◆ SpookStack

“What are the odds of this happening on my driveway? If you made a dollar bet on it, you’d be a millionaire several times over.’ Cory Sukert, neighbor ——e television and quoted in the news- paper, they were questioned by the focal FB] and Metro-Dade detectives, then a group from the FBI in Washington. “People you haven't talked to fn years call you up and say, ‘Hey, I saw. you on TV. I'm getting mwarkn ralle at 1am fram ouve WA ELaAW Wiis HL Bh MTEL. AAG e472 telling me pot to say too much. Or the FBI says they're wackos,” said Stebbins, standing in his patio. He wore a 9mm handgun strapped to his hip. He starled weanng it around the house after the shoot- out - “It's just ne to unsettle you,” he sai But he ai erstands that there was nO special reason, no conspir- acy thet iss the cops and robbers to his b “Happenctance,” he said, reflecting the opinion of most of his nelghbors. “It could have happened anywhere, on the next block, or on 152nd Street, or west of the highway.” Constant reminder But it didn't, sald Ethel Knapp. “lt happened bere,” she aaid. “You can't go by that comer and not think of It.” Koapp and ber husband, Charles, Uve a block away from §2nd Avenue on [22nd Street, ina row of 30-year-old homes built on oneacre lots. A few of the houses are occupled by the original own- ers. Several are for sale. In the past few years, young families have been moving into the neigh- borhood. Residents say there hes been little crime. “To me, it's a real neighborhood, an old established neighborhood,” said Sue Cooper, who four months ago moved with her husband and two small children into a bouse one door down from the shootings. Like virtually all her neighbors, pou oa 6206 Avenue ané b22nd Street, Cooper said she has no intention of moving. “f'm tempted to say maybe we made the wrong decision, but that hasn't really crossed our minds,” said Cooper. “i don’t feel any less safe. It was a freak happening.” ‘Life goes on’ But it was a freak happening that failed to even faze some ee ———, residents. Dan Minkes, a gleepy- eyed UM law student, said he was awakened by the gunfire. Once he saw what was happening, he said, “i just got back into bed." He remained indifferent days after the event. “Nothing happens,” Minkes. “Life goes on.” The Knapps acknowledge that the shootings hit them especially hard. The killers, Witlam Matix and Michael Lee Platt, were their eners. “It's devastating,” Ethel Knapp said as she sat in her living room, darkened at midafterncon. “It's hard to believe things lke that exist. It's not only what they did. It's what could have happened. “We're living In a fort. We're living in a prison. This is my home. Thie (te aueru ute hhaewe ttte a ms it J eye yey 2 aIWLLLT. alo scary. What's next?” For Cory Sukert, all that re- malns Is to have the bullet holes in his car plugged. Sukert. 2), a UM senior, was Dome alone when the tars crashed on his lawn and the dulleta began flying through bis Hving room. He lay on the floor in the back of the house until It was over. “You see It, and you deal with ii,” be said last week. “Whai are the odds of this happening on my driveway? If you made a dollar bet on It, you'd be a millionaire several times over. It definitely shook me up this weekend. Now it's over.” Sukert jooked at the orange lines that investigators spray- painted on his drive. They would soon be erased, but Sukert doesn’t need any reminders. , “Tm pot used to seeing dead bodies Ip the street,” he said. said * eS ee ee oie