Within one block of our apartment in Prospect Heights are three laundries. Being creatures of habit we stick to the same laundry regardless of whether clothes go missing or emerge charged with static electricity.
But it’s not just habit. We really like the Chinese couple who work at the laundry. They don’t speak much English other than to say “Hello, how are you?” “Okay, seven o’clock?” and “How your wife?” They arrived in New York around three years ago, about the same time as me.
The other week at about 6pm I saw a small crowd gathered outside the laundry. Inside, about eight or nine police officers crowded into the tight space. Some were wearing protective masks as they sprayed for fingerprints. The laundry had been robbed at gunpoint at about 6pm on Flatbush Avenue, one of the busiest roads in Brooklyn.
A couple of days later Sofie and I popped in with a box of chocolates. Apparently the husband had been in Chinatown leaving his wife alone in the laundry. A man came into the store with a gun. He took money. And to make sure the man’s wife couldn’t call the police he ripped the phone out of the wall and stole the couple’s cell phone.
When we took our washing in the other day—about ten days after the robbery—the man’s wife wasn’t there. “Very scared,” said the man, shaking his head. I don’t think she will be back again.
No Tags
