TOMS RIVER, N.J. -- On a narrow street coated with mud and strewn with debris, Pat Shields stood at a makeshift barrier of scrap metal and plywood, tattooed arms crossed over his burly chest. He turned away strangers meandering along the nearby water's edge.
This neighborhood, a few hundred yards from a bay opening into the Atlantic, was battered by surging water from Hurricane Sandy, which flowed into living rooms and floated cars and trucks down the street like toys.
But as the water receded, a new threat emerged: looters.
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