"For Whom the Whistle Blows" - the Continuing Saga of an "On Going" Phony Drug Bust

Yeah, this is the story of a "never-ending" drug bust that has been unraveling over the last six months. The dramatis-personae in this farce:

1. A crusading elderly lady and her ever-vigilant behemoth canine pal. Both have their periscopes riveted on the family living in front of them on the opposite side of the street.

2. The family who are the cynosure of their attention, whom they suspect of drug peddling.

3. The cops who know the street number of the suspect house but develop amnesia for those numbers as soon as they turn into that particular street.

Also, their arrival at the scene is always heralded by a mysterious piercing loud whistle. Who blows that lone whistle in the dead of the night for whom is still the talk of the village.

4. The other innocent residents of the village who are fed up with the antics of all the above three because cops show an uncanny knack at knocking at their doors instead of the suspect's house each time a raid is done.

The elderly lady has no intention of stopping her crusade, either. She keeps on harassing the law enforcers to put the allegedly drug peddling family behind bars.

Her advantage: The alleged drug peddlers are not willing to believe that she is the one who is making complaints against them. The suspects believe somebody else in the neighborhood is informing the police.

As for the family, they are blessed because the Good Lord mysteriously casts an amnesic and blinding spell on the cops as soon as they approach the block so that the house numbers appear hazy.

The cops, for some reason, don't want to bother the family.

The first time they had no choice because a father from another village filed a complaint with his district that his missing child is possibly inside the suspect's home, which proved to be right. That was the first time the other residents found out something was not right in their neighborhood.

Yet, since they were not being inconvenienced in any way by the suspect family, they decided to live with it.

But, now the problem: the elderly lady who is obsessively antagonistic against the family. She keeps on filing complaints.

And each time she bothers the cops, they come as a pack into the neighborhood after midnight and start their drama, of course, heralded by that piercing shrill whistle.

They ignore the suspect family, pick another home, bang at their doors and windows, flash torches into their homes, wake them up.

When the unsuspecting dwellers of that home wearily open the door, the cops ask," Is this house number 'XXX'?

The sleepy head of the family says in a shock,"No, sir."

The leading officer politely says, after all that drum beat,"Sorry, sir or madam."

Thus the show ends for that month.

The suspects' and the elderly complainant's homes are untouched.

Who makes that shrill whistling alert in the darkness may be open to question but all the residents are sure that it is a warning to alert the drug peddlers that the cops have arrived.

Nobody wants to complain to the higher-ups in the district because cops are usually overprotective and highly vindictive. So the citizens don't want to rouse up a hornet's nest, get arrested on trumped up charges or be forced to leave the village.

But the elderly lady and her canine friend have no intention of stopping their eternal vigil. She won't give up, comfortable in the fact that the family won't suspect her and that the cops won't stop her. She refuses to accept the fact that the cops don't want to take action against her antagonists, despite her allegation and evidence.

So, the villagers are now brazing themselves for that nightly whistle and raid that may happen next month.

Of course, the million-dollar question for the rest of the residents, in Ernest Hemingway fashion is:

"For whom the whistle blows, next?"

No, it hasn't blown for me yet.

If it does, I will let you know.