But It Seems so Obvious
An article in the Wall Street Journal this week was about the dramatic downswing in serious crimes (murder, robbery, car theft, etc) in the US. They quoted ‘expert’ after ‘expert’ with ideas on just why this was happening. That included everything from murderers killing murderers to a lowering of alcohol consumption. There was one paragraph on the fact that in some cities laws are being enforced and people are being put in jail.
One thing not mentioned, or even hinted at, is the fact that we have over the past year removed hundreds of thousands of criminals, gang bangers, killers, rapists, child molesters from the streets and returned them to the country from which they entered the US illegally. Wouldn’t it seem logical that the crime rate would head down if the criminals were removed?
The crime rate has been going up during the period that our nation’s border has been a sieve and illegals can just walk in and begin to carry out whatever crimes they want. It has gone down, a lot, since the border has been closed and (dare I say it) ICE has been on the streets and picking up criminals and sending then out of the country.
These killers aren’t just from Latin America but also from Africa and the Middle East. They come from cultures different from ours. When you grow up in countries built on narco terrorism and then come to another country, you bring that culture with you. If you take those folks off the streets, the cops are freed up to go after local criminals and keep them at bay.
If you come from a culture where gangs, thievery, murder, and mass killings, like in many African countries, then you bring that culture with you. If you come from areas like the middle east where ‘Death to America’ is a common chant, you bring that culture with you.
If you stop those people from coming, and remove those that are here, crime rates plummet. Why is this so hard to understand? You would think the WSJ could at least mention it.
JVH
Paul Manning always wanted to be a cop. During the Korean War he was an MP. When he returned to Los Angeles he joined the LAPD. That’s when it began to spiral in. He and hispartner came upon a woman being raped. Paul tolerated a lot, but not violence aga inst women. Before his partner could stop him, he beat the perp within an inch of his life.
Unfortunately the rapist was the son of a LA city councilman and politics being what they are, Paul was fired. He went to work for the Bel Air Patrol, a private police force protecting the rich and famous. The experience gave him what he needed to become a private investigator.
He opened his office in Hollywood.
One of his first cases began with an early morning phone call from the night manager of an underground garage just up the street at Hollywood and Vine.
A ringing in the distance stirred me from a deep sleep. It took a moment before I could
determine whether it was the phone or the door. It was the phone. It was still ringing after I checked the time, 7AM, and I padded to the kitchen to silence it.
“Manning,” I muttered. I don’t do very well before my second cup of coffee.
“Paul Manning, the detective?” replied a silky soft voice. I was just too nice a voice for 7 AM. But then, who am I to artuce with a voice like that, at any time?
“Yeah,” I answered. It wasn’t difficult affecting my surly “who the hell are you “ attitude after the amount of alcohol I had consumed the night before.
“This is Betty Beeson. I work for AB Parking in Hollywood. I’m in a lot of trouble and need your help.” Her voice began to quaver, and I knew at any moment she would start to sob. I can’t stand a dame that cries, particularly one I haven’t met. I decided to be a bit nicer. That usually isn’t difficult with me with beautiful women, but who knew.?
It spilled out of her like champagne from a tipped crystal flute. “I’m the night manager at our garage on Hollywood and Vine. My shift ends at eight. I counted the money and it was short. I didn’t steal it, Mr. Manning, really I didn’t. But when my boss finds out, he’ll fire me. I need this job. I called my friend Shirley and she said to call you….
…It was 9:20 so I walked the two blocks from my office to the Argyle. The day was hot and the brim of my hat was getting damp. The parking entrance was on Vine. I walked down the ramp and asked the kid in the booth to point out the parking office. The garage was cool and it felt good to take off the hat. As I neared the office, I heard a scream…
Read three ‘Death by Parking’ stories, The Laundry, The Phantom, and The Rendezvous in Book One. Book 2, The Lieutenant will be available soon.
Death by Parking
Paul Manning always wanted to be a cop. During the Korean War he was an MP. When he returned to Los Angeles he joined the LAPD. That’s when it began to spiral in. He and hispartner came upon a woman being raped. Paul tolerated a lot, but not violence aga inst women. Before his partner could stop him, he beat the perp within an inch of his life.
Unfortunately the rapist was the son of a LA city councilman and politics being what they are, Paul was fired. He went to work for the Bel Air Patrol, a private police force protecting the rich and famous. The experience gave him what he needed to become a private investigator.
He opened his office in Hollywood.
One of his first cases began with an early morning phone call from the night manager of an underground garage just up the street at Hollywood and Vine.
A ringing in the distance stirred me from a deep sleep. It took a moment before I could
determine whether it was the phone or the door. It was the phone. It was still ringing after I checked the time, 7AM, and I padded to the kitchen to silence it.
“Manning,” I muttered. I don’t do very well before my second cup of coffee.
“Paul Manning, the detective?” replied a silky soft voice. I was just too nice a voice for 7 AM. But then, who am I to artuce with a voice like that, at any time?
“Yeah,” I answered. It wasn’t difficult affecting my surly “who the hell are you “ attitude after the amount of alcohol I had consumed the night before.
“This is Betty Beeson. I work for AB Parking in Hollywood. I’m in a lot of trouble and need your help.” Her voice began to quaver, and I knew at any moment she would start to sob. I can’t stand a dame that cries, particularly one I haven’t met. I decided to be a bit nicer. That usually isn’t difficult with me with beautiful women, but who knew.?
It spilled out of her like champagne from a tipped crystal flute. “I’m the night manager at our garage on Hollywood and Vine. My shift ends at eight. I counted the money and it was short. I didn’t steal it, Mr. Manning, really I didn’t. But when my boss finds out, he’ll fire me. I need this job. I called my friend Shirley and she said to call you….
…It was 9:20 so I walked the two blocks from my office to the Argyle. The day was hot and the brim of my hat was getting damp. The parking entrance was on Vine. I walked down the ramp and asked the kid in the booth to point out the parking office. The garage was cool and it felt good to take off the hat. As I neared the office, I heard a scream…
Read three ‘Death by Parking’ stories, The Laundry, The Phantom, and The Rendezvous in Book One. Book 2, The Lieutenant will be available soon.