Well, for the second time in my life I've unintentionally (and under great protest) found myself in contact with the criminal element, this time by proxy, and had firearms stolen from me.
I figure three strikes and I'll be out.
This time, my girlfriend let a particular slimeball (I vaguely know who he is, and have two pictures of his face, phone number, &c.) into my apartment without my permission, and then left him unattended while she busied herself in the bathroom for a good 10-15 minutes. Said slimeball broke into my closet and stole two of my pistols - the ones that weren't locked - and then vanished.
Naturally I reported this to the local police and an officer came by to collect evidence and take a statement, which was fine. This particular officer (Knapp, his name was) was courteous and professional, took all the info I had (serial numbers, two pictures of this creep's face off of his Myspace, his Myspace address and phone number, and photos of the guns stolen) and everything with that went just fine.
So my phone rings while I'm on the highway to DE, taking my (very likely soon to be ex-) girlfriend to work. It's the police, they want us to come back for an interview with one of their detectives, which I promise to do as soon as I drop her off.
So I do.
And this guy, Detective Quinn, does not strike my fancy at all. We go to a little interrogation room and we exchange cards, then he gets down to business: Trying to paint me to be the Bad Guy. "What kind of gun is this," he asks me, poking my photograph of my stolen PX4 with his pen. I answer, and he asks me "How many does it hold?"
Uh. Seventeen, just like it says on the box. This next one gets my goat: "What are you doing with high capacity magazines?"
I hold my toungue. "They come with the gun, I don't have a choice."
"Did you buy this after the ban?"
"The PX4 didn't even appear on the US market until after the ban expired."
He then goes on to ask me about my other guns. One Storm carbine, an AR-15, two shotguns, and my Kel Tec. "Why do you have all these guns?"
"For self defense, targets, the usual."
Then he leans over and says, "You don't need these guns for target shooting."
I had to try really, really hard not to snap in his face at this point. Then he went on to say that by living in Coatesville and having the audacity to (legally) own guns I was a criminal and just "supplying the streets with weapons." He told me I don't "need" a carry permit, and that I didn't "need" any of my guns.
Frankly, I was a little miffed at this point. We'll see what develops from here.
I figure three strikes and I'll be out.
This time, my girlfriend let a particular slimeball (I vaguely know who he is, and have two pictures of his face, phone number, &c.) into my apartment without my permission, and then left him unattended while she busied herself in the bathroom for a good 10-15 minutes. Said slimeball broke into my closet and stole two of my pistols - the ones that weren't locked - and then vanished.
Naturally I reported this to the local police and an officer came by to collect evidence and take a statement, which was fine. This particular officer (Knapp, his name was) was courteous and professional, took all the info I had (serial numbers, two pictures of this creep's face off of his Myspace, his Myspace address and phone number, and photos of the guns stolen) and everything with that went just fine.
So my phone rings while I'm on the highway to DE, taking my (very likely soon to be ex-) girlfriend to work. It's the police, they want us to come back for an interview with one of their detectives, which I promise to do as soon as I drop her off.
So I do.
And this guy, Detective Quinn, does not strike my fancy at all. We go to a little interrogation room and we exchange cards, then he gets down to business: Trying to paint me to be the Bad Guy. "What kind of gun is this," he asks me, poking my photograph of my stolen PX4 with his pen. I answer, and he asks me "How many does it hold?"
Uh. Seventeen, just like it says on the box. This next one gets my goat: "What are you doing with high capacity magazines?"
I hold my toungue. "They come with the gun, I don't have a choice."
"Did you buy this after the ban?"
"The PX4 didn't even appear on the US market until after the ban expired."
He then goes on to ask me about my other guns. One Storm carbine, an AR-15, two shotguns, and my Kel Tec. "Why do you have all these guns?"
"For self defense, targets, the usual."
Then he leans over and says, "You don't need these guns for target shooting."
I had to try really, really hard not to snap in his face at this point. Then he went on to say that by living in Coatesville and having the audacity to (legally) own guns I was a criminal and just "supplying the streets with weapons." He told me I don't "need" a carry permit, and that I didn't "need" any of my guns.
Frankly, I was a little miffed at this point. We'll see what develops from here.