Blood on Albany’s Hands: Lenient Laws Fuel Gang Carnage in Huntington Station

Paul Riverbank, 1/23/2026After years of violence, Huntington Station’s gang arrests expose how criminals exploit lenient juvenile laws. As authorities celebrate breakthroughs, communities question whether reforms will finally disrupt the cycle that has cost so many young lives.

Law enforcement says they have finally drawn a line under the reign of the Lowndes Block Gang, whose influence seeped through Lowndes Avenue for much of the last decade. Not only shootings and drug deals, but far darker stains: forced teenage recruits, lives taken over petty grudges or protection rackets, and a community left to gather the pieces after each round of violence. The details in the indictment are dense and disturbing. Authorities allege Marques Scott, a figure who’d become notorious in Suffolk County, oversaw operations that left scars lasting years. This isn’t just another police press release—there are real people behind each statistic.

Take the case of Ramon Lyons. Barely out of childhood at 14, and yet prosecutors say Scott put a gun in his hands and directed him to kill. Luis Cameron Rimmer-Hernandez was 21, tangled in the wrong company, and when he wouldn’t cover for Scott after a drug arrest, Lyons was sent after him—a job, they say, Lyons did without hesitation. The cold exchange: a boy’s entry to the gang earned with blood, a family left without answers. New York’s Raise the Age law meant that even a murder conviction brought Lyons, a minor, no more than 15 years to life. “The gangs are always a step ahead,” County District Attorney Raymond Tierney fumed, directing pointed words toward legislators he thinks have lost sight of the ground-level cost of reform.

Scott’s charges stretch back to 2016: shootings at crowded parties, gunfire into homes, and personal vendettas that left at least two people dead. One victim, Antoine Butts-Miller, was just 18, with no connection to gang business, caught at an ill-fated house party. In another incident, Scott apparently suspected a former girlfriend had gotten too close to a rival—her survival, after a bullet shattered her jaw, reads more like luck than fate.

Years of work were poured into the investigation. Detectives trailed leads that sometimes dried up, spent months gathering intelligence inside jails, hung patient on the hope that cracks would show in the gang’s ranks. The current batch of indictments ties up a host of old threads: ten unsolved shootings and even an unresolved murder from almost a decade ago. But, as is often the case, the full damage goes deeper than the files can show.

On Huntington Station’s side streets, the stories aren’t recounted in courtroom language. Christine Rimmer, mourning her grandson, remembers him as joyful and “just in the wrong place, with the wrong crowd.” She struggles to wrap her head around children being “groomed to kill,” her voice barely above a whisper when she talks about what’s lost. For residents, every incident is woven into daily routine: avoiding certain blocks, glancing over their shoulders, reassessing what’s safe.

Suffolk’s new police commissioner, Kevin Catalina, doesn’t sugarcoat his department’s approach. “We’re after the ones that matter,” Catalina said, making it clear that shootouts and intimidation won't deter this campaign. And District Attorney Tierney is hardly alone in his frustration. Across state lines and even up into Canada, juvenile crime is flaring—just weeks ago, a 14-year-old north of Toronto landed in headlines after he allegedly threatened Jewish schools. York police chief Kim MacSween sounded angrier than solemn, reminding everyone that law and community alike need to do more to steer kids away from violence and hate.

Debates about legal reform and responsibility roll on at the state level. New York’s Raise the Age law was pitched as a compassionate step for wayward youth. But as District Attorney Tierney sees it, criminals like Scott have worked the loopholes against society’s best intentions—making the most vulnerable into weapons for their own ends.

After all, the formal statements and indictments only tell so much. In Huntington Station, the real test will be what comes after the headlines fade. Can authorities keep new recruits from taking up where the old guard left off? Are tighter laws and heightened vigilance enough to break the cycle? For now, Tierney’s message to families is unwavering: “We’ll keep working, no matter how long it takes. These cases will be chased down—answers found for every family.”

It’s small comfort, maybe, but it’s something—just as this week’s relief, shaky as it is, might mark a new starting place for a wounded community seeking peace. Each quiet dawn is a reminder that some losses linger, even when the danger has moved on.

