Thief makes “biggest mistake of his life” after breaking into Sunset Beach compound of notorious North Shore strongman and stealing son’s electric dirtbike, “I like when they steal! Because when I catch um I break all their fingers with a bat!”

“The guy that that stole this is #dead”

As exhilarating and as lucrative as stealing might be, there’s always the chance y’gonna rip off the wrong person, as one bandit patrolling the North Shore discovered recently.

Six days ago, Koa Rothman, the twenty-eight-year-old son of North Shore strongman and co-founder of Da Hui Eddie Rothman, woke to find his electric dirt bike had been taken from the backyard of his family’s Sunset Beach compound.

 

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Response was uniform,

“Someone is fuxked.”

“Damn someone stole the wrong bike from the wrong family this time.”

“Damn I pity the dude that stole it. #rip”

“The guy that that stole this is #dead”

“I like when they steal! Because when I catch um! I break all their fingers with a bat! & then escort um to there house! Das how we do in waimanalo! *ucking cracks!”

Now, if y’been in that joint, a spectacular place near Backyards with a fine use of decorative woods, you know you don’t wanna be in there uninvited, let’s say.

Daddy Ed, big brother Makua, little bro Koa, maybe a dog or two, they ain’t partial to surprise visits.

Let’s detour briefly into Welcome to Paradise, Now Go to Hell, Charlie Smith’s best-seller, to examine the bona fides of Fast Eddie.

Theoretically Eddie Rothman is nothing to fear. Sixty-three years old and five foot seven, if generous, five foot six if honest, he could be a grandpa or a retiree. But he is not. He is roping muscle. His arms, usually bare, are perpetually flexed. His chest, puffed like a gorilla, vibrates aggression. His expression rarely changes. It is stone and his features are stone too. A pug nose broken more than once. A jaw that would be impossible to break even with a lead baton. He shaves his grey hair down to a fine stubble and the braided rattail that he once sported is gone. The neck that holds that head up is as thick as a tree. His eyes, when not covered behind wraparound sunglasses, are dull and probing at the same time. He looks through you, very slowly. He looks into you. The reality of Eddie Rothman lives up to the whispers. He is no ordinary little man from Nebraska, like the Wizard of Oz, hiding behind a disembodied, booming voice. He is a flesh-and-blood reckoning.