So this guy in Brooklyn comes upon a wild man blasting his estranged wife to death with a shotgun and the guy is scared and tries to flee. He knocks on the door of one of the neighbors, who lets him take refuge in her place, to save his life, right?
Not so fast.
Here's the exchange:
“We just heard shots, three shots. This man came to our home,” she said.
“He said, ‘Please open your door. Someone wants to kill me.’
He pushed too much. He’s too big.
“He said, ‘Please, someone wants to kill me.’
I said, ‘Let him kill you outside.’
And that’s it, I shut the door.”
New Yorkers are tough, right? Brooklynites are even tougher. They know from shootings. You never lift a finger for victims, you know what's good for youse. Otherwise you might turn into a victim, too, y'know whad-eye mean?
Reminds me of Kitty Genovese, over four decades ago, but a mainstay of NooYawk lore. Kitty Genovese is attacked on the street, raped, and stabbed to death, over the course of half an hour, one night. She screams bloody murder, calling for help from the neighbors. Queens. All around her windows slam and shades are drawn. She dies. Not one neighbor called the cops. They found her body in a doorway next morning. Big story of neighbors refusing to pick up the phone, or lift a finger, which might invite trouble. Police will ask questions. Maybe ask you to testify in court against some creep who might come back and haunt you.
Back in the 'Fifties, a guy named Arnold Stang blew the whistle on some mob guys. All over the newspapers. Arnold Stang was a media hero for two days. Then his body turned up, full of bullet holes. New York learned it doesn't pay to be a hero.
Look the other way.
Don't get involved.
Not my problem.
I'm busy.
Look out for yourself.
You shouldn't have gotten yourself into this jam.
It's your fault he wants to kill you.
He ain't gonna kill me.
Go outside and die, not on my doorstep.
You gotta think tough to survive in Brooklyn.
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The story, from the NYT, is below.