I am a Victim of Crime!
So the Courts letter tells me. It takes me a few minutes to remember why I’m a Victim of Crime. And a few more to determine that I don’t in fact require Victim Support Services. Although I appreciate the offer.
It all harks back to Christmas Eve when I went out around 9pm to lock up the garage. Silhouetted against the garage window, I saw a woman’s head and smelt ciggie smoke. Thinking it was my neighbour (albeit behaving oddly by having a smoke in my garage) I opened the garage door… to see a total stranger closing my car door!
“What the f*** do you think you’re doing!” I said, in quiet outrage.
The woman didn’t reply and walked out of the garage… only to turn around and come back again! Here we go, I thought, and readied my Deadly Right Cross… just in case.
However, it wasn’t needed as the woman was quite stoned, mellow and generally sluggish. How fortunate.
She said she was looking for some chick who owed her money, so I took her by the arm and gently walked her out of the garage, making noises about looking “up there” or “over there”, hoping she’d wander off in some drug-induced daze. Perhaps fall into a gutter or something.
That’s when a police car came whizzing by.
Next minute, Ms Stoner is back in the garage, squeezing into the 10″ gap on the passenger side. Quite a feat. Meanwhile, I continued wandering ever-so-slowly down the driveway in the hope that the nice policemen would come to my rescue. The police car had turned round in the cul-de-sac and whizzed back up the road, but they’d seen me as they stopped about 100m away.
Ms Stoner says, “Don’t let them know I’m here cos I’m out after curfew and they’ll get me.”
Sure, I won’t say a thing.
Another police car zooms down the road – and they see me! Around the cul-de-sac and into my driveway, whilst I surreptitiously beckon to them. I tell you, I’ve got all the Seekrit Squirrel moves.
“She’s in my garage,” I whisper to the Nice Policeman. The pair of them hop out and we wait while the other unit – a canine unit, no less – come and join us.
By this time, the woman has legged it from the garage, somehow squeezing past the 5″ gap in front of the bonnet, and disappeared.
The Very Large Alsatian does his thing and tracks her. She has managed to scramble over the one section of fence that won’t collapse under a person’s weight (ah, the canniness of the hunted human) into a neighbour’s property. All three cops and the dog go after her and drag her back (still stoned, mellow and sluggish) in handcuffs.
Being the brave sort, I have cleverly managed to hide myself from view during all this. Shaking, but ever so slightly, because I am Brave.
Once the woman is stashed in the car, the Nice Policeman comes indoors to take my statement. I am amazed by how much I remember. Even though it was full dark.
It is all over. Bar the texting to various friends about all the Excitement, which takes up the rest of the evening.
And this is why I am a Victim of Crime.
Today’s creative effort: New Zealand. My backyard. Well… maybe a bit of a drive away…