The Mob

I think I live across the street from the Slavic mob.

Rastislav was a nice guy, but always seemed a bit out of place in my sleepy, family-oriented, suburban neighborhood.

Anybody his age living in my neighborhood was usually a young ladder climber busting a hump on the fast track day and night to support his wife and toddlers. This guy and his girlfriend were serious party people who drove fast cars and didn't seem to work. I would picture them being more comfortable in one of those youth-oriented condo communities or in some of the lofts downtown.

The first day he moved in and walked across the street to shake my hand, I detected a slight accent, typical of someone who was born abroad, but had grown up mostly in the states. Turns out he was from a small, Slavic country. Anyhow, he struck me as a finance guy for some reason - may be it was the slicked back hair and smart glasses, but I never asked him what he did. But then it became apparent that he really "didn't work a lot," so I wasn't going to ask.

These people came and went at all hours, and there were numerous visitors to their home at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes they came and went quickly. Other times the visitors stayed a few days. Then there were the cars. All kinds of luxury cars - mostly BMW, Mercedes and LEXUS - were pulling up in front of the house. I first thought they were vehicles belonging to friends. Then I noticed they were all his - sort of. Every other week, we'd see a new Beemer or Mercedes out front with temp tags on it. We'd see the car for a few weeks parked out front or around the side and then it would be gone. Or so we thought. The vehicle would then reappear, being driven by a family member, or he would drive up in another luxury vehicle I had seen his parents or brother driving. With the level of activity at the house, the cars, and the late-night cell phone calls, I immediately thought "drugs, illegal transport, etc." Or, I thought, maybe he was a car dealer or somehow flipped cars and was trying to avoid state dealer laws by moving them around, who knew?

I overheard conversations about millions of dollars, and saw people arriving in beat up cars, staying a few days, then leaving with packages in one of his BMWs. One of my neighbors asked me if the girlfriend was a mail-order bride because she never left the house during the day, smoked all day on the porch, and sped away in a Beemer most nights, club music blaring from the car.

The police showed up one day asking me if I knew him and if he lived next door. The policeman walked around the back of the house, sat for the longest time waiting for someone to answer the door, drove around the block to look at the back of the house, etc. He said he was paying him a visit over some "parking tickets". Yeah, right.

Then there was the barbecue he hosted. I've never seen so many old, mobster types in one place in my life. Picture a backyard patio full of stern, Tony-Soprano-God-fatherish-looking old guys wearing gold chains, in their Bermuda shorts, smoking cigars.

"You spill my lemonade, Gumba?! Aawwww ,izz ok...Fo'git aboooowwwwwd it..."

He told me once that he was working a few temp jobs. Temp jobs do not afford one an expensive house, expensive cars, fancy Italian suits and shoes.

One night about 10 o'clock, I was out walking the dog. As I stood up from bending over to pick up the dog poo, I noticed a bunch of guys unloading stuff from an unmarked delivery truck into his house in the pitch dark, without a single light on in the house, the truck, the exterior, or anywhere. I had to walk past them to get back to my house. So, I walk by and said "hello." They all stop what they're doing, form a line standing shoulder to shoulder blocking the contents of the truck from view, and just stare at me, not saying a word.

I thought, "Oh sh*t, please don't shoot me out here. I don't want to be found wearing these raggedy, holey gym shorts I just threw on to walk the dog, and otherwise wouldn't be caught DEAD in ... literally!!"

For about six months now, the guy has been acting really funny, though. He'd cut off all his hair, had been even more incognito than usual, and the girlfriend hasn't been seen since winter. The number of new cars rolling through had increased and some were being parked down the street, around the corner, etc.

Suddenly, one weekend, his parents come to help him move out of the house. Why would a grown man need his parents to help him move with all the acquaintances who came and went? Unless he was on the run and didn't want anyone to know he was moving.

This is my guess, as the police are doing drive-bys daily and his mother went the extra mile to make it look like he still lived there by putting yard furniture on his porch and picking up his mail. Everybody and their brother is watching this house. And I thought I only saw this type of thing in New England....Hhhmmmmmm.