Chapter 2 of Nancy Drew Gina Grace and the Missing Green Road Bike

continued from yesterday's adventure...

When we left off, I had just received no help at all from either the police or my insurance company in providing me back up as I attempted to recover my stolen bike from the thief.

A few hours into the afternoon, I got a call from the seller. I was hoping that he could hear me trembling with fear over the phone line. We figured out that he was coming from Maryland, and that he would be willing to come into DC that evening to show me the bike. At one point, I very nearly forgot that I wasn’t ACTUALLY interested in buying this bike and almost gave him my address, as he was seeming to be a nice enough guy. But my better senses kicked in just in time, and I told him to meet me at an elementary school off of Rhode Island Avenue, around 6:45 or 7PM.

Because my strong and fearless husband was now out of town for the next three days, I called on the support of my friends to serve as beefy back up. “Woody” and “Putty” were my back up guys, and they agreed to meet me at my house at 6:30 PM so we could stake out the meeting place in advance and develop a strategy.

I still had hope that I might be able to get some sort of help from the police, so instead of taking my usual route when walking Daphne that evening, I walked her to the metro station where there seems to permanently be at least on police officer on duty, surveying the scene. Always the ambassador of good will, Daphne helped me to immediately build rapport with the officer there. He was originally from North Carolina, and clearly a dog person. I told him my situation and he was eager to help- though he couldn’t himself leave his existing post. He called for the support of any other officers in the area, and within 15 minutes, I had two new officers to which I had to explain the situation. All were skeptical. I was clearly the only one convinced that this bike for sale was, in fact, the bike that was stolen from me only two days earlier. Never mind the fact that there was already a copy of my bill of sale, (containing the serial number) on file at the station with my initial police report. I didn’t have it in my hand, so it was apparently a moot point. I went home to produce the paperwork, now only 5 minutes from my scheduled meeting time with the shady salesman.

By the time I handed over my paperwork, the officer was finally coming around to believing that this very likely could have been my bike, and I could see cop adrenaline starting to flow at the thought of capturing the bad guy.

I asked him to wait around the corner from the school, while Woody and Putty waited in their car, parked on the street in front of the school. I sat on the front steps of the elementary school. The landscape around me suddenly became a real-life Where’s Waldo scene, where instead of finding a guy in a red striped shirt, I was finding police cars. I was finding them everywhere, in parks, around corners, in parking lots, driving down adjacent streets. And they were all pointing at me. And I waited. And waited. And waited some more. It was now about 7:40, and I was starting to develop a plan of how I was going to get out of this without looking like a complete idiot in the event that he was a no-show. And then he called. He was a little lost and about 4 blocks away. He was going to park his car there since he found a spot, then ride the bike to the school.

So I kept waiting, trying to get into “character.” I was looking to buy a road bike from an online seller. I was willing to pay the asking price of $600. I was a girl, alone in a school yard, with 6 hypothetical $100 bills in my pocket. And he may have been planning to show up, steal my hypothetical money, then kill me. Before I could imagine what he was going to do with my body, and how horrifying and life-altering it would be for the poor child who discovered my half buried corps in the sand box while on recess, I had my cell phone at the ready and was calling Woody to come wait with me. I mean, he wouldn’t have time to kill us BOTH before the cops got there, right?

Shortly after Woody got out of the car to meet me, the Salesman arrived, wobbling down the sidewalk on my bike. Watching him try to ride it with my clipless peddles, served as some much needed comic relief.

I introduced myself, smiled and shook his hand. I tried to make “normal” small talk and asked him how old the bike was. He thought it was about two years old. Yeah… two years cause he bought it at a garage sale about two years ago. And he paid like, $850 for it at the time.

I refrained from telling him that he was sure lucky to have taken that much cash with him when he went garage-saleing that day.

I took the bike for a “test ride” around the corner, where in full view of the police officer, I turned the bike upside down and inspected the serial number. I gave him the thumbs up, and turned it back upright, and heading back toward him. Before I could turn the peddles twice, the guy was being surrounded by 4 officers. I think I heard a “You! Stay right there! You’re under arrest for…..”

There were zip ties, Miranda rights, questions for me with my answers hastily scribbled on note pads, just like in the movies. Photos taken of the bike in various positions etc.

Lots of smiles and cheers on one side of the street, and surely lots of anger, embarrassment and frustration on the other.

It’s still in pretty good shape, but has some new scratches and bruises. So I’d say its resale value went down. It was probably thrown in the back of a truck/van though, so I’m going to have it checked out to make sure the only damages are cosmetic. He also took off my bumble bee saddle bag, which was one of my favorite parts of the bike. Yes, I bought it off the clearance rack in the kid’s bike section of Target for about 2 dollars, but it had an emotional value…. And also contained a not so cheap bike multi tool and repair kit.

I have to give a nod of thanks to the police officers for having a lot of tact in the whole situation (after they started believing me of course) in that as soon as I got on the bike, I had no further interaction with the guy, and was not even close enough to make eye contact with him. This was a good thing, as if I were close enough I probably would have told him I was really sorry for getting him in so much trouble, and that I was sure he just really needed the money, and that I really just needed my bike back. What the heck is wrong with me?? Still kind of wondering why I feel so bad for getting this guy in trouble. Must be some sort of modified Stockholm Syndrome. But I’m getting over it, and I’m happy to have my bike back. But most of all, I’m happy that I got something back! After having quite a theft prone year, it’s nice to know that the bad guys don’t always win in the end. And I’m glad I tipped off the police about this little thing called the internet, where people can anonymously sell things that may or may not be theirs to sell.

But the best part of the whole ordeal (besides getting my bike back) was toward the end when head police officer guy looked over at me and said, (and I’m not even paraphrasing): “Ma'am" that was some excellent detective work.”

Case closed.