Ish,
My, oh my! Greeting the cops in the dead of night with a Smith and Wesson in your hand? You're lucky to be alive! Around these parts, well . . .
Some more of the story:
It was clear to me that if I wanted see my car again, I would have to do something on my own. I was working graveyard then, and after work on this particularly fine Saturday morning it looked like a nice day for a drive.
I made the 40-mile drive in my '68 Cougar XR-7 (the car I'd bought with the check from the insurance company), and found my '67 Cougar . . . smack in the middle of gangland. It was only 9:00 a.m., and already every third lawn had somebody eyeballing the street--and here I am driving a car that looks just like my stolen car parked there! Hooboy!! I high-tailed it out of there--REAL QUICK--found a phone and called the police. They arrived about 30 minutes later (not a complaint; nobody was dying or anything like that) but by then my '67 Cougar was gone again.
Well, for reasons I shall never fully fathom, the cop who showed up to meet me decided to sit there and wait for the car to come back, of all things! I didn't want to tell the cop how to do his job, but . . . the thief had been coming and going at that address without a wimper for two months. I didn't want to scare him and my car away to heaven knows where this time. The cop and I sat there for about two hours. Meanwhile, my '68 Cougar is parked behind the cop's car, and I kept thinking to myself, "This is it. I'll never see my '67 Cougar again, and my '68 Cougar surely is now on the endangered species list!"
While the cop and I were sitting there, he ran some plates on cars which were parked on that street and recovered three other stolen cars. All in all, he had a great morning. However, my '67 Cougar never returned while we were there. The cop finally decided to call it a wrap. He went on to fight crime and save lives, and I went home to bed.
Skipping ahead (because I already told that part of the story), about 5:00 that evening, I got a telephone call from the police, telling me my car had been recovered and was safely tucked away in their impound lot, being fingerprinted and checked for other evidence. The following Monday, my brother took me to the impound lot to bring the car home.
Strange, but I never drove that car very much after its theft and recovery. Over the fifteen years from the time of the theft to the time that I sold it, I put only about 5000 miles on it, and these miles included several trips between Southern and Northern California (that really loooonnnnng state). It always ran great. But there was just something about it . . .
Holly |
