Thank you Unsplash for the photo by Martin Sanchez
I was caught off guard when my phone vibrated, and the name “Marissa” was illuminated on my caller ID. This was the first actual call from my adult niece…ever. Sure, we text, but that is also a rarity, except for annual messages for birthday wishes and Christmas cheers. It is not a complaint; that is just the natural order of our family’s universe.
I had mixed emotions to see her name on my call display. I was at first excited that she was calling me. But within seconds, that excitement morphed into a perplexing ‘Oh no, why is she calling?’ Her generation does not make calls…they text.
With an uneasiness, I cautiously answered, “Hello…?” It was not that I doubted Marissa was on the other end; it was more like a ‘What has happened’ question. My mind raced through a myriad of apocalyptic scenarios involving my sister (Marissa’s mother) or perhaps even my own mother. What could be the reason that my niece dialled my number?
Marissa was calling from downtown, where she and her friend Hanna were channelling their detective skills. The mystery they were unravelling involved Hanna’s lost phone which had vanished outside a bar the previous night.
Armed with the iPhone tracker application on Marissa’s phone, they pinpointed the location of Hanna’s phone to Richmond and King Street. It was a block away from where they were and the signal showed Hannah’s phone moving toward them.
Hannah and Marissa watched a crowd of people walk toward them trying to identify which person might have the phone.
Toward the end of the crowd a straggler walked sluggishly with a limp. The girls describe him to be wearing soiled clothing. He wore cut off jean shorts and a heavy blue sweatshirt. His hair was matted, with greasy ends dangling in his face. His hands neglected with dirt and scabs held Hannah’s rose coloured iPhone. The girls watched him walk right by them, both physically on the street and on Marissa’s iPhone tracker.
Their call to the police non-emergency line to explain their situation had left them hanging with questions about call backs and what steps to take next. They waited and waited and waited, but no return call came.
That is what prompted them to call me. My ‘auntie sense’ strongly emphasized that they call 911, and under no circumstances were they to play Nancy Drew with the guy. But they already knew enough not to approach the stranger.
Our city’s downtown can be an unsafe place, and I was concerned for them. “I am on my way,” I told Marissa and hung up.
Hanna and Marissa made the call, but the 911 operator essentially directed them to call the non-emergency line.”
I had a slight nagging feeling that made me question the wisdom of this lone venture. Without a doubt, my husband would have volunteered to join the mission.
But I was in a hurry.
I embarked on my journey downtown to rendezvous with the girls. Unbeknownst to me, while I was enroute, the girls called Hanna’s missing phone.
A man answered.
My drive downtown from my house was typically a short ride, but that day it, turned into a chaotic mash of traffic. I met a string of red lights, got entangled in construction detours, and waited at a railway crossing as a freight train leisurely passed by, then inexplicably reversed, moved forward again, and finally backed up all the way to where it had come from. My anxiety spiked as I wanted to ensure the girls’ safety, but oddly enough, these roadblocks gave me a bit more time to plan my impending undertaking.
I needed money. It had been a long time since I made a cash withdrawal. I began to strain my cognitive function to grace its presence long enough to enter four simple numbers needed at the bank machine. Without a financial incentive, continuing this quest would be redundant.
I thought about my upcoming interaction with the person holding Hanna’s phone. He is likely a frail elderly man swaddled in a raggedy soiled blanket. He is slouching at the entrance of an abandoned business with an empty paper cup beside him, beseeching generosity from passers-by.
My grand plan was as simplistic as it was audacious. I would casually walk over to the elderly man, engage in some light conversation, and offer him a crisp twenty-dollar bill for the phone. Perhaps he had children or grandchildren somewhere, and he would be aware that losing the photos stored on the iPhone would be a distressing loss for a parent.
Based on what I envisioned, twenty dollars would be like winning a miniature lottery, right? What could go wrong? He couldn’t possibly be a threat; he was elderly, and we were downtown, surrounded by plenty of people, in broad daylight. If, by some twist of fate, he tried to cause me harm, I had ‘youth-ish’ and ‘agility-ish’ on my side and could run. Probably quite fast if so inspired.
It was a good plan.
To complicate this rescue operation, the clock was ticking…the phone’s battery was on borrowed time. Once it died, locating the phone would be a miracle.
I discovered the girls safe and sound, nestled inside Hanna’s parked car on the street.
As they recounted their interaction with the man over the phone, my initial plan required an upgrade. He had demanded a hefty $200.00 ransom for the return of the phone. I left the girls to find a bank machine and withdrew the $200.00. Although, I had no intention of parting with that much cash to this street ‘exploit-trepreneur.’
With the phone number provided by my niece, I called the guy to make the deal.
“Yeah,” came a youthful, dull voice on the other end.
He did not sound like the frail old man I had pictured. Instead, he came across as incoherent, groggy, and far from someone to have a friendly conversation with.
It seemed easier to pretend I was the phone’s owner rather than introduce myself as Debby, the girls’ friend’s aunt on a mission, so I responded,
“Hi, I’d like to retrieve my phone, please,” I calmly stated.
“Ahhh.” , then a long silence. “Yeah, $200.00,” he responded.
