“I can’t take someone else’s bike!” I said.
“No one would know. I would have taken it if I were you,” said Riley. “Hey, you could take it and give it to me. That’s a great idea!”
I looked at him.
“Really?” I said.
He thought for a moment and then frowned.
“Nah,” said Riley. “It’s only a great idea for about thirty seconds. Then it’s a lousy idea.”
The police could actually charge the man on Riverside Crescent for possession of stolen property. We both knew that from reading websites the other day. But I wasn’t about to turn the man in. I was pretty sure Riley wouldn’t either.
Did keeping something that you found abandoned make you the same as the person who actually stole it in the first place? The man would happily return the bike to its owner. He just wasn’t going to go out of his way and take it to the police station. And yet it didn’t feel especially right for him to keep it either. Shades of right and wrong and in-between.
When we reached Riley’s house, he went around the side to push the buttons that open the garage door. I rolled The Flame inside. Hanging on the wall was his old chain and cylinder lock, the one with the four-number combination. It reminded me of the story Dad had told about the mysterious kid at his school who had been able to open those kinds of locks. Something had bothered me about the story at the time. Now I had a crazy thought. Had Dad been that kid? Is that why he had acted so strangely when he told the story?
I really wanted to know the answer. It wouldn’t help Riley and me find our bikes—Dad wouldn’t have stolen them, not even to teach us a lesson, and he certainly wouldn’t have stolen other bikes around the neighborhood. But when you have a dad who is as big on responsibility as mine is, and no other family living nearby to tell stories about what he was like as a kid, you can’t help but be curious. Here was a chance to do a little “real life” research.
“Are you using your lock anymore?” I asked Riley. “Could I borrow it?”
Riley looked surprised.
“Have you got something you want someone to steal?”
“Not exactly. I’ll tell you about it if it works. And I’ll give it back.”
“Sure, you can borrow it,” he said. “I’m only keeping it as a crazy kind of souvenir.”
I coiled the chain and put it in my pocket. As I headed for home, I began to consider the possibilities. The filing cabinet? The door to the office? I could lock Dad’s chair to his desk. If I did it upside down and backward, it would add extra challenge. I didn’t want to do anything too drastic in case Dad was in a hurry or in case I was wrong and he couldn’t actually figure out the combination. But I did need to give him a good reason to want to open the lock. He wouldn’t give himself away without a good reason.
I was still sorting out my options when I turned the corner and saw Emily Grimshaw coming down my walk. She didn’t look happy. When she saw me, her expression turned to outright anger. Not the steam-coming-out-of-the-ears kind of anger, but the knives-and-daggers-dancing-around-the-head kind. She walked right up to me.
“Where’s your bike? Did the jerk who phoned you want a reward? Is that why he didn’t give it to you?”
“How do you know someone called about my bike?” I asked.
“Your dad told me. Where is it, Levi? Did the guy send you back for money? Don’t give him a reward. People who are walking along minding their own business don’t just find bikes—at least, not where he probably found it.”
“It wasn’t my bike,” I said.
The knives and daggers paused in midair. Freeze-frame.
“It wasn’t?” asked Emily.
“Nope. It looked the same, but it wasn’t mine.”
“You’re sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” I said.
“Really sure?”
“I know my own bike, for crying out loud,” I said. “I’m sure.”
Poof! The knives and daggers turned to dust.
“Good,” said Emily.
She turned and started walking away. Emily Grimshaw drives me crazy!
“What do you mean good?” I called after her. “My bike’s still stolen. And so is Riley’s!”
She stopped and turned around.
“Actually, that’s why I came to talk to you in the first place. Riley shouldn’t have put up reward posters. They might mess everything up.”
I sighed.
“I don’t like them either,” I admitted. “I already told him they’re a bad idea.”
“They’re more than just a bad idea,” said Emily. “You need to make him take them down.”
“I can’t make Riley do things,” I said.
“It sounds like he’s as stubborn as you are,” said Emily. “But he’s nicer, so we need to help him out. We’ll take the posters down ourselves. Come on.”
“No!” I said.
“It won’t take long. It will work better with two of us,” Emily explained. “Afterward, we’ll go over to my place. We’ll come up with a better idea.”
“I don’t want to go to your house,” I said. “Why do you even care about our bikes?”
“Because I know how these things work, Levi,” said Emily.
“Stealing? Yeah, you know all about stealing,” I said. “You…”
But that’s as far as I got. We heard the sound of a car pulling up beside us, and we both turned. It was a police car. Emily took one look at it and disappeared.
Chapter Eight
“You’ll look for it, right?” asked Riley. “Mom says because the police have my bike’s serial number, it doesn’t make sense for me to stay behind just to go with you. But you’ll still look, right?”
Riley was going camping for the weekend. He wouldn’t be able to come with Dad and me on Saturday when we met the police officer, the same one who had taken my missing-bike report, at a place called Central Unclaimed Property. That’s who had stopped the police car to talk to me a couple of days earlier.
