THE BIKE THIEF Chapter 3: The Return of the Bicycle
Hola Amigos. How’s your bacon shakin’? I know it's been a long time since I've rapped at ya, but I've been busier than a rooster in a henhouse.
6-8 weeks for a response. Ladies, NING demands friend status for private messing, so you’ll need it for marriage proposals and obtaining the mailing address where for to send those underpants.
Also, if somebody wanted to form one of those Pierogi dude style fan clubs in my honor, I wouldn’t object.
With the theft thwarted, the danger passed and the criminal long gone, the police quickly arrived on the scene en mass. I reiterated a perp description and they tore off in his last known direction-of-limping.
The focus now turned to the bike itself, which the remaining officer began to load into the trunk of her squad. “And that was the last anyone ever saw of the bike” I imagined our story ending. F/U to that. I hadn’t danced with a thug and discharged $30 worth of chemicals for some joker to score a good deal at the police auction. Or worse, for the spoils of my victory to hang in a cops garage >:-(
“You know…” I started without any end to my statement in mind. “Uh, that… there’s a bike shop nearby that sells this brand.” Yes, yes that would do! “I bet if we take it there they will know who it belongs to.” Not bad, eh?
The officer continued her slow struggle to remove the front wheel. “Oh, when they come to the station to file a report we’ll have it for them.” Ugh. I threw out half a dozen scenarios where her plan might breakdown, ranging from the victim going to a different station to them being an international
tourist.
“Well” she paused. “I suppose we could ring a few of these doorbells and see if anyone knows who’s bike this is.” Yes! This would buy me some time to cook up a new plan. *Whew*.
She rang the first buzzer on the 12 unit apartment building adjacent to the scene of the crime. To my astonishment, it proved to be the residence of the bicycles owner, who was at home and in the habit of answering for unexpected company. Of course, the owner would be right down.
Moments later, a saucer eyed, pouty lipped girl of 26 years emerged, clutching a small dog. My heart returned to my throat. We shall call her Delilah.
We filled Delilah in on the details and thus began the shower of praise and gratitude. I did my best to absorb all compliments and assume an “aw shucks” I’m-just-a-regular-ordinary-superhero-is-all posture. She even called me her angel, although I remain unconvinced that angels mace people... well, maybe the Old Testament ones.
But things took a nasty turn. “I mean, my boyfriend just bought me this bike!” Delilah innocently exclaimed, dashing my romantic intentions even quicker she’d built them up. Crud: he’s either rich or madly in love with her; I can compete with neither.
Long story longer, the bike was a gift, replacing her last stolen ride. Having learned her lesson, she had invested in a proper lock, the pieces of which we now returned to her.
An over-sized SUV squad returned from the hunt with a suspect. The driver ceremoniously opened the back door to unveil his catch. A skinny, hand cuffed meth-head shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A bike thief, for sure, but not The Bike Thief. “Yo, I *told* you it wudn’t me!” he cried with humorous relief.
I reminded the officer the man we were looking for was 50 lbs heavier, of another race and COATED BRIGHT ORANGE.
Meanwhile, the bear repellent deployment learning curve continued unabated. Today’s lesson was how important it is to keep your capsicum covered hands away from your eyeballs. After 5 minutes, I had managed to rub the stuff into my eyes and was hurting. After 10 minutes, I was politely requesting the astringent I had earlier declined.
Delilah fetched a pack of baby wipes and a glass of water. They did nothing. “Thanks, that feels so much better” I weakly lied/smiled. I drank the water.
After much time it became evident that our wheezing, blinded, staggering villain had miraculously managed to elude the dragnet. By now all parties had exchanged contact information and we went our separate ways.
I resumed my rounds. At Barista Coffee House, I caught my puffy eyed reflection in the glass and considered calling it a day and riding on home.
Instead, I donned my sunglasses and carried on, ‘cause that’s just the
kind of badass I am.
An hour later I got the call. It seemed that a man matching our description had checked himself into the ER at St. Elizabeth’s, suffering from breathing difficulties. He was covered in orange
residue.
The patrolman was en route to investigate and would call back. He did, and asked again for a perp description, which matched. He then asked for a clothing description, which matched as well. Then he asked if the offender had been clean shaven. Puzzled, I replied that I thought he was, but could not be sure. “Well, this guy has significant stubble” he replied.
WTF?!
I gave my laymen,s assessment that, odds were 412,4578,457,236 to 1 this was our guy. Regardless, I could easily pick him out of a lineup, but this cop fed me with some bullshit about regulations prohibiting line ups (?!) Then he threw out the feelers. “Well, I guess getting maced is pretty bad punishment… right?”