Some neighborhoods seem stuck in a kind of twilight, caught between hope and dread—Huntington Station has known that feeling all too well. For a long stretch, the gunshots that snapped through the night were as much a part of life as schoolbells and church services. Nobody remembers when fear began to settle in as part of the landscape, but last week’s sweep of arrests—heralded as a moment of reckoning—means, at least for the moment, people are walking with just a bit less weight on their shoulders.Law enforcement says they have finally drawn a line under the reign of the Lowndes Block Gang, whose influence seeped through Lowndes Avenue for much of the last decade. Not only shootings and drug deals, but far darker stains: forced teenage recruits, lives taken over petty grudges or protection rackets, and a community left to gather the pieces after each round of violence. The details in the indictment are dense and disturbing. Authorities allege Marques Scott, a figure who’d become notorious in Suffolk County, oversaw operations that left scars lasting years. This isn’t just another police press release—there are real people behind each statistic.Take the case of Ramon Lyons. Barely out of childhood at 14, and yet prosecutors say Scott put a gun in his hands and directed him to kill. Luis Cameron Rimmer-Hernandez was 21, tangled in the wrong company, and when he wouldn’t cover for Scott after a drug arrest, Lyons was sent after him—a job, they say, Lyons did without hesitation. The cold exchange: a boy’s entry to the gang earned with blood, a family left without answers. New York’s Raise the Age law meant that even a murder conviction brought Lyons, a minor, no more than 15 years to life. “The gangs are always a step ahead,” County District Attorney Raymond Tierney fumed, directing pointed words toward legislators he thinks have lost sight of the ground-level cost of reform.Scott’s charges stretch back to 2016: shootings at crowded parties, gunfire into homes, and personal vendettas that left at least two people dead. One victim, Antoine Butts-Miller, was just 18, with no connection to gang business, caught at an ill-fated house party. In another incident, Scott apparently suspected a former girlfriend had gotten too close to a rival—her survival, after a bullet shattered her jaw, reads more like luck than fate.Years of work were poured into the investigation. Detectives trailed leads that sometimes dried up, spent months gathering intelligence inside jails, hung patient on the hope that cracks would show in the gang’s ranks. The current batch of indictments ties up a host of old threads: ten unsolved shootings and even an unresolved murder from almost a decade ago. But, as is often the case, the full damage goes deeper than the files can show.On Huntington Station’s side streets, the stories aren’t recounted in courtroom language. Christine Rimmer, mourning her grandson, remembers him as joyful and “just in the wrong place, with the wrong crowd.” She struggles to wrap her head around children being “groomed to kill,” her voice barely above a whisper when she talks about what’s lost. For residents, every incident is woven into daily routine: avoiding certain blocks, glancing over their shoulders, reassessing what’s safe.Suffolk’s new police commissioner, Kevin Catalina, doesn’t sugarcoat his department’s approach. “We’re after the ones that matter,” Catalina said, making it clear that shootouts and intimidation won't deter this campaign. And District Attorney Tierney is hardly alone in his frustration. Across state lines and even up into Canada, juvenile crime is flaring—just weeks ago, a 14-year-old north of Toronto landed in headlines after he allegedly threatened Jewish schools. York police chief Kim MacSween sounded angrier than solemn, reminding everyone that law and community alike need to do more to steer kids away from violence and hate.Debates about legal reform and responsibility roll on at the state level. New York’s Raise the Age law was pitched as a compassionate step for wayward youth. But as District Attorney Tierney sees it, criminals like Scott have worked the loopholes against society’s best intentions—making the most vulnerable into weapons for their own ends.After all, the formal statements and indictments only tell so much. In Huntington Station, the real test will be what comes after the headlines fade. Can authorities keep new recruits from taking up where the old guard left off? Are tighter laws and heightened vigilance enough to break the cycle? For now, Tierney’s message to families is unwavering: “We’ll keep working, no matter how long it takes. These cases will be chased down—answers found for every family.”It’s small comfort, maybe, but it’s something—just as this week’s relief, shaky as it is, might mark a new starting place for a wounded community seeking peace. Each quiet dawn is a reminder that some losses linger, even when the danger has moved on.