Without a serial number, my bike could get overlooked even if it was turned in at one of the other community police stations and transferred to Central, she’d said. Descriptions can be confusing. It would be easier to spot it in person.
Riley repeated the make, model and serial number of his own bike for about the eighty-fifth time.
“I’ve written it down,” I said. “And I know your bike, Riley. If it’s there, I’ll find it.”
“Thanks,” said Riley.
Dad was ready twenty minutes before we needed to leave the next morning.
“She’s doing us a favor, Levi,” he said. “We don’t want to be on time, we want to be early.”
For once I didn’t argue. A few extra minutes was a good idea today.
“Wait,” I said as Dad backed the car out of the drive. “I’ve forgotten the information about Riley’s bike. He really wanted me to take it.”
I headed back into the house. I already had the bike info in my pocket. It was Riley’s chain lock I was really after. I grabbed it from its hiding place under my mattress and hurried back downstairs.
I’d decided against doing anything in Dad’s office. I was going to lock up the coffee cupboard instead. It wouldn’t exactly stop Dad from working, but it would drive him crazy. He’d want to break in. Dad likes his coffee—all day long.
There were two doors and two handles side by side. All I had to do was lock the handles together. One loop. Two loops. I pulled on the doors. Oops—not tight enough.
I added a double wrap, a twist and a cross-over. Much better. I closed the lock and turned the numbers to scramble them.
Four minutes later I was back in the car and we were headed to the warehouse district. The officer was just pulling into the parking lot when we arrived. She and Dad shook hands.
“It’s good of you to think of this,” said Dad. “If Levi does find his bike, will it be hard to claim without a receipt?”
“So long as it matches the description on the initia
l report, we can usually make it work,” said the officer. “There’s a bike on the computer printouts that sounds promising. Third door around the back. I’ll meet you there.”
Dad and I made our way through the parking lot and around the outside of the building. The officer already had the door open. She had a clipboard in her hand. Just as we were entering, Dad’s phone started doing its emergency beeping, the kind it does when the servers are threatening to go offline. He took the phone from his pocket and scrolled down to the message.
“Sorry,” he said. “I have to go back to the car and deal with this on my laptop. You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“You’ll be locked out, but I’ll make sure Levi finds you when we’re done,” said the officer. “We won’t be long.”
The inside was like a big box store, with a cement floor and walls lined with metal shelves. But instead of holding identical new items, the shelves were a mishmash of different things jostled together. It was like a giant thrift store. I stood for a moment, confused.
“Anything wrong?” asked the officer.
“I thought everything had to be boxed and bagged. And kept under lock and key. And only the duty officer could go back and get it so that…”
The officer lifted one eyebrow.
“Your dad doesn’t seem like the type to let a kid watch crime shows,” she said.
“He isn’t,” I admitted. “My friend and I sneak downstairs and watch with his brother sometimes. They’re kind of cool. And kind of gross. But when they want to look up old evidence, they…”
“This isn’t an evidence room,” said the officer. She was back to her neutral, police-officer face. “Evidence rooms are elsewhere. They’re tightly controlled. Unclaimed goods are inventoried and kept locked up, but it’s not quite the same. The bikes are over here.”
We rounded the corner, and there they were. And not just one row but four or five. I couldn’t believe how many there were.
“This must be from the entire year!” I said.
“Two or three months, at the most,” she said. “A lot more are reported as missing and never show up here at all.”
Stolen and gone.
She led me to the bike that had sounded promising. It was larger than mine. The officer was already shaking her head.
“It’s an adult bike. That wasn’t written here.” She made a note on the clipboard.
“Would it be okay if I looked around some more?” I asked. “Just in case?”
“Go ahead,” she said, already making her way toward another area. “I’ve got one with a serial-number match. That’s what I really came to pick up.”
I walked slowly up and down the rows. I didn’t see my bike. I didn’t see Riley’s bike. I knew it didn’t make any sense to be disappointed. There hadn’t been any promise that our bikes would be here, but seeing all these unclaimed bikes somehow made it worse. Didn’t people care enough to report their bikes missing? Didn’t they think about telling the police?
I reached the last row, where bikes that had been damaged were propped against the wall. Bent and battered. Stripped of wheels, handlebars, seats, gears. One was practically twisted like a pretzel. Another had spokes sticking out in all directions. A graveyard of dead bikes.
The officer was standing behind me.
“I had a bike stolen when I was a kid,” she said. “I even found out who took it. But before I could do anything about it, they dumped it off a bridge.”
Which I guess explained why she’d gone to the trouble of letting me have an extra look.
“Thanks,” I said as the officer opened the back door. Dad was waiting just outside.
“There were about a zillion bikes. None of them were mine,” I told him.
“Sorry, Levi,” he said.
We held the door open as the officer wheeled out the bike with the serial-number match. It was the one bike out of all those others that was going home. But at least one person was going to be happy. Really happy.
“A zillion bikes, eh?” said Dad thoughtfully. “Do the leftover ones go to the city auction?”
