I Was Mugged Last Night By Two Boys With a Gun

Last night at 10 p.m., I was walking back home, first on Maryland Avenue and then, past 12th, on F Street, from the 7-11 on 8th Street. I had just bought a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie frozen yogurt — my wife's favorite. Both on my way there and on my way back, I did what I hadn't done in a long time and will never do again around here: I was reading a book while walking (Dan Brown's "Angels & Demons") and wasn't aware of a thing around me.

Two boys, maybe 15 years old, jumped out at me, from the alley that runs from F to E, and either pulled me by my jacket or just ordered me (I can't remember which) just inside the alley. For a second, the whole thing seemed unreal.

"Come here, come here," one of them said, talking fast.

There was a shorter one, wearing a ski mask covering his mouth and nose, and a taller one. One of them — the taller one, I think — was holding a silver-colored gun. I thought I might be shot. I remember thinking I didn't want to go in the alley with them.

"Empty your pockets," one of them said. I gave them my wallet. "How much do you have?" Just 20 bucks. They rifled through my wallet (and took my 20 but left a one-dollar bill, I saw later). I think it was always the shorter guy — the one whose face was covered and who wasn't holding the gun — who was talking. They asked what else I had. Nothing.

I was scared they would shoot me because I had seen them. (I'm pretty sure one of them didn't have a mask on, and I remember wishing that they'd been better disguised — as it turns out, they didn't need more masks: I couldn't remember what they were wearing and can't recall what their faces looked like anyway. All I was able to tell the police was I guessed they were about 150 pounds and medium complexioned.)

I said, "Please don't hurt me."

The shorter, younger one told his partner, "Come on, son," and they sprinted down the alley, toward E Street. I got out of the alley before I saw which way they turned on E. Still jittery, but relieved and grateful, I picked up my wallet, keys and book. (I forgot about the frozen yogurt and left it lying there until this morning.)

I got home a minute or two later — it was 10:03 p.m. — and called 911. I wrote down and told my wife, Tammi Cioffi, what happened. She said she didn't think she could live here anymore.

A police car arrived in maybe three minutes, and Officer C. Jackson Jr., of our PSA (511), took me around the neighborhood, past Lincoln Park, past Miner, past the Checkers, to look for the boys. He said he wanted to take me by all the spots where young kids hang out. I didn't see them. While we were driving, I heard another officer say on the police radio that he had just seen a white van speed off, heading north, near us, on Tennessee Avenue, but that he had lost it.

Just south of the Checkers, heading south on 14th Street, we passed a pair of boys, one of whom was wearing a mask. I said I couldn't say for sure, but that it probably wasn't them (one of them was too tall, and they looked much too relaxed.).

Officer Jackson called for backup anyway, and three other cars arrived almost immediately. An officer frisked the two boys and had them standing against a police car for 15 minutes (I'm not sure if they were handcuffed) while they checked that there were no warrants out for them. Then they put them in a spotlight shining from the car I was still in (so they wouldn't see me), and I said I didn't think either of them were the boys who threatened me. I felt bad that they got hassled by police essentially because they were black boys who happened to be walking near the area where two black boys committed a crime. Happens all the time, I'm told. Officer Jackson took me home, and he and a detective — Detective Metivier — took down a statement. They left at 11:05 p.m.

Why did those boys want my money badly enough to threaten my life? §