Frito Bandito Post Script

DSC_7332.jpgTodos Santos town has been atwitter about the crime spree of the armed tweaker, aka Frito Bandito. The locals are appalled, and very quick to point out that he is not a local. The local expats like to comfort themselves with the belief that this is completely out of the ordinary. Robbery? Normal. Armed Robbery? Never! One thing everyone agrees upon, we all hope they catch the thief.

Stories were flying at the gringo café, La Esquina, the following morning. One guy told the tale of his female friend. The bandito rode right up to the back porch and tried to crash through the door, when that failed, he got off, picked up a huge rock, and hurled it through the window. By this time, the woman had locked herself in the bathroom with her phone and was calling for help. Another fellow in the café related the story of riding his moto down the street on which I am now living, and hearing the distinctive “pop pop pop” of gunshots. He rode his moto off the road and dove into the bushes as a SUV (?) roared by followed by the policia. The next rumor placed the bandito at the Pemex station in town, having the attendant gas him up at gunpoint.

The following day, my property manager regaled me with tales of her own. As a local, she absolutely denied he was from here, telling me he had stolen the quad in El Sargento, a good two hours away by transpeninsular highway, but he probably took the scenic route up and over the mountains. According to her, he rode up the beach, through a lagoon, crashed through the gate of a very upscale property she handles, and launched another huge rock through a huge plate-glass window. The owners were back in California, but the alarm went off and they were alerted by internet. The bandito skedaddled, empty-handed. Later in his spree, being chased by the policia, he shot out all four tires on the policia truck and headed for the hills, the Sierra de la Laguna, where the militaria and the marina are hunting him down.

Personally, I thought I had walked away unscathed, but since moving into my fenced sanctuary, surrounded by my fierce security detail, I’ve not left my home except for our morning walks on the hill and our evening sunset walks on the beach. I haven’t even been out after dark, except once. I underestimated just how quickly it gets dark once the sun drops behind the ocean. It was so dark that I couldn’t see the numbers on the lock to open my gate. I’m glad there was a place in the fence that I could crawl through.

Or am I?

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