“Along with other unclaimed property,” answered the officer as we walked toward the parking lot together. “You could probably pick up a replacement bike at a decent price. It’s mostly the bike shops that show up, but the general public is entitled to buy as well. Just make sure you keep the paperwork to show you got it legitimately.”
Dad talked more about the auction on the way home.
“I’ll find out when it is, Levi,” he offered.
I nodded, but I wasn’t quite listening. Bike shops used the auction, bike shops like Spoke and Rim. If you were really sneaky, and you knew a really sneaky thief like Sammy, would you hire him to steal certain types of bikes, the kind of bikes that sell well in secondhand stores? And then would you get Sammy or some of his friends to turn them in to the police so you could buy them at auction later? Was anyone that sneaky?
It was complicated. But it might work. Even if only a small percentage of the bikes actually came up at auction, if you could get them cheap enough…
But Sammy hadn’t actually stolen The Flame. And he’d done such a great job fixing it up that Riley and I had even started thinking we might go back there some time!
My brain was so busy wrestling with the possibilities that I didn’t realize how close we were to home until I saw the swimming pool. Luckily, that also gave me an excuse.
“Can you drop me here?” I asked. “I need to check what we’re doing in class next week. I’ll walk home.”
As soon as Dad reached the house, I knew, he’d head to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. He’d need to get into that cupboard, which meant he’d have to open Riley’s lock. It would be best if I wasn’t anywhere around.
Chapter Nine
“The perfect sisters think Steve and his gang are the thieves. They have an entire theory about it. You should ask them. They’ll tell you all about it—in stereo.”
It was Monday, and Riley had stopped at my place on his way home. I’d already told him about the unclaimed-property warehouse.
“Were the perfect sisters at soccer?” I asked.
“No, they were at the lake where we camped on the weekend. Except their families were staying in cabins, not tents. Matching cabins, side by side. And they have matching bathing suits. And matching flip-flops. And matching parents.”
“No, they don’t!” I said.
“Almost,” said Riley.
“Why do they think it’s Steve?” I asked. “Did they see something suspicious?”
“Superstitious?” asked Riley. “How do I know if they’re superstitious?”
I was crouched beneath the downstairs TV stand. I guess my voice was kind of muffled.
“Suspicious,” I repeated. “Did they see something suspicious?”
“Nope. They just know he’s a bully and picks on kids younger than him. Kids like us.”
“Except it’s not just kids’ bikes that have been stolen,” I said. “Adults have been reporting stolen bikes too. I met one of them. He hangs out on Battersby Street sometimes. Wears a black T-shirt and—”
“The guy with the biceps? And the tattoos?” asked Riley.
“Yup. His bike was stolen. A month ago.”
“That guy is scary,” said Riley. “He’s so scary I was scared to point him out to you. Even Steve wouldn’t mess with someone like that.”
“Except maybe Steve steals kids’ bikes. And someone else is stealing the other bikes.”
“Nah. My brother has been keeping an eye on Steve. He says Steve is more into skateboards than bikes. The skateboards are probably stolen, but…”
“Urrrg,” I said, shifting around to get a better angle.
“What are you doing under there?” asked Riley.
I took a deep breath. Talk about frustrating.
“I’m trying to figure something out,” I said.
“Okay. Figuring things out is good. Even under a TV,” said Riley. “A
nyway, Emily Grimshaw doesn’t think it’s Steve either. She thinks—”
“When did…?” Wham! I’d lifted my head too quickly and clonked it on the top of the stand. I crawled out from underneath, half dazed, to take a breather.
“When did I see Emily?” asked Riley.
I nodded.
“Just now. Right before I got to your place,” he answered.
I frowned.
“She was lurking around here the other day too,” I said. “She’s probably going to start stealing again. I hope you locked up the The Flame.”
“Actually, I brought it right inside. But not because of Emily. Your dad said I may as well bring it in and that would save me the trouble of locking it. What’s with your dad today anyway?” asked Riley. “He’s in a really good mood. I mean, he’s always nice. But he’s usually kind of…”
“Serious,” I said. “Responsible. Predictable. Boring.”
Which reminded me. I slid back under the stand again.
“So?” I asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t say your dad’s that bad,” said Riley.
“I don’t mean my dad,” I said. “I mean who does Emily think the thief is?”
But Riley had crouched over to see what I was doing.
“My chain lock! Why is it wrapped around your video games?” he asked. “Are you trying to open it? Don’t you know the combination?”
“No, Riley,” I said. “I don’t know the combination. If I knew the combination I’d already have it unlocked.”
“Well, you should have just asked me,” said Riley. “It’s—”
“Stop!” I told him. Wham! I’d hit my head again. Luckily, not quite as hard.
“You’re going to knock yourself out if you keep that up,” said Riley. I could tell from his voice that he thought I was pretty entertaining. “Don’t you want me to just tell you?”
“No. I’m trying to figure it out myself. I think it’s like one of those puzzles where you have to line up interlocking parts in the right order. I think the first number is one. And the next number is four. But I can’t quite…”
“It would have been smarter to lock it someplace easier to work on,” said Riley. “And why lock up your video games?”
The Great Bike Rescue Page 4
