How I Offended a Criminal Street Boss and Lived to Tell the Tale
by Anonymous Child
It all started when I befriended a homeless woman at my gym in Southern California. When our paths crossed during a workout, Sharon and I would share small talk. I came to find that she was anti-vaxx, pro-Trump, and a good conversationalist. Sharon lived out of her gleaming, late-model SUV and worked the breakfast shift at a hotel across town which bustled with tourists year-round. She’d spent time in the military and limped slightly, just like me. She slept in a secret and safe place with other homeless drivers for four years, and showered at my gym daily. I liked her enough, after a few months of conversing, to ask her to dinner, figuring a home-cooked meal might be welcome respite for a homeless person.
But before that dinner could take place, I happened to mention in passing that I thought a certain man at the gym was an idiot, as he was always interrupting my workout with inane conversation. I don’t usually have problems with men. I like them and enjoy their company. But this guy seemed to be there round the clock, no matter what time I went, he was there being a pest. Once I caught him sneaking up on me, reaching for my car keys set on top of the machine I was working out on. I complained about his intrusive behavior to the manager, and also complained to Sharon, having no idea of her association with him. They never exchanged words or even glances at the gym.
Soon after I shared my “idiot” opinion with Sharon, a series of flat tires led me to believe they weren’t accidents. Somebody was sabotaging my tires, and it was happening at the gym. When I switched gyms, I got it even worse, like I was getting a message that said Don’t even try to get away from me. At the same time, Sharon stopped talking to me, and that’s when I put together who was screwing up my tires…the gym pest. And it was likely because Sharon had told him what I’d said.
The last straw was the day I went to the dog park to meet friends and a homeless couple showed up. They had a dog, so we figured they had a reason to be there. My car was clearly visible from where we were playing with the dogs, but one friend’s car was not. When we left the park, he too, had a flat tire. On the drive back home, at 8am on a Sunday morning, a car blew out of the gym parking lot and almost rammed my car. Guess who? Yes, my stalker. Making it plain that he was involved with that flat tire at the dog park.
At this point, my spidey sense told me I wasn’t dealing with a garden-variety pest. What was this guy doing at the gym every day around the clock? He was chatty, targeting men who seemed lonely and happy for inane “buddy chat.” When he wasn’t in the gym, he sat outside in his car, watching the street. My mechanic told me the pest’s car passed his shop a dozen times a day—so often that it was noticeable. The pest was actually a tall, handsome, mature and well-dressed man. He was clean, with an expensive haircut. He looked Italian and had a soft, New York accent. He looked like a retired boomer.
At the same time, he began stalking me at the gym. He would walk past my eyeline a dozen times in a half hour, following me from machine to machine and getting on any machine in front of me so that I had to watch the back of his head.
Although the stalker drove a gleaming, late-model car, I began noticing beater cars following me as I drove doing errands. I put together that the pest was some kind of lowlife crime boss, with homeless people in his “employ.” They were watching me, stalking me, reporting on my whereabouts. I began parking in my back yard overnight, and locking the gate with an expensive, “unpickable” lock. Cameras were installed from every angle of the house, including watching the street.
One day, my roommate heard a crash outside. I ran out to see that someone had smashed a bottle at the end of our driveway. If I had driven over it, my tires would have been sliced. We got footage from the cameras on the front of the house. A homeless person was seen smashing the bottle. I installed 360 degree cameras in my car, front and back.
This was getting expensive, and although I didn’t think I was going to be physically injured (surely it would have happened before this) the problem wasn’t going away. I hired a top stalking expert to tackle the problem. I provided pictures of my stalker as well as his license plate number. My expert soon discovered that my stalker was a seasoned criminal with multiple assault charges across states, who had done ten years hard time in a Texas prison for aggravated rape of a ten-year-old girl. Our conjecture was that this was an old organized-crime member, retired out, who moved to be close to friends in California, and was plying a low-level side hustle out of my gym which served as his “office.”
He started showing up when I was at the laundromat, never speaking to me, just wandering through so I could see him. As a seasoned criminal. he knew the law. He knew exactly how far he could go without getting charged for anything. And he knew cameras, public and private. He sent homeless people to hurt my car, never getting his own hands dirty. He had shown me early-on that there was no escaping him. So I didn’t try. I went on with my life, always looking over my shoulder. I changed laundromats and drives miles out of my way at alternate hours to wash clothes.
This went on for eight months until my expert proved to gym management that someone listed their parking lot as an address, as well as pestering members. And when I say “gym management” I mean the CEO of the organization and its Board. He went straight to the top. The local gym was helpless to do anything, and told me so multiple times. Thankfully, other people complained about this guy locally, and the CEO knew it could blow into a PR problem. So, the gym had motive to ban my stalker.
We never could get him on any charges, even though he was likely breaking the law every day. He’s still out on the streets, in fact I saw the back of him just a week ago. Without professional help, God only knows what would have happened to me. The police were unable to help with anything because I had no proof that connected him to any of the sabotage. It’s still going on, and like many stalking victims, I’ve learned to live with it. Your prayers are gratefully accepted.