“I am sorry, but I don’t have $200.00,” I replied, relying more on my non-existent negotiation skills and the fact that I was not under the influence of anything. I assumed I could think more clearly than the guy on the other end, who sounded inebriated on something. I continued, “I only have $100.00, and the banks are closed today.”
“It’s an expensive phone,” he remarked.
I countered, “Not really. I just want it back because it has my children’s photos on it.” He was right; it was an expensive device, but I did not want him to think he had a golden nugget in his hands. I instantly regretted revealing the pictures’ importance; would he now exploit a mother’s eagerness to get them back?
Silence hung in the air. “Okay,” he finally said. “You can give me $100.00 now, and then you can go to the bank when they open on Monday to give me the rest.”
Oh good…an idiot. I smiled to myself.
“Sure,” I replied with feigned enthusiasm. “I can do that.” Surprisingly, bargaining with him turned out to be less difficult than I’d imagined.
On second thought, maybe I was the real idiot here. I would soon find out if he hands over the phone with only half the payment.
Coordinating a meeting place posed an unexpected challenge. Despite having a rough idea of what the street guy looked like based on the girls’ descriptions, I needed to confirm the person I was talking to was the same guy. The man remained reluctant to provide any concrete details.
“How will I know who to give the money to?” I asked, sensing his hesitation. The question seemed to spook him, leading to another prolonged silence. Finally, he said, “Call me back in two minutes.” I agreed.
I followed up with four more calls. No answer.
Plan C. I will find him myself.
I could hear my son Michael’s previous warnings about downtown echoing in my mind. “Do not walk alone downtown, do not talk to strangers, and you’re not physically able to take on someone who might be addicted to meth. Alright, Michael, I thought to myself, “I will only scope out the situation and assess the danger meter.”
I managed to locate the man, and he was anything but fragile. He looked quite young, possibly not yet twenty. To make matters more complicated, he was accompanied by four other men and two additional bystanders with shopping carts just a few steps away.
This scenario did not match the mental picture I had painted.
“Okay, Michael,” I silently admitted, “I need some help here.” But the question remained, from whom? The police were busy. I scanned the area for a foot patrol officer. Eventually, I spotted two security guards. I approached them, hoping for assistance. Their suggestion was straightforward, “Call 911.”
Deflated but not defeated, I returned to the car to collect the girls. Marissa had the missing phone’s location on her device, and the police would likely need that. Together, we decided to make our way to the London Police Service walking patrol office at the Covent Garden Market. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer.
With no other option left, I called 911 once more. I could not help but feel a tad awkward about making the call for this situation again. It was not exactly an emergency, but we needed a police officer. Thankfully, the communications operator at the 911 office was helpful. She emphatically advised against paying the guy. She directed us to a police officer just a block away. The three of us sprinted toward where the officer was, caught his attention, and provided him with the necessary details about the individual possessing Hanna’s phone.
“Stay right here!” the officer sternly instructed us. He ventured fearlessly toward the group of homeless individuals. Secretly, I was scared for the officer’s safety. He was alone. There were several of ‘them.’ The officer then turned to us and gestured toward a guy, the suspect. Hanna nodded her head in acknowledgement because she recognized him, and she could see that he had her bronzed rose phone in his hand.
Clearly the homeless guy was unhappy about losing the phone, an altercation began, and my anxiety escalated. Thankfully, from out of nowhere, two more police officers arrived to help. After retrieving the phone, one of the officers walked back to where we were waiting, to return the phone to Hanna. The officer asked if Hanna wished to press charges. She declined, admitting that she had indeed lost the phone the night before.
While we spoke with the officers, another man who appeared to be homeless, dressed in a red jumpsuit, charged toward us but halted about four feet away. He bounced nervously on the spot, presumably preparing to dash off if necessary. The man declared that the guy with the phone was innocent. He said his friend had not stolen the phone but had purchased it from someone else. He seemed worried for his friend who was still in discussions up against a wall, with two other officers.
We all felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward the officers for helping young Hanna recover her phone. I had an urge to give them a giant “Mom-hug” for their heroic intervention. However, given the situation, such a gesture of gratefulness might have been misunderstood…possibly landing me in handcuffs.
This was my fourth interaction with the police in recent years. I was certain my honourary citizen’s badge was in the mail… until a visit with my son and daughter-in-law the next day. They are both employed by the London Police Service. As with other discussions with them, I was slapped with reality.
The guy that had Hanna’s phone was well-known to the police. And he is a dangerous individual.
My daughter-in-law, Lindsay, explained why the police no longer respond to small theft incidents and instead refer the public to a non-emergency line to report the loss. This new policy was implemented after a tragic incident when a young man was shot and killed while attempting to track and retrieve his stolen phone.
Lindsay and Michael went on to explain that there are numerous cases where lost cell phones and valuable items are used as bait to lure people into perilous situations. Consequently, the police now strongly advise against pursuing stolen property. Instead call the non-Emergency line at 519-661-5670 (TTY – 519-661-6472) to report your missing items.
To quote Lindsay, “I understand it’s frustrating to have your belongings stolen, but at the end of the day, it’s just a phone. Expensive, yes, but just a phone.”
Great advice.