Fort Wayne DEA (Don‘t Enforce Anything?): Summer 1998

Here’s another fun game to play. Like the Where’s Waldo? pictures, your job is to look at this photo and find the drug house. I’m not giving out the address, but it’s there, in Aboite. Not exactly where most people would expect to find Fort Wayne’s Drug King living, I suppose.

If you live in or near one of these houses, you should contact the federal Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) and ask what actions (if any) they took when they were told that one of your neighbors was supplying drugs to one of Fort Wayne’s most notorious crack neighborhoods.
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I did several things in response to the drug supplier ordering his man to kill me. First, I applied for a gun permit. Second, I purchased a hand-gun. Third, I purchased a shotgun to carry around while I was waiting on my permit approval. Fourth, I located where the supplier lived. And fifth, I walked in, unannounced, to the Fort Wayne DEA office.

The first two actions would probably seem pretty reasonable to many people. Given that things were getting so serious here, and that the FWPD appeared to not give a damn, I really had no choice. The third might seem a little extreme, but I really had no idea what I was facing at the time. For about two weeks, I carried my shot gun everywhere I went. I had a cover for it, but it still must have been obvious to anyone who was watching. The only person who questioned me was one of Arlen’s grandsons, Eric. When he asked what was in the bag, I just told him it was a pool cue. Arlen had actually seen me with it a couple times and never questioned me, but he spends a lot of time in the woods, so I guess it just seemed normal to him to see aguy walking around with a shotgun.

The opportunity to find the drug supplier just presented itself. It never occurred to me to go to the source of the problem until one day I saw his van while driving around town. I decided to follow him and he ended up at a house in Aboite. During the next few weeks, I drove by the house several times and saw his van often enough to believe this was probably his home. I had a distinct advantage here. I doubt if he would even recognize me, but I had committed his address, his van, and his face to memory. When I got my gun permit, I considered knocking on his door and introducing myself.

I know it might seem that the sensible thing would be to talk to the police. But they had already told me to piss-off numerous times, so there really was no reason to believe this would be any different. I suspect a conversation with them would have gone like this:

Me: Some guy is threatening to kill me.
FWPD: Is he threatening you right now?
ME: No, he left already.
FWPD: Well, there’s nothing we can do at this time, but make sure and call us the next time that he threatens to kill you.

As I vexed over what to do, I remembered reading a story in the paper about the two DEA agents who were stationed here in Fort Wayne. I couldn’t find any local listing for the DEA office, so I went to the Federal Building downtown. I just walked up to the guard at the front door, said I needed to speak with somebody from the DEA, and asked for directions. I didn’t even know if they were in that building, it just seemed like a reasonable place to start. The old guy looked me over for a minute, then gave me directions to the DEA office in the basement. That was easy, I guess maybe I looked like a cop - or perhaps a drug informant.

I’m sure my memory has exaggerated things a bit, but I swear I felt like Maxwell Smart as I walked the seemingly long path down the stairs and hallway. Then I came to the door. It had no window, and I’m pretty sure it was steel. I knocked and a small steel plate slid open to reveal nothing more than a pair of eyes. “Yeah?” the eyes asked. I stated my name and my address. I said I had information about the drug activities in my neighborhood and I’d like to speak with someone.

In retrospect, I’m actually surprised that they opened the door and let me in. Here were two men tucked away in a basement, hidden behind a windowless steel door. They were probably curious just who the hell I was and how I found them. I don’t know this for sure, but it’s very likely that their identity is not publicly revealed. Wouldn’t that be a great way for a drug dealer to I.D. them - walk in and act like a concerned citizen. Maybe it was a sign of their trepidation that only one of the agents sat with me at a round table in the middle of the room, while the other paced about behind us.

I told them my story. I talked first about the heavy drug activity and got an acknowledgement from Agent Colby that my neighborhood was at least on their radar. I then told them about the latest development. I gave a description of the supplier and his van, along with the address where I had seen it parked. Agent Colby began quoting some statistics about how heavy the drug activity here in Fort Wayne is. The insinuation seemed to be that this really was no big deal. I reiterated to Agent Colby “This man is threatening to kill people, maybe me. Are you going to do something about this?”

Agent Colby told me that they were currently busy with a lot of projects, and that I should probably take this information to FWPD. I was flabbergasted. Here I was giving the DEA the address of the supplier to one of Fort Wayne’s most notorious drug neighborhoods, and they were telling me to talk to the local cops. I would have thought it would work in the opposite direction. Of course, this brought me back to the other problem, which was FWPD’s apparent lack of concern for the matter. After I explained my problems with FWPD, Agent Colby said he’d look into it, but added that I should contact FWPD if the problems persisted. In other words, he was telling me not to come back.

I never saw this drug supplier or his van in my neighborhood after I spoke with the DEA. I drove past his house occasionally and never again saw his van there. At first, I assumed that my information might have been enough to either get him arrested or caused enough discomfort that he decided to change locations. But although I could have missed it, I never heard a news story about any drug arrests that seemed to match this guy.

There is another possibility. I know that FWPD sometimes sends plain clothed undercover officers over here. I have seen one that I know for sure was a cop, and several others that I strongly suspected. What if this “supplier” was either a cop or a C.I. (confidential informant). He was here on a regular basis before I talked to the DEA, then suddenly disappeared right after that. It seems unlikely this was a coincidence. I can imagine the conversation when the “supplier” got called into his boss’s office. “Hey dumb ass, we’re going to have to find a new gig for you because you’re scaring the shit out of the civilians.”

On the good side, at least I had met both the DEA agents, so I knew the supplier wasn’t one of them. I’m not sure exactly what I would have done if that steel door opened to reveal the guy who ordered a drug dealer to kill me, but I probably would have ended up in jail over it - or worse.