By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By Keegan Hamilton and Francisco Alvarado
By Jake Rossen
By Allie Conti
By Kyle Swenson
By Chris Joseph
By Michael E. Miller
Just before midnight, the Pollo Tropical is empty except for a couple of teenagers pointing toward the window and smirking. They've spotted a peculiar-looking 38-year-old who's crouching behind a bush outside in the darkness. He's clad in a Sesame Street T-shirt and a gold chain necklace, and his once-slicked-back hair is frazzled. He holds a Sony video camera the way a soldier grips a rifle.
A few minutes later, a cop car pulls up to the restaurant on North State Road 7 in Plantation. The officer asks him to produce a permit for "whatever the heck you're doing out here." The bush prowler shoots back that he's "on public property" and "not doing anything illegal." Blinking, the officer takes down his name and drives away.
As the cop leaves, the man adds rebelliously: "I'm with the Justice Junkies, and you'll be hearing a lot more from me!"
Meet Daniel "Diamond Dan" Kerness, a mouthy former TV news anchor with a disdain for authority and a voice that seems made to narrate furniture clearance sale commercials. Sure, he got fired for making a sex joke on live television, was booted from the Navy, and lacks a full-time job. But Dan dreams big. He fancies himself a "video vigilante" who is helping to rid South Florida of injustice. His concept: Confront wrongdoers on camera, air the footage, and shame them into fixing the problem. "In my head," he says, "this is already huge, man."
To Dan's credit, the idea has done some good in other places. A videographer in Oklahoma scares off hookers who have degraded his neighborhood. A crusader from Los Angeles confronts gang members. In New York, a musician turned activist named Jimmy Justice busts meter maids who bend the rules. (Jimmy tells New Times: "I'd love to see more copycats like Diamond Dan.")
So this past summer, Dan posted an ad in the South Florida section of Craigslist. "Victimized?!" he wrote. "Get the Justice Junkie's help for free!!" The ad continued: "Is someone trying to take advantage of you?! Are they succeeding, even though you've taken all the necessary steps to RIGHT this WRONG?! It can be... your employer, your neighbor, a company — anyone who's trying to pull a fast one."
Responses to the ad overwhelmed him. Within a few days, 12 people had called or emailed. Outside Pollo Tropical, for example, Dan was doing research for a pretty, young model who had been mugged in the dimly lit drive-through. Other victims include a mother whose home was taken over by squatters and an actor who claims the Marlins stiffed him on a commercial. Dan is one part citizen journalist, one part wannabe lawyer, and one part accidental therapist. As newsrooms shrink, he fills a niche for folks who feel there's no better place to go.
Consider the case of Aimee Matz, a waitress from Fort Lauderdale. She claims her business partner turned slacker roommate won't get off the couch and pay his share of the rent. It's not worth a lawsuit, she says, and broadcast news stations aren't interested. But embarrassing him into paying is an option. "He is a top-of-the-line douchebag, born with a silver spoon in his mouth," she explains. "I want Dan to ask him, 'Why don't you get your act together?' "
Other cases are weird, funny, and upsetting. Here are a few "victims" who have turned to Dan for help:
• Grace Teran snagged a job preparing food for animals at the Palm Beach Zoo. The conditions in the kitchen were repulsive, she says, with moldy storage boxes and rodent droppings. "A rat bit me on the leg," she swears. "Justice Junkies needs to expose this." (Zoo spokesperson Brian Crowley contends she's nuts.)
• When Eva Roycewicz arrived at her quiet Parkland home, the door was ajar. Inside, she says, four squatters had been living for months. She grabbed the arm of a woman with curly red hair and yelled "Get out of my house!," according to a police report. Because the home was in foreclosure, cops charged her with trespassing and battery. Still seething, she adds, "I want that redhead to apologize."
• Rich Rosenblum, a retired 64-year-old, worked as a commercial extra at Land Shark Stadium for $100. He and hundreds of others were instructed to cheer like Marlins fans and wave signs for 11 hours. The problem: He never got paid. (Marlins spokesperson Matt Roebuck did not return New Times' calls seeking comment.)
• Contractors for the City of Hollywood meant to replace a water pump but caused deep cracks in the wall of Mary Bianco's house. The four-bedroom home began to mold and sprout small mushrooms, and she developed asthma. Eventually, her family was forced to move out and get a lawyer — but the legal process is slow. She declares, "I want to let them know I'm not going away."
After receiving the emails, Dan spent hours choosing the most credible and dramatic stories. The plan: Post them on YouTube and eventually create a pilot series for truTV.
Although he works independently and without pay, Dan is no superhero. He's been busted for crimes that are more embarrassing than serious, has trouble playing by the rules, and can't keep his mouth shut around authority figures. Says coworker Riki Cheung: "His biggest obstacle is himself."