We were sitting in the car in an alley off Gilmore Street. The car"s engine was running quietly, and we had the heater turned to pre-meltdown as we sat in the darkness. We were waiting for our two jewelry heist men to make an appearance. Our eyewitness tagged one of the men. His name was Charles L. Whitworth, and he had a rap sheet as long as my right leg. Most of his old offenses were felonies dealing with burglary or theft. Several of them indicated he liked to play rough. There were three charges of attempted murder. But it appeared with all three charges he had good lawyers who come to bat for him. It did not take long to get him back on the streets.
So, we were sitting in the car, in the shadows, waiting for Whitworth to show up. It was, the last time I looked at my watch, well past
