To Find a Thief

 

By E L Russell

Published by Enos Russell at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Enos Russell

To Find a Thief

Eighty-seven year old Etta Groves sat on the parking lot, legs splayed, holding a bloody handkerchief against her head. The Piggly Wiggly Purse Bandit had just hit her with her own cane and snatched her purse… for the third time.

Shoppers gathered around as Fire & Rescue and local TV units vied for the best position. The bandit had attacked several shoppers and his reputation had sustained vociferous newscasters for weeks. Etta was not surprised that the first helping hand held a microphone.

“Did you see him? How does it feel to be mugged and robbed again?”

“Not so –”

“Did he get your food stamps?

“Food stamps? It’s my –”

A paramedic pushed reporters aside and took her pulse.  Two cops arrived and started taking crime scene pictures.

She yelled at the reporter, “I’m Etta Groves. I –”

The reporter re-applied her makeup.

Frustrated, Etta yelled at the policeman, “He took my –”

“It’s okay Ms. Droves.

“It’s Mrs. Groves –”

“We found your cane.”

A paramedic helped Etta sit on a gurney. “But where’s my purse?” She demanded waving a large crucifix in the air. 

The microphone re-appeared. “A crucifix? You’re religious? Can you forgive the Bandit?”

“What? Why should –”

The microphone retreated. A policeman holding a note pad bent over and asked. “Mrs. Droves, -”

“Groves, Mrs. Groves.”

“Right. Can you describe the bandit?”

“He was a white guy, six feet . . . say, what’s that other officer fellow doing with the camera?”

“He’s taking pictures of the crowd.”  

“What for? Where’s my purse?”

The policeman almost whispered. “Most criminals like to return to the crime scene to see the excitement.”

“Humph. He’s got a lot to look at in my purse.”

When the policeman stopped to take notes, a reporter injected. “What can you tell us about your crucifix, Mrs. Droves?”

Etta looked at it and added “My grandbaby give it to me for protection.”

“Oh, how sweet. How old is he?”

“Chris is twenty-seven. The boy lost is legs in ‘Ganistan. Yep, he blew ‘em right off –.”

The policeman pushed the reporter away. “Mrs. Droves,

“Groves –“

“Can you see him in the crowd?” He helped her off the gurney. “Look around. Take your time.”

Etta stared at the policeman with disgust. “The bandit broke my glasses. I can’t see –”

“Just try.”

“The mean son-of-a –bitch,” reporters and cameras followed her gaze into the large crowd, “had a mask on.”

The policemen sighed and reporters lowered their microphones.

She raised her crucifix. “Just you wait. Granny Groves’ll find the little punk.”

She held it high above the crowd and popped it’s top open with her thumb, exposing a small button. It beeped slowly.

Spellbound, they watched her crucifix examine the crowd.

She scanned until it beeped faster.  Exclaiming, “Oh, yeah. Boy, Etta’s found your sorry ass.” She squeezed the button.

Boom!

And declared, “Sweet Jesus. ” when the Piggly Wiggly Bandit watching from behind his pickup, away from the crowd, exploded.

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Thank you for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it

All the best!

E L Russell

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