woken up at home in NYC late for my flight to LAX. I grabbed my crazy cat Miso, stuffed him unceremoniously into the soft airplane-friendly carry case i had bought the night before. kissed my girl goodbye and basically all but tackled a taxi in the rain. I did the classic maneuver you always see in the movies and promised the taxi driver a 50 dollar tip if he could get me to the airport in time for my flight. it actually worked, unless he was normally a psychotic driver. the guy cut through the lanes like his life depended on it and we hydro-planed all the way to Newark in plenty of time for me to make my flight.

I wish i had a funny story about taking crazy Miso out of the carrier and walking through security with him in my arms surrounded by thousands of strangers. but he was so scared that he just clung to me and didn't move at all. The only funny part of that was that i warned everybody around me that i had a crazy cat and people literally backed up giving me like 15 feet in all directions in an area that was pretty much crammed with people.

The flight was over very quickly since i passed out. I woke up with the cali sun in my face and was psyched to be back and not in the cold wet dark soup i had just left behind. I got home, dropped off Miso, and immediately went out to party with Bask1, my NYC bud who was my new/old neighbor in Venice. It was the Abbot Kinney Festival. A once a year event when one of the main shopping streets in Venice becomes a street fair. Great food, crafts, cruiser bikes, venice characters, bands, beer gardens, and general mayhem.

Despite my fierce limp and my jet lag and hang over, i was filled with a great positive excitement about being there. It was my new home, and it was sunny, tasty, edgy, hip, and very SoCal. I buried my face in a lamb gyro and bumped into locals i had already met in my brief time there, including the neighbors who live next door to me. All was good, all was laid back.

As night rolled in, I decided to get a beer or two at the OtherRoom and just chill out. I knew a few people who go there and It's three blocks from my house. Plus my cat Miso was still freaked out in the new place and my big human ass crashing around would only cause him to hide under the bed, rather then snoop around like a ninja.

I said whatsup to the bouncers. they were nice guys, but unlike the other spots in the area that employed older, more professional type bouncers, the OtherRoom has younger, kind of "local" looking guys. At the risk of sounding racist, they were latino and kind of thuggish looking. And they always had friends in the area who stopped by and hung out with them on the sidewalk, or parked in the spot right in front. I knew they were kind of "gang" guys, but it never occurred to me that the affiliation would ever get near the wine bar. Although, in retrospect, i did think it was kind of an odd choice by the owners, considering what places like the Brig do, right down the street.

So i was half way into my Hefen Weizen and standing in the doorway with my back facing outside. I was right in the middle of thinking about what a good day it was. i was so happy to wake up, with my cat in my new place, my new cruiser beach bike (Schwinn Cruiser SSX), and my new/old awesome job. When all of a sudden, there was a short sequence of extremely loud pops. The clap of the noise shook my eardrums and i could feel the sound waves in my skull. I knew INSTANTLY that it wasn't anything but a gun going off right behind me. I ducked down and wedged myself behind the big metal door. Of course, the OC crowd that has become the norm at the OtherRoom were all standing looking around like it was just fireworks or a joke of some kind. I was the only person, at least in the doorway or inside that ducked down.

Then came the screaming, and then yelling, and then I heard "he's shot!" and "the guy ran that way!". that's when i stood up. I figured that they must have been talking about the shooter and that he was probably done doing what he came to do. You could hear the word spread back into the bar in waves, and people started rushing to the back and out the front to get away. At that point I stepped out the doorway and saw the victim. I had nodded to him on the way in. He seemed like a confident and proud kind of person. He was maybe a bit younger then me, wearing long shorts, an over sized t-shirt and high tops. But now he was no longer proud and confident. He was laying in the gutter with one leg up on the side walk and the other leg oddly flat and kind of twisted along the curb. He was already white as a sheet and his chest was already drenched in blood. but he was alive. his friends were all around him trying to raise his legs and get him flat on the street.

I can't really convey how disturbing it was to watch this man slowly expire. His friends were clueless as to what to do and they were somewhat drunk themselves and within a minute, two of them got into a fight, right over there dying friend. there was a lot of yelling and screaming and several girls just standing there crying. And this poor guy, clearly unable to talk, but very aware of his situation. he was looking all around, and up at the sky and then at his friends and then back up at the sky again. Maybe he knew he was seeing things for the last time, maybe he was in shock and just trying to figure out what was happening. I will never know what was going on in his head. Just what was happening in mine.

First off, it was my street we were on. I just moved there. I spent the last year whining about how gentrified NYC has gotten and longing for the good old days of chaos and crime. And now here I was, getting my wish. A man was just shot execution style about 12-15 feet from where I was just standing, and three blocks from where I live, on the ground floor, with a glass front door. Not only that, I was getting to watch the inept response of the local EMS and Police first hand. A man was clearly dying, surrounded by people who couldn't help him, other then to press some bar towels on his blown out chest.

Since it was just an hour or two after the huge festival, of course there were about 10 squad cars and 30 cops within a minute on the scene. But they just walked around with their hands on their guns and the other hand waving flashlights at people and at the victim and his friends. Not a single one of them got near the victim or offered any advice to his friends about what to do. They were talking on their shoulder walkie talkies and i am sure that several people had called the ambulance and so had these cops.
But time just kept passing. The was moving less and the pool of blood under him was getting bigger and bigger. The cops were still walking around and one or two of them were stretching out the crime scene tape and others were asking people questions in the crowd. To me it seemed like everything was backwards. The ambulance should be the first thing, then the questions can be asked. Had they moved faster to save the victim, they might have had the best eye witness. but his life didn't seem to be paramount. which made me also shudder to think what would happen had it been me in the line of fire and not this guy. Mind you, this was a block from Julia Roberts and Angelika Houston's homes. So we aren't talking about straight ghetto. We are talking about where ghetto and gentrification are fighting over a neighborhood that obvioulsy was recently ruled by ghetto. So, there are gangsters on my block, as well as multi million dollar lofts. Ambulances shouldn't be so slow to respond here.
More time passes. I looked again at him, and knew he was not there anymore. One of his friends had his hand over they guy's mouth trying to feel for a breath. I saw him pull his hand away and shake his head. That was it. The guy's life was over. His last moments spent in the gutter at Abbot Kinney Boulevard, surrounded by wine bar patrons and his close friends. The shooter had apparently ran in the direction of MY place, so when a cop asked me what i saw and i told him that i hadn't seen the shooter he said i should go home. i looked at him and said i live in the direction that the shooter ran in and i am fine waiting here a bit longer to give them the chance to follow up on that. he nodded, the logic was pretty much self explanatory.

I waited a few more minutes, until i couldn't stand watching this shocking failure of basic humanity, coupled with the failure of basic medical services that so quickly and ruthlessly shoved the book end into this victim's existence. i didn't care if he was in a gang, i didn't care if it was revenge for something else, all i cared about was the failure at all levels to live and let live, and to save a life that is so sacred to all of us as individuals, yet so worthless as a whole.

I got on my cruiser and started riding in the direction of a killer. To add yet another level of dread to the night, the ghetto bird (police helicopter) that was hovering over the area locked it's spotlight on me and followed me for a whole block. it was like straight out of Menace to Society. I live in the REALNESS.

That night i locked all my windows and doors. The sound of the helicopters hovering went on until the morning.

here's a local report about it and some posts from witnesses.
and another, with a police briefing included

The victim was a father of two.