You're dead

Someone decided to take a shortcut through Rock's apartment, which was easy since Rock left the kitchen door unlocked. He watched from the parking lot as the overweight man walked right through.
The solution was simple enough; Rock walked in and to the back door in the kitchen and engaged both its doorknob and bolt locks. He then returned to the living room and locked the front door, but as he stepped away, he saw through his front window a handful of Latino men and boys approach the door and knock.
Rock considered ignoring them, but he figured they had seen him through the window, so he unlocked the door. "What can I do for you?" he said.
"We hoped you would let us walk through your apartment." The man who spoke was the oldest of the group, perhaps thirty years old, Rock estimated.
"I hate to tell you, but I don't think that's a good idea," Rock said. "I hope you understand, but I just don't think it's a good idea to let people use my apartment as a shortcut."
Just then, a teenage boy appeared from behind Rock. He held a handful of small black plastic electronic equipment of some sort and was smiling.
"Look what I've already stolen," he said.
"Wait a minute," Rock said. "What's going on?"
The thirty-year-old smiled. "We're robbing you."
The group forced its way past Rock, and their leader shoved him against a wall. "You're dead," he said. "There's nothing you can do."