Thursday, July 25, 2013

The Gokwe Kid and the stolen bicycle

What is with me and these two wheeled monsters? They always either try to kill me or just really cause trouble. I noticed that a bad person has stolen the rear light on the monster thing my boss leant me. Still, it might have something to do with me falling off it after checking out the contents of half a bottle of Mataxa. Take it from me, the bike can’t handle the stuff and weaves all over the shop till it hits a kerb and falls over. Sadly; with me in the saddle.

Another thing. What is this with all the gears? How many gears do you need? Insane. This crate of shite has 24! Not only that, they don’t work very well since the accident. The chain (about the length of a rugby field), keeps hopping up and down trying to make up its mind what bloody cog it fancies.. And when I free wheel, the most awful racket breaks out.

Can you imagine having a car with 24 gears. Your arm would drop off. It is bad enough when they have 6. I was half way to Austria the other day when I noticed the dashboard kept hinting I change into 6th. I hadn’t known this particular vehicle had such additions.

Mind you, load of crap. As soon as a bit of hill arrives the thing is coughing and jerking about like a drunken kangaroo, and the lights on the dashboard are flashing away recommending second gear. I am trying to drive – like as in - look at the road – not discotheque of lights behind the steering wheel… EISH

Anyway, here is a quickie I didn’t put in the book but suddenly remembered.

So - I am on afternoon shift at Gwelo Charge Office, about July 1978.

‘Tring tring’

‘Yawn, Hello, Patrol Officer Karl Greenberg of the BSAP, aka the Gokwe Kid, capturer of the infamous fraudster Raymond and a legend in his own mind, on the phone, how may I help you?’

‘Hi Karl, this is your present honey’s Dad and I think there is some dodgy hanky panky going on with a bicycle.’

Me thinks – whatever, eish I was just about to fall asleep from boredom.

I immediately go into top number one professional police officer and say

‘Huh? Come again.’

‘Well, my cook boy asked for five dollars advance because he has been offered a bargain of a bicycle. Some piccanin is selling one but I think the bike is stolen. Can you check this out?’

Well, normally, like I mean, I have handled serious stuff, but it was great excuse to toodle off and check out the scene. After confirming I am on the way, I grabbed a constable after kicking his snoring torso awake (shit, this town is so one horse) and we hop into a ‘Panda’.

A Panda. Yeah. It is a Mazda 303 (most probably an illegal sanction busting kit car), with just a front bench, that at a pinch seats three, and a very large tin box at the back. This was for throwing bad people in and stolen goods via a rather dodgy back door.

So, we rock up and meet and greet my latest chick’s dad. I knew the way, a bit of a shclepp just outside Gwelo urban, because they had invited me for dinner a couple of times. After a short chat, I throw suspect and one rather buggered bicycle into the Panda and off we go.

Like I said, this was out a bit in the bush. A narrow tar road, which meant you have to sort of drive slow and pull half over onto the dirt when an oncoming vehicle approaches. Such happened at a sharp bend. As I went back onto the tar, I noticed one hell of a banging noise coming from the tin box. Alarmed, I pulled over.

Well, what a surprise! The back door was open and banging backwards and forwards fit to bust its hinges. And, guess what, there was bicycle inside but that was it. I had forgotten to lock the door.

I ponder my position. The constable has gone into that body language of  ‘white Bwana is a fool and I cannot wait to tell the others when we get back’. I solve that problem by putting the blame on him for not reminding me.

Now what? The great Gokwe Kid makes a descion and turns the Panda around and drives back to the scene of the crime. I have been away exactly 10 minutes. I announce to the astonished man that the crime has been solved. But it consisted of one piece of bad news but, TWO pieces of good news.

The bad news – erm, accidently the suspect absconded and I bloody hope he hurt himself jumping out the moving vehicle.

The first good news – I have no paper work to do.

The best news of all – your cook boy has a free bicycle!

Case closed.

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