Wrong. I told him I would come to the hospital, visit the lockup or climb to whatever mountain top necessary to ID the guy. I would show up to hearings and trials. I wanted this guy punished
(moreso) and his name on the public record, in case we happen to frequent the same florist. Again the cop would get back to me.
The third call was a charm. This time it was a cop from the 13th District stationhouse who demanded my presence in 20 minutes. I was there in 35, so I guess I owe them a free pizza. Soon Delilah showed up, even lovelier than I remembered. “The dicks… er, the detectives” the desk sergeant sheepishly corrected himself, would be with us momentarily.
The lead detective was serious, hard and fit, striking me as ex-military. I immediately recognized him as the arresting officer of the last guy I maced. “Small world, eh?” He bemoaned the both lack of detectives on property crimes and the increase of said crimes, but mostly the police work of
the officers involved with our case.
For starters, none of the officers originally involved had ever started an actual report. Nor did they inventory the bike, lock or grinder as evidence. The first officer on the scene had left before resolution, as her shift was over (no more overtime) and this had also complicated matters.
Luckily, the dick had managed to coax a confession from the Bike Thief, who first claimed he was randomly maced and then switched to mugged, before settling on the truth. Both theft
and assault charges were filed. Regardless, even with his lengthy rap sheet, we were advised he would be bonded out and possibly home in time for a late dinner.
Now, it was a matter for the courts.
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Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Ryan on
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Shit... does this mean there's a 4th chapter?
I think this would make a great childrens book... with some illustrations. Maybe a popup?
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Permalink Reply by mike w. on
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How about a scratch'n'sniff?
Ryan said:Shit... does this mean there's a 4th chapter?
I think this would make a great childrens book... with some illustrations. Maybe a popup?
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Permalink Reply by Tank-Ridin' Ryan on
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I want a scratch 'n' sniff book featuring the wonderful smell of pepper spray!
mike w. said:How about a scratch'n'sniff?
Ryan said:Shit... does this mean there's a 4th chapter?
I think this would make a great childrens book... with some illustrations. Maybe a popup?
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Permalink Reply by yaj 7.4 on
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I think there is going to be a 4th chapter and a prequel. Or maybe the story about the last guy you maced isn't a bicycle story too?
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Permalink Reply by Juan 2-3 or more mi. on
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Yes agreed, A scratch'n'sniff pop up illustrated book.
Tank-Ridin' Ryan said:I want a scratch 'n' sniff book featuring the wonderful smell of pepper spray!
mike w. said:How about a scratch'n'sniff?
Ryan said:Shit... does this mean there's a 4th chapter?
I think this would make a great childrens book... with some illustrations. Maybe a popup?
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Permalink Reply by Glenn on
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I wouldn't have expected such efforts to come from a cop (kool beans I guess)... I WOULD love to see this as a scratch and sniff pop up book next time i got to Borders book store :)
good job
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Permalink Reply by Steven Vance on
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I'm really liking this story.
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Permalink Reply by Todd Allen on
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I got a demo of the last squirt from one of TC's cans of bear spray. I was 15 feet behind him when he sprayed it away from me. A few minutes later I got closer to view the orange residue on the target telephone pole and the ground. I never got within 10 feet and breathing became very difficult and I had to back away.
I suddenly had a burning desire to eat some chips & guacamole and wash it down with a large orchata, but settled for gasping and wheezing instead. However, I have asthma so I'm probably a bit more sensitive than most. Still I can't imagine taking a direct blast of the stuff.
Curiously, the spray can's ingredients listed something like 98.3% inert carrier, 1.7% capsicum.
Tank-Ridin' Ryan said:I want a scratch 'n' sniff book featuring the wonderful smell of pepper spray!
mike w. said:How about a scratch'n'sniff?
Ryan said:Shit... does this mean there's a 4th chapter?
I think this would make a great childrens book... with some illustrations. Maybe a popup?
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Permalink Reply by h' Zerocats on
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Anyone know if it works on squirrels?
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Permalink Reply by Doug Haynes on
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No idea but there is one in my yard I am willing to product test on.
H3N3 said:Anyone know if it works on squirrels?
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Permalink Reply by Zoetrope on
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I declare this story thoroughly entertaining! A great deed done, and sounds like it couldn't have gone much better, considering the circumstances. Big up yourself.
+ 2 for the Jim Anchower reference. "Hola Amigos. How’s your bacon shakin’? I know it's been a long time since I've rapped at ya, but I've been busier than a rooster in a henhouse."
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