Ron M's recent post of Lance Armstrong's stolen bike reminded me a happy ending to another stolen bike. I was working swing shift patrol in the West Charleston area in early 80's. As usual patrol practice looking for bad guys I sometimes drove through store parking lots, knowing they were a mecca for thieves and perverts. As I drove past the front doors of the Montgomery Wards at Oakey and Decatur, I saw a young boy crying and looking around. I made contact and between breaths and broken sentences, he told me that his brand new, chrome Stingray bike had been stolen. He hadn't locked it, "but I only went inside for a minute." I told him to get in my patrol car and we'd look for it. He was maybe ten years old. I advised dispatch and made it all official sounding which helped calm the kid. I had my doubts but wanted to give him some hope, and asked where he lived. I figured I'd just drive him home and take a stolen bike report there, with his parents. Hopefully, they'd have the serial number. (but most victims didn't) I told him to watch for it as we drove up and down a few streets as we headed to his house, and let me know if he saw it. (Again, for the kid's benefit as I thought this was a lost cause.) As we were driving the kid sat straight up in the seat and shouted, "There it is!" pointing to an older kid pedaling down the street, maybe a block away. He was riding on the wrong side of the street in a housing neighborhood and going the same direction as us. He hadn't seen us yet. I had to think fast. Quickly, I played out a plan in my head: I thought my best chance of getting him was if I'd drive up next to him and reach out and grab the kid's arm, thus recovering the stolen bike and suspect without a foot pursuit I may not win. (He was in tennis shoes and much younger.) What could go wrong? With my window rolled down, I leaned over and almost out of the car as I carefully steered the car as close as I thought I safely could without running over the bike. As we got next to him, he looked over and with big eyes saw me. My left hand put a death grip on his right wrist and I slowed the car. "Gotcha! You're under arrest." (or words to this effect) I needed to make it clear, I wasn't going to let him go, and I needed to communicate my legal authority to grab and detain him. (even though he knew exactly why). As soon as I had the car stopped, he dropped the bike, straddled it with both legs, as I held on to him. I had to figure out how to get out of the car without letting go so I can put him in handcuffs. I didn't want to release him and risk his running away. I put the car in park, put my left foot on the pavement, reached over the door with my right hand grabbing his right arm, let go of my left, stepped out of the car, and then twisted his right arm behind his back, giving him verbal orders to put both hands behind his back. (didn't know I could multi-task, huh?) As I got out of the car, I realized he was as big as me, if not bigger, just young and stupid. I put the cuffs on without much concern for his pain, more for my safety. I turned him around to pat him down for weapons ~ normal course of action ~ and saw a large wet spot in the front of his jeans. Yup, I scared him that bad. (it happened several times in my career - to the perp, not me) Later I found other paraphernalia and stolen items in his wet pockets at juvenile home which added to his charges, but that's another story. He was a really bad kid and almost an adult. To make a long story short, my little victim drove his bike home, I followed, took a very fast grand larceny report for the stolen bike - details "See arrest report-bike recovered." and headed off to Juvenile Home where I ended up with a larger investigation due to those items I found on him. He was a residential burglar. My arrest solved these and returned jewelry and money to two relieved homeowners who had left their home for the day, not using the dead bolt. He was a "door kicker," one of the most common means of entry into homes. That was a great shift! And they all lived happily ever after.
Please use those dead bolts and list serial #s of your valuables.
6 comments:
I'm sure that little kid will always remember how the policeman helped him get his bike back. Almost any kid would think that was the coolest thing, getting to ride in a police car and watching an older kid get arrested then getting your bike back. What a hero!
My Hero! I loved it when you'd tell me those happily ever after stories when you came home.
Nowadays....I am not sure we would want our kids to get in a cops car... We have heard about some "issues" with some not so credible cops....this was a great story from the 80's....would you pick up a kid today? I loved this story.
Loved the story,but I am still looking for the part where you beat the crap out of him. Do you ever wonder what happened to some of the people like the kid that was arrested, I always like to hear the stories about the really bad ones that somehow turn things around. Unfortunately that probably is very seldom the case.
RM. I didn't have to beat this guy, and I had to be cautious when dealing with mommy's little angels. The few bad guys/prior arrested suspects I kept up with, one was shot in a home burglary by the homeowner, two are space cadets (drugs) others I hadn't cared to keep tabs on.
"...saw a large wet spot in the front of his jeans..." "...wet pockets..."
hahaha! great story.
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