you remember when andrew cunannon shot gianni versace in miami beach and all of florida's finest, including those in key west, were put on high alert. tsnake and i were down at my house getting ready to go fishing just after that and one evening i went out to buy some liquor. a little while later tsnake heard the door bell ring and, figuring i had forgotten my key, went out to let me in. while i'd been gone we'd had a hell of a thunderstorm - one of those typical tropical maelstroms - and the trees were dripping. when he opened the door he was greeted by the large and lethal muzzle of a glock .45.
on the other end of the automatic was an enormous and very nervous cop.
"hands up!" [they already were.] "turn around!" "hey," said tom. "point that thing somewhere else."
suddenly the cop's radio squawked. he raised it to his ear, muttered something back, holstered his pistol and left.
when i returned some minutes later i was greeted by a still shaking - and very pale - tsnake. all we could figure was that the storm had set off someone's alarm - not mine - and the cop had gone to the wrong address. we both had a stiff drink.
it was, after all, key west.
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